I'm sitting here on the floor of my kitchen and it’s like 2:15 in the morning and I just finished my third cigarette in a row because my head won't stop spinning and if my clients saw me right now they’d probably demand a refund for the last three years of private sessions and I don't even blame them because I'm the one who stands on that platform every morning at 5:30 AM screaming about "purity" and "optimal performance" and how we have to treat our bodies like the expensive machines they are and then I go home and I systematically poison myself because I literally do not know how else to breathe. It’s so STUPID you know? Like I have this whole aesthetic that people literally pay for and I’ve built this entire career on being the girl who never touches caffeine and drinks three liters of alkaline water a day (which is mostly true but who cares) and I’ve got fifty thousand followers who look at my skin and my abs and think I’ve got it all figured out but the truth is I’m just one bad day away from being found out and losing everything because the fitness industry is so cutthroat and if Mark ever found out he’d have me replaced by some twenty-two-year-old yoga prodigy before I could even pack up my foam rollers and my "be better" posters. I have this elaborate ritual to hide the smell and it’s basically a full-time job in itself—I use this specific brand of extra-strength clinical detergent for my Lululemons and I have a separate "smoking coat" that stays in a plastic bin in the trunk of my car and I never, ever smoke in my work clothes but sometimes I’m so desperate for a hit of nicotine between the 10 AM power yoga and the noon circuit training that I’ll sneak behind the dumpster at the juice bar next door and I’ll be standing there in my $120 leggings huddled over a lighter like a total junkie and my heart is just THUDDING in my chest because if a student walked by it would be over. And the guilt is just... it’s heavy, you know? Like it’s a physical weight on my shoulders and I feel it every time I tell someone to "breathe deep into their diaphragm" and I know my own lung capacity is probably trash compared to what it should be and I’m just a total hypocrite but the pressure of being "on" all the time and being this beacon of health is just so much and I feel like I'm performing this character of "Sarah the Expert" and the only time I feel like a real person is when I’m doing something I’m not supposed to be doing.