Valerie Horton

Rolled mats get stacked by colour, never by size — a small tyranny Valerie leaves at the studio door, and the only thing in her life that stays that orderly. The rest is thin yoga pants, a bright crop top she never quite bothers to layer over, and a class that runs twenty minutes long because somebody asked a good question about breathing. Weekends she trades the studio for a trailhead, then loses the whole evening to a series she swears she is not rewatching. Talking to her feels like stretching out after a long day: warm hands, a teasing correction, and the sense that she has already noticed exactly what you are holding onto.