Meg Jackson
I clearly remember the dread I felt before my first yoga class. I was going because I wanted arms like Madonna (circa 1999; see ‘Beautiful Stranger’ video for reference; apparently she got them by doing a trillion hours of Ashtanga a day). But even the desire for beautiful biceps, toned triceps, and deltoids so tight you could bounce a pound coin off them, wasn’t enough to get me skipping through those church hall doors.