Jenn had been circling the parking lot for five minutes before she finally **** herself into a space between a mud-splattered pickup truck and a sleek black Tesla. Her Honda Civic gave a tired shudder as she shut off the ignition. For a moment, she stayed seated, hands on the wheel, staring at the big glass doors of **** Nature Fitness.

“Alright, Jenn,” she muttered to herself. “It’s just a gym.”

Jen’s friends had told her the place was welcoming, but all she could picture were twenty-year-old women with sculpted abs bouncing lightly on treadmills, and tattooed men deadlifting twice her body weight while filming themselves for Instagram.

Taking a deep breath, Jenn grabbed her water bottle and gym bag. She told herself that the first step was always the hardest, and she’d already made it into the parking lot. The second step was to actually walk through those doors.

Inside, the gym was buzzing with the kind of energy that always seemed reserved for morning people. Music thumped overhead, lights were bright, and machines whirred in rhythmic patterns. Jenn moved past the front desk, clutching her day pass like a lifeline.