You signed on the dotted line, you paid the up-front joining fee and your complimentary microfibre sweat towel has definitely been used by someone else. Congratulations, you’re now on the path to being your best self!
The ripe sweat of men in spaghetti-strap singlets have blurred your senses. That’s not a heart attack, it’s your heart rate perfectly synced to the deafening house music. There’s a personal trainer whose turned into the best friend you didn’t agree too. With their roars of generic encouragement and your need to please authority figures, the perfect specimen starts to take form. Masc 4 Masc anybody?