October 6th 2023

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. My muscles screamed in protest, clearly not having signed up for this two-part morning marathon. Each lift, each squat, felt like a negotiation between my willpower and my body's desperate plea for mercy.

11:45 a.m. Warrior Sculpt with Keelin

By now, exhaustion wasn't just a feeling; it was a personality trait. Yet, I walked into Keelin’s class, armed with nothing but sheer stubbornness. 'Warrior' in the title should've been a clue, but hope springs eternal. Keelin, with her disarming smile, had the audacity to mix yoga with weights. The tranquility of a downward dog juxtaposed with the sheer brutality of a weight lift was a cruel irony. It was as if she was telling me, "Find your inner peace, but also, here's some pain for good measure." The sweat wasn't just from exertion; it was the tears of my muscles weeping.

8:00pm AMP Cycle with Sydney:

Entering Sydney's class, my body was a well of exhaustion, threatening to overflow. Having already dragged myself through three previous classes, every pedal stroke was a battle, every heartbeat a protest. 

The pre-workout jello shots felt less like a boost and more like a cruel joke, masking the weariness only momentarily. The music, louder than ever, became an auditory assault, making me feel even more alienated in a room full of energy.

Amanda, though beside me, felt miles away. We might as well have been in different worlds. 

The class ended, but there was no relief, just an odd blend of numbness and fatigue. A free drink coupon felt more like a consolation prize than a reward. Surrounded by the hum of conversations and laughter, I drowned my exhaustion in gin and tonic, twice. 

Gestures like buying jello shots for everyone weren't about celebration; they were silent cries, attempts at connection, at being noticed or perhaps hiding my true feelings.

Brief conversations did little to bridge the chasm of isolation. Even amidst a crowd, I felt more alone than ever. The weight of external judgments and my own self-doubt pressed down on me, a burden I couldn't shake off.

Here is some unvarnished truth. I'm pushing beyond limits, but not to feel stronger; I'm trying to drown out inner demons, silence the whispers of self-doubt. Every grueling class isn't just physical punishment; it's a reflection of the internal turmoil, a desperate attempt to outrun my insecurities.

This summer's been a crucible, each day melting away a bit more of my resolve. I'm not seeking praise or admiration; I'm in search of peace, a fleeting moment where the weight on my shoulders feels lighter.

And amidst it all, a gnawing question remains: why do I feel so alone in rooms full of people?

All the best,

Fred