The gym where even Simone starts to sweat

Whether I could make an hour free on Wednesday at seven to try out the newest high-end gym in Amsterdam. You understand, I wouldn't let that be said to me twice. And so that evening I stepped over the threshold of the brand new Saints & Stars in my sports outfit. Where the copper reception desk still shone with newness in high-gloss black. Where I was warmly welcomed by the hospitable staff with a cup of steaming hot, fresh verbena tea (outside it was of course Siberian cold and my fingers were freezing off) and where I quickly refreshed my bits in the changing rooms with a subtle whiff of Chanel deodorant (Yes, CHANEL for personal use yes) Anyway, all that luxury is wonderful, but I came to work out and was itching to wave at the treadmills. I knew what I was in for. I am a HIIT-er at heart but secretly, secretly I was really struggling a bit in the thirty-minute holy shred training given by pitbull Lea.

We ran our legs off, squatted the light out of our eyes and topped it off with about fifty push-ups because someone decided to stop earlier than desired. And if you think the party was over after those thirty minutes, let me quickly wake you from this dream. With drops on our foreheads and a heart rate of one hundred eighty, we were kindly asked to put on some gloves and move to the next room. Where another thirty minutes of boxing awaited us. But hey, when you hear the beats of none other than the one and only Sidney Samson booming from the room, you forget that fatigue immediately. Thirty minutes later, with trembling little arms, I walked back into the changing room. To refresh my bits again with a whiff of Chanel and to replenish my energy with a tasty protein cocktail. If you're looking for me in the coming months, you know where to find me. At Saints & Stars, around seven o'clock, under the punching bag or next to the treadmill....