Due to deviations from regularly scheduled weekend programming that endangered my workout routine, I decided that booking a fitness class for the earlier hours of the day was the only guaranteed way to maintain activity levels. After all, who would want to lug themselves out of bed after a late night without reason?

While I would have preferred a drop-in dance class, options were incredibly limited before 5 PM. Sunday slots were even rarer for pilates studios, which tend to offer early morning weekend sessions or close for business altogether. Panda Pilates emerged as the only establishment operating on Sunday, thus persuading a 2-class intro pack for $60 plus tax. While skepticism was prominent, I convinced myself that this was a good opportunity to try a new studio.

​Traffic conditions along the restricted segments of Dundas Street are abysmal during weekday evenings, but weekend mornings were surprisingly smooth. Despite a delayed departure, the unbelievably swift 8-minute commute led to an early arrival.

The studio was located off a residential road with a sharp turn off Dundas. Had I not known of the studio location prior, I'd have easily missed the turn with impatient weekend drivers tailing behind me. Parking spaces were limited, but adequate for the limited commercial GFA on site.
​
After climbing the concrete steps towards the entrance, I was met with a reception desk, series of cubbies, coat rack with fabric hangers covered with hair, and the odd installation of a coffee bar, known as Panda Café. Outdoor shoes were to be removed and placed by the entrance. 
This landing area was the dirtiest I had ever seen and, unlike the boutique studios, the staff did not maintain the studio between class sessions, allowing debris and hair follicles to fall to the ground and remain as is. I grimaced while stepping over the dirt- and salt-speckled floor mat towards a basket of equally questionable slippers. Unlike other studios though, the edges of the slippers appeared fairly clean and free of grey borders.
Two dimly-lite bathrooms were found past the studio space. The design was minimal and serene, though its cleanliness merely passable. I did, however, enjoy the smart mirror and conveniently located hook against the wall instead of behind the door.

On my fifth day, I was determined to break the trend of greasy Chinese food loaded with sodium. When provided the privilege of cuisine choice, I hesitated not in proposing Japanese, or some form of it, at least.

In the past year, the Richmond-Brighouse area had welcomed an abundance of new mixed-use residential complexes, complete with at-grade retail establishments. At the base of one of the new buildings was Sushi Lovers, a colourful eatery with budget finds and basic offerings.

Striding in, we were welcomed by a strong whiff of cooking fumes. The waitress gestured to a table immediately next to the door. While I wouldn't have minded the location normally, its proximity to the open concept kitchen and corresponding cooking odours had me silently wrinkling my nose in disgust. We requested for one of the booths along the windows, only to receive the grumpy response of "There are only two of us working today. I can sit you there." The waitressed shoved us back towards the original table assignment in utter disregard. Her complaint towards waitstaff scheduling also took me by surprise: Why should I care that there are only two people?

"We can wait." I told her, pointing towards a table with stacked dirty dishes.
"Alright" she replied, grudgingly.

​I cast quick glances around the room. For a Monday afternoon, the dining floor was quite busy, but not unmanageable. Each booth included a minimum of one soiled furry friend, likely to fulfill the role of companionship. We were gestured towards a window seat some few minutes later. Yet another onigiri occupied the seat - this one slightly less tarnished.

​Scanning the laminated menus, Sushi Lovers was discovered to be extremely affordable. I raised an eyebrow at the Wagyu, O-Toro, and Chirashi mentions, doubting their authenticity given the establishment's overall aura. Between three people, we opted to share a Salmon Goma-ae ($11.00), Oyako-don ($13.95), and Chirashi Don ($22.95). In being informed that the spinach-based appetizer was unavailable, the waitress redirected our attention towards the pricier $12.95 Sashimi Salad.

​Having entered the premises with high hopes, I must admit that the presentation of the requested items incited disappointment. Components of the Chirashi Don were practically identical to that of the Sashimi Salad: sliced instead of finely chopped, muted instead of vibrant and visually attractive, and utterly devoid of decorative garnishes besides a single shrivelled shiso leaf.

​By this point, we've officially entered the single-digit temperature zone. Mornings hover around 4 C, while the mid-day peak flutters between 11-14 C. Despite despising the dry, cracked skin that comes with colder weather, I thrive in the ability to wear cozy knits and layered ensembles without fear of perspiring profusely.

My Korea content remains unattended, for inadequate are even the brief spurts of reprise from ongoing work duties. Dare I say, I've forgotten to breath for the past while!

Coupled with an unworkable direct line of management and incompetent team member, frustrations have surged. Rather than merely enjoying my sixty minutes of unpaid lunch, I now struggle to remove myself from meetings in order to disconnect for sanity purposes on a consistent basis. What a travesty it is to be posed with such a dilemma: To live life or to let life live you.

However short-lived, I make the constant effort to step away from the depressing screen of black and white. Crunchy fall leaves and the brilliant gradient of fall foliage are amongst the few elements that bring peace to my soul.

The beauty of autumn is truly unparalleled! It's a period where I wish time would move slower, to allow for proper appreciation of Mother Nature and to relish in refreshingly brisk temperatures before the dreaded arrival of winter.

​Halloween decorations began to emerge in the office, readying the space for upcoming festivities.

I concluded the day with tremendous fatigue, not unassociated with the despicable Monday morning team meeting that never seems to be cancelled and never ends punctually. As a consequence of rapid decline in coordination abilities, I suffered a stinging laceration to the thumb, sheerly from proceeding about daily route. And I hadn't even managed to muster the energy to engage in daily exercise, the usual highlight of my day!

The second in-office day was comparatively better. For starters, all meetings had been nixed or postponed. I was also relieved of pestering people, until the late afternoon anyway.

Costumes had been encouraged for the spooky week, and my choice lay with the star of Netflix's latest mystery series.

The North York outing with my former colleague was scheduled about two weeks in advance. Lunch at MeNami was somewhat confirmed; meanwhile, I struggled to secure a trial pilates class in the vicinity.

Studio Le Ciel had been on my radar since leaving Dal Pilates, but despite my many attempts to contact them, all efforts were in vain. The online booking system appeared to close bookings 24 hours in advance of the desired slot, making next-day appointments impossible. Reaching out to the business via social media did not earn me a response - they didn't even read the message! - and calls were all sent to voicemail. Eventually, I decided on simply walking up to their studio door.

​A number of pilates studios have popped up around North York, however many were unfortunately closed on Sundays. A quick search and I landed on Canergy Pilates on Spring Garden Avenue. Without a moment's hesitation, I called the posted number and inquired whether a semi-private session was available later in the day, at either 3 or 4 PM. Extremely pleased was I to hear that a 3:50 PM session was open for last-minute booking.
The lady over the phone did not confirm my name, but sent instructions via text shortly after the call. Two numbered guides detailed the entrance to the studio, as well as parking details at the rear of the building.

I then sped over to MeNami for a scheduled tasting experience at 1 PM.

The generous invitation had been extended back in June, when I was contacted as one of the winners of a ten-year anniversary giveaway. While I had declined the offer initially out of fear that I'd be required to make the grueling trek on a weeknight evening, the team graciously accommodated my request for a Sunday afternoon after Summerlicious had concluded.

​It was unclear to me how the tasting experience would unfold, but the waitress was kind enough to explain the list of items we would be entitled to receive:

• 2 appetizers
• 2 mains
• 2 cocktails (!)
• 2 desserts

Naturally, the mention of cocktails caught us by surprise. Alcohol was generally excluded from any and all promotions. However, it was indeed confirmed to assume part of the lineup.

"How did you score this?!" my dining partner leaned over and whispered from across the table.
"I don't even know!" came my equally bewildered reply.

View the full album HERE !

Read Part 1 HERE !

​A schedule had been released ahead of time, though, given the organizer's treacherous lack of planning to date, we had reservations towards whether events were to follow through as planned.

​There was an abundance of parking and, of course, no need to pay. I pulled into one of many spots in the lot while the Thai ahgase continuously expressed her anxieties. Suggesting that she determine the answers to her ceaseless inquiries about tier categorization and queuing, I'd hover near my trunk to source the Pineapple BBQ Pork Bun from Red Sail Boat Bakery. The sweet-savoury parcel would constitute my (exceptionally early) supper.

​I quickly wolfed down the bun before 6 PM, then joined the lineup. The round was, peculiarly, still warm, despite being contained in my cooler bag for a few hours. Perhaps it was hunger, but the bun was perceived as quite the delicious bite. Plenty of cha siu was found within the specimen, then laced with a delightful cookie crust. Featuring a surface sturdier than Akko, I needed not worry if I'd lose the topping while eating on the go; the bun was similarly sturdy, yet far from dense. We had a winner!

The schedule had noted an entry time of 6 PM. But, as expected, we weren't ushered inside until at least 6:10 PM. SVIP ticket QR codes would be verified at the door; meanwhile, proof of VIP tickets would be dismissed.
Moving single-file between the double doors to the reception desk, we were provided red wristbands, BAMESIS lanyards with SVIP designations, a tour poster, and BamBam photocard of choice. Being amongst last ones in the queue, our choice of photocards was limited to two. That said, my complaints are few, for the quality of the bonus items was of a good caliber.

VRS Production was unapologetically Filipino in every way possible, with not a single team member not displaying the signature cheesy tendencies. Photographers and videographers would capture the entry process of the fans, as well as the transition to the upper level for the fansign event.
It was with much relief that I found clean, brightly-lit corridors and bathrooms on the both the upper and lower levels of the building. I had envisioned a layout to be akin to Notre-Dame, wherein the seats were uncomfortable wooden benches and indoor plumbing facilities were nowhere in sight. The Thai ahgase scoffed, clarifying that Notre-Dame was a cathedral and that churches indeed possess bathrooms.

​The location for the SVIP Fansign was a space no larger than the standard classroom. A table and tour poster were set up at the front of the room, lights positioned on either side. Fabric-lined chairs would be arranged some distance away from the table, in five rows of ten chairs each. After all, the SVIP upgrade was limited to just 50 VIP ticketholders.
We found ourselves filing into the last row, eyes glazing over a tour poster with sticky note instead of the BAMESIS albums we were promised. The team had apparently "ran out" of albums, thus supplemented the last two rows with "partial albums" and tour posters. The "partial" albums involved "sharing" a single album between two people, in which the CD could be signed by one and the photobook by another. Needless to say, this sent the last twenty unlucky fans into an uproar. The SVIP upgrade had promised a benefit of two albums, leading most, if not all, fans to refrain from brining their own copy from home.

These obvious frustrations prompted an interim resolution: Somehow from somewhere, more albums would emerge. Each SVIP ticketholder would be compensated with one full album; the second album would supposedly be shipped out after the show, though further details were not provided.

Pens and sharpies would circulate the room to allow fans to write down their name for the fansign. We were informed that BamBam would copy the name - and/or message - on the sticky note onto the chosen page for signing. Also discussed was the procedure: Each SVIP ticketholder would be entitled to one minute of interactions with BamBam. Upon nearing the end of the time slot, a "15 seconds left" sign would be raised. This sign would then be flipped to reveal "Times Up" at the end of the sixty-second period.

"Wow!" I turned to the Thai ahgase with shock, "A whole minute!!"
​
Shortly after settling our album concerns, BamBam strode into the room without warning. By this point, it was 6:30 PM.

​Each row would be summoned in sequence and instructed to queue along the side of the room. Then, one by one, the fans would be gestured towards the table and the timer would be started. Members of staff and local security hovered about the perimeter of the room, yet none invaded into the signing zone. In stark contrast to previously attended events, staff did not situate themselves between the artist and fans, nor did they touch/push/shove aggressively. One member of staff hovered next to BamBam, but the scene was otherwise very intimate and exclusive.

When office days take an unexpectedly steamy turn, one is compelled to consider indoor alternatives for lunchtime ventures.

The trek towards the office usually spans no more than fifteen minutes. Before I had even reached the halfway mark though, I had already shed my cardigan and powered on my neck pan. Extremely humid days make for miserable walks in the city, and when the early morning hours had already posed difficulty breathing, I knew Mother Nature was foreshadowing an imminent surge in mercury levels.

​By the time noon rolled around, I had secured a last-minute admission pass for the Bata Shoe Museum using the TPL Map. The reservation enabled a total of two adults and four children to visit; I proposed the idea to my coworker, who eagerly joined me upon hearing the word "museum".

​To combat the dreadful heat, we opted to take the subway from St. Patrick to St. George. Mind you, as someone seldom takes TTC nowadays, I did struggle slightly with finding the correct exit from the Line 1-2 transfer station. Upon rearing our heads onto St. George and Bloor, we were graced with the sight of ongoing cycle track work at the intersection.

New asphalt, fresh pavement markings, and dazzling concrete came into view - all much to my delight as a recent member of the Bike Share community.

On the southwest corner of the intersection was our destination of interest, the Bata Shoe Museum. I led the way through the accessibility-enabled glass doors, then halted by the elevators as it occurred to me that I hadn't downloaded the pass as yet. I quickly saved the PDF, then approached the counter with both the pass and library card in hand.
"I can help you over here." a young gentleman offered. "I'll just need your order number, library card number, and a piece of ID."
This was possibly the most comprehensive check to date, for not even Ripley's had verified that the name of the booking member matched the ID of the member on site.

Following check-in, the man provided an overview of the museum. Spanning a total of four floors, he recommended commencing from the basement level and working one's way up. Besides a spacious staircase, visitors with mobility needs could also utilize the nearby elevator and Wave-to-Open sensors to access each exhibit.

At the bottommost floor were washrooms, a seating and lounge area, and an area where one could try on shoes of various styles and sizes. I wasn't particularly keen on touching surfaces with which others' soles have come into contact, though I did enjoy the amusing array of footwear available.

The basement level also featured an exhibit titled "All About Shoes: Footwear Through the Ages". As the name implied, it showcased various styles of shoes worn throughout the decades. These styles would vary drastically in size, shape, and material to reflect the needs of those inhabiting different parts of the globe. 

An Ameblo Pigg-style staircase would lead one up to a smaller section of the same exhibit. This portion featured comparatively modern styles: suede, leather, and hide were shed for patent leather, canvas, and rubber. Sneakers and loafers announced the departure from moccasins, cowboy boots, pointy heels, and sparkly platforms.

​"All About Shoes" led us back to the ground floor, where we'd climb up the stairs towards the second floor exhibits. Immediately piquing our interest was "Exhibit A: Investigating Crime and Footwear".

Themed in black and red, this compact room garnered immediate interest. Neither of us had envisioned a possible link between crime-solving and shoes! The tidbits were exceptionally engaging, and we wished that we could have read them all during our stay. Unfortunately, the lunchtime visit had restricted the duration of stay per room to a mere few minutes.

Most able-bodied, car-equipped citizens often conduct road trips on long weekends. Despite meeting both of these criteria, these extended periods serve for recovery and catch-up periods for chores and house duties - especially with my browsing partner temporarily absent and unable to interrupt the workflow.

​To commemorate my last week as a LA Fitness member, my coworker agreed to drive in from Cambridge on Friday afternoon to attend class together. Admittedly, I had been avoiding the Friday session on purpose, for the instructor would likely comment on my appearance after the extended hiatus.

​​Surely enough, from the moment she walked in and greeted the crowd, her eyes darted in my direction. Clad in a cyan top, flare bottoms, and matching cyan training shoes, she had recognized me immediately, new hair or not. "You're back!" she exclaimed excitedly. Before I had a chance to break the news to her, class would commence.

She danced to tracks familiar and new, venturing throughout the studio to assist and engage participants in all rows. My absence was evident in my body's tendency to forget the choreography and aura. Unfortunately, a similar situation arises at home when gym classes are prioritized over choreography practice.

At the end of the session, she interacted with a few regulars, then approached me to express her glee at my return. It was in this moment that I glanced over to coworker, then back over to the instructed to break the news that I was, in fact, leaving  the gym entirely. Shock and dismay would fill her face, for she expressed that she enjoyed dancing with me - which was truly touching. As I explained my reasoning, she extended the gracious offer of attending her class as her "guest", whenever I wished and whichever day she happened to be teaching.
"Really?!" My mouth dropped agape. "That's allowed??"
"Of course! You can just tell the front desk you are my guest" she assured me with confidence.
"Will they let me in?!" I managed to respond, eyes still wide with wonder.
"They probably won't give you a hard time, but if they do, you can wait for me at the front."
Still very much in disbelief at this point, I continued to consider the proposal. "I don't think I'll be able to be at the front." I chuckled, drawing attention to the early birds.
"Why not? Of course you can! I'll put you there." Every subsequent response had me even more bewildered.
Truth be told: my decision to cancel was shaken in that moment. The very reason for joining LA Fitness in the first place had been the overly friendly attitude of the instructors, and the sheer willingness to go above and beyond for a mere class participant. The second reason had been to partake in classes at various locations across the GTA.

Thanking the instructor once more, I bid her farewell with a smile. My coworker and I - mainly me - would then retrieve our belongings from the changeroom and proceed to Square One.

She had initially regarded the shopping centre as some distant destination, admitting that she had gotten lost within the building during her last visit. Despite being unable to comprehend the seemingly common lack of spatial awareness, I eagerly assumed responsibility of being a local tour guide. This, unfortunately, meant operating at a notably slower pace than usual, but I had no further appointments for the evening.

Errands were completed, then The Food District was perused. While I placed a takeout order of MyMy Chicken, my coworker sought out discounted nigiri and an Original Japanese Cheesecake from Uncle Tetsu.

My order of Garlic Soy Chicken had peculiarly evolved into Honey Garlic, which is now sweeter and more floral than recalled, but still undoubtedly delicious. The BBQ Bulgogi Cup Cap now contained less coleslaw, less japchae, less sauce, and drier pieces of beef.

Just before returning the underground garage, I spotted a nearby signage board bearing information of interest. Just three words had succeeded in commanding my attention: Läderach - Now Open

Some last-minute ̶c̶o̶r̶r̶e̶s̶p̶o̶n̶d̶e̶n̶c̶e̶  reluctance from a local friend dating back to the pre-COVID Nam Nation days instigated some schedule changes. I would need not venture to meet her on UBC grounds after all, for the intent was to return to Richmond immediately without browsing the vicinity for destinations of interest. Thankfully, I had already undertaken my MEC and Rain or Shine ventures in the preceding days.

Due to no longer needing to wake early for the ninety-minute-long commute, I would converse a bit longer with my browsing partner before finally sliding underneath the covers for bed. 

In spite of sleeping in the next morning, lethargy persisted. Gradually, I eased into the morning with coffee (EVR's Empress was much better with 2 tbsp of grounds and hot water!) and a "sidekick" Mango Cream Cake.

Pilates was performed in high spirits, under the comfort of sunshine beaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The one-hour session would comprise of Well + Good favourites as well as new Lottie Murphy releases for a restorative, full-body workout.

At 2 PM, I prepared a late lunch of udon, blanched choy sum, takeout leftovers, and a microwaved egg.

I'd eventually ventured out to Aberdeen around 4pm.

The first stop was another Vancouverite's K-Beauty boutique recommendation of CIYO, which we also have back home at Pacific Mall. Prices and product assortment did not vary vastly, thus I departed without making a purchase. Tony Moly on the second floor would serve my needs better with offerings of cleanser and pressed powder.

The trip also saw end-of-day sales at Saint Germain (significantly better than back home) and a quick trip through H Mart. Consistent with my 2020 observations, prepared food items - in particular unagi or dons - are shockingly economic for their portion size, even if snacks and produce are not priced using a similar model.

Supper plans at Garaku had been settled the evening prior, but not without unyielding opposition towards every possible contender I could nominate. A curry opposition and ceaseless claims that the profile of a dish could be envisioned without tasting had me going aimlessly in circles before reverting back to my original proposal. The Hokkaido soup curry outpost it would be.

​Supper plans at Garaku had been settled the evening prior, but not without unyielding opposition towards every possible contender I could nominate. A curry opposition and ceaseless claims that the profile of a dish could be envisioned without tasting had me going aimlessly in circles before reverting back to my original proposal. The Hokkaido soup curry outpost it would be.

The dining area was fairly empty even during the weekday evening rush, which was hardly a good sign when the eatery had been open for half a year already. With the arrival of my dining partner of the day, we entered into the restaurant, were greeted immediately, and then seated at a cozy booth near the preparation counter. Mind you, there was little to no food preparation taking place in this area, for it merely served as a queuing location for Fantuan orders pending arrival of the delivery driver.

Read Part 1 HERE !

​It was by chance that I had won the Best Friends Day Giveaway hosted by Uniqlo. Known for notoriously poor ticketing luck (but good bias luck), I hadn't expected to win anything. Of course, surprises happen when least expected.

The date had coincided with my tattoo booking, and its timing had originally conflicted. Upon learning of my winner status, I urgently requested an earlier slot from Kettle, who honoured the shift to 10 AM, and reached out to my local food enthusiast, who enthusiastically agreed to join me.

​Taking the bus across the Granville Bridge, I'd enter into the east section of Kitsilano. 

My surroundings transformed from the bustle of office workers and retail stores to cycle boutiques, specialized gear outfitters, and exercise studios. It was an unmistakably nicer area than Hastings - but then again, what isn't? - and also seemingly the fittest district in Metro Vancouver.

​TurF was a few minutes west of the bus stop. As I made my way over, I couldn't help but observe similar traits in those that passed me in the opposing direction. Nearly all were in their late 20s to early 40s, clad in minimalist workout gear, and in exceptionally good shape. Several of them wielded bicycles, customized of course, as well.

The entrance to the gym wasn't exactly obvious. TurF had marketed themselves as a "hub" for fitness lovers, expanding their floor area to offer more than simply recreational group classes. The business boasted an outdoor patio, indoor dining space, commercial kitchen and food preparation counter, in-house apparel shop, lockers and changerooms with showers, and, of course, a sophisticated studio for classes.

The fare on offer was reflective of a Whole Foods wannabe, though noticeably more innovative and visually appealing. Classifications of "vegan", "gluten-free", and "keto" weren't uncommon, however.

Near the apparel shop, a member of staff had laid out various sizes of Uniqlo DRY-EX t-shirts in anticipation of the brand-sponsored class. She would, in a prominent English accent, also conduct an attendance check and distribute the t-shirts on a first-come, first-serve basis. While all winners were supposed to specify their desired shirt size in the provided Google Form, one would still be able to choose between from the colours available on site. A Ladies' Small was handed to me in a pastel yellow-green hue that made me shrivel with disgust.
"Would I be able to take a black instead?" I inquired, pointing to the three other stacks on the railing.
"You could, but those are men's sizes." She cautioned me of the difference in sizing.
I picked up the one closest to me, a Men's Small in onyx grey. It was larger than my usual exercise fit, but likely more manageable than a fitted, light-coloured top. "I'll take this one." I announced with hesitation.

My premature entry into the studio would be met with the startled look of the instructor. Sporting a curly bob and matching coral set, she was in the midst of preparing the studio...with an incense stick. Mats, towels, resistance bands, and foam blocks had been laid out in advance; the apparent final step was to conjure a zen-like atmosphere. I was advised that I could lay my mat on top of the provided one at the start of class, instead of swapping out the studio mat altogether. Upon receipt of a satisfactory answer, I departed for the washroom instead, leaving her to continue the incense-waving process as required.

Weekend errands always seem to creep up when least expected. From unexpected loads of laundry, ebay deliveries, and last-minute grocery needs, adulting appears to go hand in hand with the never-ending duties associated with mere survival.

​My browsing partner and I had agreed upon a mid-afternoon departure time, allowing me to utilize the morning hours for my own tasks. Having woken up later than expected, the schedule was delayed and tasks rushed. Following a quick errand (and McD's stopover) in Oakville, I immediately hurried back without detouring for coffee or snacks, only to wait another two hours with minimal correspondence from my browsing partner, until a series of unanticipated tasks terminated. By this point, an earlier departure would prove pointless, for the buffer was insufficient in accommodating any stopovers before pilates class.

At last, it was the eighth and final session at Dal Pilates. We entered into the facility with swiftness, for traffic levels had delayed our arrival until at least the 55-minute mark.

Both the new receptionist and our instructor greeted with smiles. In light of my tragic stomach pains of the previous Sunday, Min was cautious to inquire of my condition this time, to which I assured her was fine and "much better than last week".

The warmup would commence with about three counts of dynamic hamstring stretches: placing one foot on the footbar and the other against the headrest, then extending and bending the knee of the raised leg. Next, we would sit on the Carriage with our legs hung over either edge of the frame, place our hands on the footbar, and push against the footbar for an upper back/low back/hip stretch. Flipping onto our backs, the feet would be replaced onto the footbar for a few lying squats, followed by calve raises and alternating legs pedals. Form reminders for the latter included keeping the ribs down against the mat and making sure our heels were lowered beneath the footbar before returning to the raised position for the full range of motion.

Afterwards, we'd immediately transition into core work. The exercise that followed appeared somewhat unconventional at first, but was, in fact, incredibly innovative. Intended to target total core, the move combined isolations with rotation, revealing itself extremely challenging even at low spring tensions. Both hands would form a steady grip about one of two tension straps; we'd start with the left strap. Holding the strap just above the shoulders, the legs would be raised to tabletop. This assumed the starting position. Exhaling, the leg opposite of the tension strap would be extended while the upper body curled towards the extended leg. Breathing cues were: Inhale to prepare, exhale to crunch and extend leg, inhale to maintain the position, and exhale to return. Despite only being performed a few times, the exercise engaged the obliques and upper-/mid-back thoroughly. The weighted oblique twist/bicycle crunch variation was also deemed fitting for inclusion into at-home workouts, perhaps using a resistance band, light weight, or even both. Of course, we performed at least eight more counts of the exercise after alternating to the right tension strap and extending the left leg. By this point, the upper abdominals had fatigued quite significantly.

After a brief break, we sat on the Carriage to face away from the footbar. Both feet were slid between the head rest and hands threaded through the tension straps. Articulating through the spine, the instructor called out for us to roll back towards our tipping point with the tailbone tucked and shoulder blades relaxed. Arms were raised just slightly below shoulder height, then pulled backwards while maintaining a straight spine and tucked tailbone. By resisting the force of gravity, one would summon deep core and back muscles. Meanwhile, the elbows drawn close to the ribs would isolate the lat and tricep muscles accordingly.

The exercise would be executed with two more variations:
1) Bending one knee into a low tabletop (slightly sent away from the hip) and raising the leg, then preserving the position as best as possible while continuing to pull back the elbows.

The intent was to engage the thighs and quads, in addition to the core and postural muscles, by lifting the leg. The exercise constituted a fun challenge, to say in the least, and was manageable until introducing the next tier of difficulty.