Saturday afternoon found me reminiscing on the blur that was my early twenties: I hunted for parking around South Beach for about twenty minutes, touched up my makeup in the car, and stood in line on Washington Avenue to get into the hottest party. This time, however, it was the Vixen Workout that was holding a line to rival that of any tourist trap on the beach. And the twerking was in full force, as expected. My early twenties may be a distant memory, but I was able to channel all my cheer/dance/club girl days to get through one of the most intense workouts I’ve had in a while. Read on for tips on how to survive your first Vixen experience.
