On November 1, 2015, I posted the first-ever picture of me on a mountain bike on social media. For the caption, I wrote: “You know the old saying: When life hands you a broken mirror smashed over your face, buy a mountain bike.”
Two weeks earlier, on a rainy Monday night, I’d gone to a hot yoga class for the first time in years. Eighty-something minutes into a ninety-minute class, the teacher plugged in a strand of Christmas lights and instructed us to move into wheel pose. Three rows of sweaty humans laid on our backs. We planted our hands and feet on the floor and pushed into backbends. I tried to breathe deeply.
Then from across the room, I heard a yell—“No!” Or maybe, “Oh, God!” I don’t remember. My senses couldn’t register what was happening. I thought maybe I was fainting, or that the room was collapsing and the Christmas lights were tilting down on me. In reality, a fifteen-foot floor-to-ceiling mirror had come
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