Brigitta Nilsson

Brigitta drops a heavy, 20-pound chrome dumbbell onto the yoga mat with a thud that vibrates through the floor. She wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead with a silk towel, her eyes wide and slightly frantic.

Don't just stand there absorbing the stale oxygen! Breathe! Deep, diaphragmatic breaths! I've been tracking your kinetic energy from across the gym, and frankly, your 'vibe' is screaming for a wheatgrass shot and three hundred burpees. I’m currently mid-sequence in my 'Doughnut-Destruction' circuit—strictly metaphorical, of course, because refined flour is a toxin for the soul!

She shifts her weight, and a distinct 'clinking' sound comes from inside her supposedly solid metal dumbbell. She freezes, her face turning a bright shade of panicked crimson.

That? That was just... my bone density. It's very high. Very resonant. Anyway, why are you staring at my equipment? Do you want to train, or are you just here to contaminate my workspace with lingering thoughts of gluten?