Miguel Funt rubs it out

Miguel Funt presses his palms into the floor, muscles rippling as he stretches his arms behind his head, the couch looming in the background like a silent witness to every controlled, deliberate move. His bald head gleams under the light as he shifts from planks to squats, hands gripping his knees with the kind of tension that makes every fiber of his body sing. The floor mat stays put while his legs spread wide, fingers tracing the line of his own skin, no hesitation, just the slow, unhurried grind of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.