When I sign up for Naked In Motion’s combo pilates and yoga class — a workout sans clothes — I have a lot of questions: When do you get naked? What if you have to fart? Do people hit on each other? (Probably not if you fart.)

While I’ve made great strides from the body-conscious teenager I used to be, I know that I’ve still got some work to do. That’s why the class is so intriguing to me. For example, I’m not the kind of person who can stand naked in a locker room without feeling uncomfortable. I don’t like seeing my body, sans clothes, when I’m in a changing room.

In fact, I’ve never even been skinny-dipping.

In more practical terms, I don’t do yoga. Ever. I can’t touch my toes — or my ankles. In other words, I have the flexibility of a 70-year-old man. Needless to say, I am a little anxious about working out naked, but I’m hopeful that the experience will help me love my body a little bit more.

Curiosity trumps nerves every time, so I show up for class at the company’s rented space in Chelsea, and am instantly surprised by how many people are there. The room is jam packed. The instructors, Willow and Adam, say it’s their highest attendance ever. While that’s great for their business, my internal monologue just says, “So, the chances of getting peen in my face during sun salutation just went way up.”

Thankfully, Adam places me in the corner of the room, where I’ll have the least amount of eyes on my bare bits. Then he hands me one of their laminated sheets of rules: “Zero cellphone tolerance. Nudity is mandatory, with some exceptions for people who are menstruating, trans folks, or struggling with body dysmorphia. No jerks allowed. Don’t presume the gender or sexual identity of anyone.”

Then the instructors repeat the rules out loud. I’m glad, especially for the “No jerks allowed” part. As a woman who’s constantly subjected, fully clothed, to catcalls in New York City, I am very concerned about the possibility of harassment in my birthday suit. It’s nice to know that creepiness won’t be tolerated.

Once the rules are over, the absolutely gorgeous Willow smiles and says, “Let’s get naked!” Despite my internal panic, I decide to take the “Fake it ‘til you make it” mentality. These people don’t know me — for all they know, I could be the Queen Goddess of Nudist Town. So I take off my clothes and stand there, feeling that sweet AC on my naked, naked body.

I take a moment to appreciate the wonderful weirdness of the moment. I’m naked. In a room full of people. Who are also naked.

I check out the bodies around me, hopefully in a non-creepy way. I notice that while everyone is in good shape, the ages range from 20s to 60s. There’s even a variety of ethnicities. I have a very #deep realization, looking at all of the strangers around me: Everyone is naked under their clothes. Yep. Take a moment for that breakthrough to sink in.

Related: ‘Pure Nude Yoga’: Actual workout or masturbation material? (Answer: sorta both)

My Yoda moment gets interrupted by Willow, who instructs us to lie on our backs, bend our knees and start doing crunches. Turns out, this workout is going to be very abs-focused. And when you’re naked, that means a lot of staring at your stomach rolls. At first, I’m self-conscious. I mean, the instructors have the toned, flat stomachs of people who drink green juice and do crunches all the time, because they probably do exactly that.

Yet, after a few minutes of staring at my belly au naturale, I get used to seeing the folds of skin. Who knew? A good way to conquer body consciousness is to stare at your least favorite bits, butt naked, for an extended period of time. Free advice!

And then it’s time for the yoga portion of the class. This is when I really struggle to restrain myself from giggling like a kid, because half of the poses involve staring directly at someone’s ass. Combined with the fact that I keep falling over during the balancing exercises, I am absolutely dying of laughter on the inside. My brain is saying on loop, “I’m doing yoga. Naked. I don’t even do normal yoga. Everyone is naked. Nakednakednaked.”

Thankfully, I manage to keep myself together on the outside. I don’t even fart. I owe you one, intestines.

After an hour-and-a-half, the class is over. Now that we’re not cat-cowing, I realize I have no idea when it’s appropriate to put my clothes back on. No one else seems to be in a rush, which makes sense, as a lot of the attendees consider themselves nudists and are totally comfortable striking up a conversation with a complete stranger … while naked. I, on the other hand, am struggling to small-talk without pants. It is very hard for me to pretend like nothing is out of the ordinary. Especially when the person in question is a man. And sporting an erection.

He asks me if this is my first nudist class, and if I’m enjoying myself. I say that it is, and I am — simultaneously willing my eyes, with all my might, to stay away from his crotchal area. While this man is trying to be friendly, I just feel uncomfortable.

Points for me, I do stay and have some naked conversations with other people. We talk about the festivals we’re going to that summer, nudist conventions in the NYC area, and the workouts that we do with clothes on. But, if I’m being honest, I am starting to feel awkward in a room full of unclothed convos. In fact, I am so rushed when I take off that I leave my bag with my yoga mat behind. Clearly, I am the newbie in the room.

Willow and Adam said in the beginning of the class that they want everyone to make Naked In Motion into what they want it to be. So whether you want to prescreen a particularly bendy romantic partner or master the difficult art of loving your body, a class like Naked In Motion could be your ultimate destination. But no matter why you decide to take one of their classes, just remember: If you fake confidence, you can convince everyone that you’re the Queen Goddess of Nudist Town.

Supermodel Nina Agdal practices yoga aboard a mega yacht: