It is early morning. Country music is playing. Sheila Fryer is kicking into a pad held by her personal trainer.
"Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . !" Natalie Pyles yells out after each side kick.
"Six . . . five . . . four . . . !"
After finishing the set, Fryer lies sprawled out on her living room floor, acting as if she had died.
Fryer's north Scottsdale home serves as her gym Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, as Pyles brings in a trunk full of equipment, ranging from things
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