The first practice was chaos. Forty-nine women (one dropped out due to a PTA emergency—ironic) tried to learn a routine to Lizzo’s “Juice.” Diaphragms weakened by childbirth struggled to hold the high notes. Knees that had done a thousand squats while holding a fussy toddler popped audibly.
And then, the curtain parted.
“Again!” Jenna yelled, sweat beading on her upper lip. “Lisa, you’re thinking about your son’s college applications. Stop it. Feel the beat.” 50 milfs