A Fitness Farm For The Stout Of HeartLinda Himelstein
I should have known I was in for a life-altering experience when the Franklin Quest Institute of Fitness (FQIF) suggested that I bring sterilized needles for popping blisters and moleskins for dressing them. This unsettling bit of advice for my weeklong stay came on top of unsavory stories I had heard about FQIF being mistaken by locals for an insane asylum rather than a fitness camp. Then there was the tale of former guests who were driven to petty crime by the institute's strict dietary rules: They were arrested for shoplifting chocolate.
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