At the start of 2019 I was suffering from the condition known as “Type-A Millennial” burnout. Complete with a designated time slot for napping, my doctor recommended that I swap my trainers for a yoga mat. Easy, I thought. How hard could this stretching thing be?
What yogis call re-centring, I called a rude awakening. My first class was a sweaty calamity. While other yogis left the fiddle-leaf fluffed studio radiating a Gwyneth Paltrow-like glow, I departed the almost 30-degree vinyasa flow suffering the same flustered withdrawals one
