Fred Finds Fitness

 Oh, Wendy. The puppeteer of my early morning demise. It was a brisk October morning, the 4th to be exact, when she sold me the dream: "Come on! The first Wednesday of the month is the best day to start." Her words dripped with honey, painting pictures of a gentle introduction to the 'base run' class. What harm could there be in a 6am run, right? How naive I was. As dawn broke, reality did too. Hills. Endless, unforgiving hills. With every incline, I could hear Wendy's treacherous promises echoing mockingly. 'Best day to start,' she'd said. But what it felt like was a cruel initiation into the world of run clubs. Wendy, with her innocent suggestions, had bamboozled me into a morning of panting, sweat, and questioning my life choices. Base run? More like "based on a lie". Wendy might've thought it was a harmless nudge into the world of running, but for me, it felt like being thrown into the deep end, and the water was uphill. Amid the seem

6 a.m. AMP Cycle with John It was an unholy hour, one which should be reserved for dreams, not the jarring thud of pedals. The room's energy was sleep-laden, heavy with the collective weariness of souls who should've hit snooze. But there was John, a beacon of unnerving enthusiasm, the 'morning person' amongst night owls. His chirpiness was jarring, a stark contrast to my bone-deep fatigue. The music blared, pulling me into a rhythm my body was reluctant to accept. As the class went on, there was a begrudging respect. Damn it, John, you managed to get my heart racing at an hour when it should've been at rest. 7 a.m. Alpha Conditioning with Aaron: Just as the adrenaline from AMP Cycle began its graceful descent, Aaron's class was there to rudely jolt it back up. A far cry from the choreographed moves of cycling, this was a raw, gritty grind. Aaron, with his methodical madness, seemed to derive a particular joy from pushing us past what we thought were our limits.

The first thing you should know about me is that I have an intense relationship with yoga. It's like being in love with someone who constantly surprises you. Sometimes in pleasant ways and other times in...well, ways that leave you with a bruise or two. Let's talk about my escapades in the Surrender classes first. If yoga were a drug, then Surrender would be my personal brand of heroin. It's a tantalizing blend of stretching, meditation, and, get this, therapy! You heard me right. Imagine lying down, stretching every sore muscle in your body, and then someone telling you how fantastic you are. It's like a massage for your ego. They tell you to love yourself, and as you're soaking in all the positivity, you can't help but smirk and think, "Do I really believe all this yada yada?" Yet, there I am, week after week, absolutely *hooked*. Because let’s face it, even if I roll my eyes, a part of me craves that therapeutic affirmation. Now, juxtapose this with