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It’s unseasonably windy as I’m perched on the corner of 3rd Avenue and Fillmore Street. A woman in a blue nylon sweatsuit is the only other witness to the unmanned white vehicle that whips around the corner. Adorned with my initials — “AB” — on a display mounted to the roof, the car chimes “Hello Abigail” as I swing open the door and step into my autonomous vehicle.
Weights slamming. Treadmills purring. EDM blaring from headphones. A man making intimate eye contact with himself in the mirror. And you, entering the Sun Devil Fitness Complex, promising yourself that this will be the year your exercise routine will finally stick.
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