I walk home and feel my jersey pants sticking to my legs. The water all over my skin evaporates quickly in the bright, full, mid-morning sun. My mouth tastes mildly salty. I think about how I have now taken five bikram yoga classes and have reached the point where I can now see myself going every day, ninety minutes a day, stretching more, going deeper into poses, touching forehead to straight knees, sweating out pints of water. It’s addictive.

I get inside and start undressing, but before I shower, I eat a nectarine and slap a mint julep masque on my face. My pores are open and flushed, perfect time for it. I drink a glass of water. I feel pretty awesome.

I am going to miss this. I wonder if there is a yoga studio of any kind in the town where I am moving. I bet the best I can hope for is “Curves.” I do believe I would rather do yoga on the back deck.