The Sweet Taste of Resentment in the Morning
“How you do anything is how you do everything.” So goes the wisdom of my sadistic Bikram yoga teacher. I’m two weeks into my month-long membership — a spontaneous daily-deal purchase — and I want to spit on this self-righteous know-it-all.
“Lock your knees, lock your knees, lock your knees!” She barks as she lopes in front of me, her perfectly-sculpted, barely-covered body temporarily obstructing my own mirror image. I’m grateful for the respite: My visibly-trembling muscles shake globs of sweat off my patchy, red skin while my hair manages to both frizz up and clamp on my skin all at once. The picture of Zen, I am not.