“Deserve Victory!” The poster reads backward through the mirror in my bedroom. I wake and find Winston Churchill’s round face and stubby finger pointing at me. I whip off my covers like a Band-Aid, walk over to the dresser, and set clothes on the bed. I dawdle in the bathroom, applying lotion and powder to my entire body, drinking warm tap water, brushing the unsavory taste of morning out of my mouth, and pulling my hair into a tight ponytail. I stare in the mirror in just a sports bra and shorts. I slip on my favorite tech top.
