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After a late lunch, we walk together in a group to the central building, some people having already formed mini friend circles. In room 100, Cindy and Bob each hold an iPad and a stack of papers, discussing something quietly. They look up when we file in, and Bob embodies that intimidating persona again.

"Hey, girls," Cindy greets us with a big smile. "This is the part of the camp where you finally meet your trainer. But to make things more fun, you'll have to work a bit to find them."

That definitely sounds like some scam to get us to exercise more.

Cindy calls out different girls' names and hands them each a sheet of paper. "These are the directions to locate your trainer on the campgrounds. If you follow them exactly, you should have no problem getting to the right place. Good luck, and make sure to enjoy the journey there!"

God, she is so excited about all of this exercise that it makes me want to find the nearest ditch to throw myself into. The plus is, maybe I'll find it on my "journey" to my trainer.

I stand outside the central building, reading that I should keep jogging down the same road we ran earlier, but this time, continue straight until I notice a large wooden sign. Other girls are already speeding off in other directions, just as eager to see exactly who is going to be in charge of their physical tortu—I mean exercise—for the next five weeks.

I begin jogging down the long road, surrounded by trees, trees and surprisingly more trees, Connecticut's most famed attractions. Deeper into my run, I slow my pace to take in the non-green surroundings, growing surprised at the size and caliber of this camp. I expected a dingy facility in an old gym with a crazy lady yelling at us to squat, not a nature resort.

I take a break from jogging, bending over to catch my breath, hands glued to my thighs. I look up and see a large sign off in the distance. I break into a sprint, as I've been looking for this sign from Heaven for the past fifteen minutes.

Once I draw closer to it, I read the words: PRIVATE BEACH ENTRANCE, NEXT LEFT. Sure enough, a view of endless gray-white sand and dark, rocky ocean water comes into view, a cool breeze fanning my face.

But who exactly am I looking for?

I trudge up the uneven ground and answer my own question a few steps later, making out a member of the male species standing a few feet from the shoreline. When I finish dragging myself up the sandy hill, I get a full view of him. His thick hair is a blondish-brown and his eyes are either light brown or hazel, and they glint in the sunlight above him. He's clearly best friends with exercise, muscles thick and defined, ripples of his abs almost peeking through his shirt.

We finally come face to face.

"I guess I made it to the right place," I announce, trying to break the thick ice.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, absorbing every one of the features of my face. While uncomfortable, I can at least confirm that his eyes are, in fact, hazel.

"Good for you," he says. "I'm Axel. You are?"

"Whitney," I say, although I'm sure he already knows my first name. I say the first thing that pops into my mind. "Is your name really Axel? Is your middle name Wheel or something?"

He doesn't seem entertained by my crappy attempt at a physics joke, a frown etched on his lips. "If humor is your style, I'm going to expect better over the next five weeks of being in each other's faces." He walks a bit closer to me, now a foot away, and I smell a perfect combination of sea air and cologne. "I'll start with the obvious. You hate any form of exercise, right?" God yes. "But specifically, exercise in the outdoors?"

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