"Quit fearing everything!" barks Aaron, my favorite trainer. It's 7 a.m., and I'm trying to conquer this 4-foot-high sit-ups contraption.
With both ankles hooked into holsters and my butt cheeks firmly planted on a shiny black cushion, I'm afraid to lean back onto nothing. So, I sit paralyzed, arms crisscrossed over my chest like a dead person, with Aaron staring at me.