Buy it here amazon  powell'sThe room was a toasty 102°F. The air was thick with the exertions of two-dozen hardworking , mostly midlife women who were inhaling, exhaling, grunting and groaning their way through a vigorous series of twenty-six yoga poses. I was one of the grunters. This was my first foray into Bikram or hot yoga, a ninety-minute work-out performed in a high-temp, steamy environment said to enhance both muscle flexibility and detoxification through (let’s be classy about this) “profuse perspiration.” I was dripping onto my yoga mat, creating little puddles as I moved from posture to posture, leaving sweaty hand and footprints in my wake. During one particularly challenging downward dog sequence, I slipped, slid across my puddled mat, managed a spectacular face-plant and gave myself a bloody nose.Why, I asked myself (dabbing at my nose and trying to recover my dignity) was I putting myself through this?I took a ragged breath. Oh yes. I was here to push myself out of my exercise comfort zone. I was here because I had vowed to try a long list of activities, as well as treatments, therapies -- and ways of thinking -- that held the promise of increased energy and vitality, and a happier, healthier, younger me. It was all part of a year-long investigation into “turn back the clock” strategies, a journey to discover (and experiment with) ways to slow the aging process. My aging process. Simply put, I was on a personal mission to become biologically younger.During this past year, I’ve looked at the best scientific research and the worst anti-aging scams.I’ve gone to conferences and clinics, spent time in cutting-edge laboratories and take-no-prisoners boot camps. I’ve talked to top scientists and high-energy hucksters, to fitness gurus and food faddists, to happiness coaches, optimism optimizers and self-compassion trainers. I’ve detoxed, superfooded and calorie-restricted. I’ve hiked, jogged, raced, biked, climbed, swum, spun, rowed, drummed, boxed, and hooped. I’ve curled, crunched, pressed, snatched, twisted, pumped, jumped, squatted—and pushed enormous bags of sand across gym floors. I’ve been dunked, pinched, punctured, measured, biopsied, scanned, meridianed, Reiki-ed and hypnotized – all on a quest to separate anti-aging hype from anti-aging hope. Whomever I talked to, wherever I went, whatever I did (or had done to me), I asked: Is this helping me on my counterclockwise journey? Am I aging backward? Have I found The Secret?