Earn It
8:00pm: I’m a wet, sweaty, disgusting mess of a puddle. It looks like I’ve been swimming. Training to be the next Michael Phelps. But it’s all sweat dripping like a leaky faucet from my shorts, shirt, face, arms, neck, and back.
It’s a hundred degrees. I’m in a room with thirty other people. Rainbow colored mats spread out across the floor. My body is contorted, twisted, and bent into a variety of positions that make my muscles feel like they’re going to snap. Tear from the bone. Until there’s nothing left. It’s called Bikrahm Yoga. And today is my first day.
I’m doing it because I can’t touch my toes. I’ve never been able to touch my toes. And I have a deep fear that I’m going to become an old man, with a hunched back who can’t look a hooker in the face.
The girls who was standing next to me just passed out on the floor. I feel bad for her because the floor smells like a musty tennis shoe that you find at your grandmother’s yard sale. And now her face is glued to it. Sucking up other people’s sweat and leaked out bodily fluids
Two hours later, the class ends. I can’t stand. I’m ready to pass out. I need to shower. Change my clothes. But all I can think about is the cold Chinese food and the bottle of red wine in my fridge. I’ve earned it.
