People hate Jake Paul. He is the walking personification of a Reddit board: a cocky, belligerent white boy who loves to troll as much as he loves to use mental health issues as marketing. His transition from YouTube provocateur to "serious" "boxer" has been built on the calculated decision to fight washed-up black athletes. It’s smart; boxing has always thrived when catering to the public imagination around race war. The desire to see Paul get knocked out by one of the faded avatars of black masculinity he sets himself against explains much of the draw of his fights. His savvy protection of that appeal explains why he only fights people he can comfortably beat with his young legs and just-about-competent skills.

When it was first announced that Paul planned to fight a 58-year-old Mike Tyson, the initial response was one of widespread incredulousness. Over time, people seemed to convince themselves that somehow a geriatric Tyson could be the one to finally put Jake Paul “in his place,” whatever that might mean. It always made sense why Paul would want to fight an old Mike Tyson. But what exactly was in it for Tyson? Money, surely, but that can’t be the only reason. This is a man in his late 50s, who’d been mostly retired since the early 2000s. The people who got suckered into caring about this fight didn't want to see that reality, transposing instead an image of the Mike Tyson of yore, maybe older and slower in some vague way, but still in possession of the exhilarating, terrifying power and violence that made him a legend. On some level, maybe Tyson wanted to see that too.

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When I was teaching indoor cycling every week, an unexpected benefit of the gig was free ice cream. One of the class regulars had an ice-cream machine at home and sometimes brought samples for me to try, in flavors such as pumpkin and pistachio. I think he did this not only because he was a nice person but also because in class, I was the nicest version of myself: warm, welcoming, and encouraging to the point of profound corniness, despite my usual caustic tendencies.

I noticed this friendliness in others too. Two people who met in my class started dating. Strangers who became friends there went out for post-workout coffees. Two of the other class regulars invited me to go skiing with them. Many of the good friends I have at age 35 are people I met in exercise classes I attended regularly. These experiences have convinced me that group fitness classes are the best place to make friends as an adult—an idea supported by research that suggests that the glow of exercise’s feel-good chemicals has interpersonal benefits.

Once, countless friendships were born in what the sociologist Ray Oldenburg called “third places”: physical spaces that aren’t a home or a workplace, don’t charge (much) for entry, and exist in large part to foster conversation. Over the past several decades, though—and especially as a result of the pandemic—third places such as bars and cafés have begun playing a much smaller role in social life, depriving American adults of opportunities for chance encounters that can lead to friendships. Perhaps that’s partly why Americans rank improving their relationships among their top New Year’s resolutions.

Group fitness classes don’t exactly fit the definition of a third place: They cost money, and the primary activities within them are sweating, grunting, and skipping a few reps when the instructor isn’t looking. But they fulfill many conditions that social-psychology research has repeatedly shown to help forge meaningful connections between strangers: proximity (being in the same place), ritual (at the same time, over and over), accumulation (for many hours), and shared experiences or interests (because you do and like the same things).

[From the December 2019 issue: I joined a stationary-biker gang]

Sussing out shared interests can be horribly awkward when you meet someone new at work or even at a party. Group fitness classes make it a little easier, Stephanie Roth Goldberg, an athlete psychotherapist in New York, told me. “Automatically, when you walk into a fitness class, you likely are sharing the idea that ‘We like to exercise,’ or ‘We like to do this particular kind of exercise,’” she said. “It breaks the ice differently than standing in a bar or at someone’s house.” Of course, breaking the ice still requires someone to say something, which, if you’re sweaty and huffing, is frankly terrifying. Whether I’m an instructor or a classmate, one simple tactic has never failed me: I simply walk up to someone after class and say, “Hey, good job!”

Proximity, ritual, and accumulation all require a certain amount of time, which can be hard to come by in a country that requires and rewards long hours at work. But you’re already making time for exercise class, and it provides those conditions; benefitting from them mostly requires acknowledging that you’ve already set yourself up for friendship. Danielle Friedman, a journalist and the author of Let’s Get Physical, told me that breaking through what she calls the “social code of anonymity” is key to making friends. “If you’ve been going to the same class for a while and start seeing the same people, don’t pretend like you’ve never interacted before,” she said.

That kind of friendliness requires adopting the clichéd feel-goodery inherent in many group fitness classes. In my spin classes, I’d cringe whenever I caught myself doling out motivational platitudes—mostly “We’re all in this together!” because I needed the reminder too, as I tried to talk and spin at the same time. Inevitably, though, someone would “Woo!” in response and reenergize the whole room. I’d load up my playlists with high-tempo remixes of early-aughts Top 40 hits and catch people singing along. One of my favorite instructors in a class I attended regularly instituted “Fun Friday,” when we’d warm up by doing silly little relay races or grade-school-style games; my blood ran cold the first time she told us to partner up for this cheesefest, but I had a blast. Everyone did.

In a world that prizes ironic detachment, embracing such earnest silliness can feel deeply uncomfortable. But—and you might as well get used to hearing this kind of phrase now, if you’re going to start attending classes—you just have to push through. “When you’re sweating, feeling a little out of control of your physical self, whooping and yelling, there’s a vulnerability,” Friedman said. “If you buy in, then you’ve shared something. There aren’t that many contexts as adults where you have that opportunity to be vulnerable together.”

[Read: Why making friends in midlife is so hard]

A room full of grown adults flailing, shouting, and running miles without ever going anywhere is a fundamentally ridiculous prospect. Ridiculous things, however, play a crucial role in connecting with others: They make us laugh. Studies show that laughing with others facilitates social connection by helping us feel that we have more in common. The “happy hormones” released during exercise—endorphins, dopamine, and serotonin—are also associated with bonding. In particular, exercising in sync with others promotes close relationships.

Even if you don’t find your next best friend at Zumba, getting into a fitness habit of some kind might help you meet people and make friends in other spaces. “The more that people can step out of their comfort zone in one setting, the less intimidating it is to do in other settings,” Goldberg said. Perhaps you’ll even become the version of yourself who inspires people to bring you homemade ice cream. Win-win.

Fans of the famous TikTok food critic claim they saw a “worm” in a piece of nigiri from one of Lee’s videos

Fob Sushi Bar’s Seattle metro area locations have temporarily closed citing recent food safety concerns after fans of popular food TikTok personality Keith Lee alleged that they saw something moving in a recent video of the Lee’s visit to a Fob location in Seattle.

The popular online food reviewer known for critiquing restaurants from his car hit the Emerald City on one of his trademark surprise food trips and began posting content on Sunday, November 10. The first place he shared was at Fob Sushi Bar, and Lee said it was chosen for a visit because it was one of the most recommended places in town.

“[This is] sushi done in the most unique way I’ve ever seen in my life,” Lee tells the camera in his introduction. He goes on to explain that Fob sells sushi by the pound — Lee picked out $15 worth, grabbing a large box but then only filling up a small portion of it because he has a shellfish allergy (famously, he left SF abruptly after having a reaction). As seen in the video, many of the nigiri and sashimi servings were contaminated by being in close proximity to shellfish. He eats several pieces of sushi, mostly declaring the sushi rice overcooked but the fish good.

What happened next put the restaurant at the mercy of over a million eyeballs. Some folks began to comment claiming they saw something moving on one of the pieces of sushi Lee ate at 1:50 in the video.

Lee’s viewers demanded a statement from Fob Sushi, which responded with a post on Instagram. The restaurant called claims that there was a worm in the piece of fish “false” and added, “[W]e follow strict FDA and HACCP standards to ensure the highest quality and safety in every dish. The movement in the video is due to natural elasticity in the fish—not worms.” The post details at what temperature the fish is stored, and from which suppliers it is acquired, and offers a reminder that the restaurant has never faced any health concerns. King 5 in Seattle dug into it, and found the restaurant was visited by the health inspector in January and that no issues were found.

Lee has since made a response video to the drama saying, “It did appear that something moved,” although he didn’t see it at the time and says he cannot “confirm or deny” what it was. Lee suffered no ill effects but goes on to claim that someone went there on his recommendation the next day and alleges that individual ended up in the hospital.

“For the restaurant to post a statement indicating that me holding the sushi or me holding the chopsticks a certain way is why the sushi moved — I personally don’t agree with it,” Lee said. “Because I’ve had sushi a thousand times, and I’ve held sushi a thousand different ways, and never once have I seen sushi behaving that way.” He goes on to clarify that he is not saying there was a worm or parasite in his food, but that the sushi moving was not his fault.

On Monday, November 18, Fob Sushi addressed its response to the situation in a post to Instagram, announcing that it was closing its locations in Bellevue, where Lee ate, and Seattle “until further notice.” The restaurant said it is conducting a “thorough investigation” into what happened and how to prevent it from happening again.