Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human has acquired two large, soft cubes from a company called "Phoenix Fitness," apparently under the delusion that these are for *her*. The idea is that she rolls them, and the little pictures and numbers dictate some form of ritualized, strenuous flailing they call "exercise." Honestly, watching her attempt a "lunge" is a fine diversion for a dull afternoon. But the real potential here is being wasted on her. These foam blocks are lightweight, perfectly sized for a solid bap-bap-pounce combo, and the soft material means I can really sink my claws in without that unpleasant clattering sound of cheaper plastics. Her "fitness journey" is a footnote; the true purpose of these dice is to serve as premium, portable ambush targets.
Key Features
- PHOENIX FITNESS EXERCISE DICE: Our six-sided fitness dice is great for a full body workout, with a range of exercises to work your back, arms, legs and gets your heart pumping!
- GET FIT WITH FRIENDS & FAMILY: Roll the dice to determine your daily exercise and challenge yourself. Our fitness dice are a great way to get fit with friends and family.
- FOR BEGINNERS TO EXPERTS: Whether you're a professional or just getting started, these dice are perfect for mixing up your routine and pre workout warm-ups! Great for sports coaches, students, and fitness classes.
- FUN EXERCISES: Featuring exercises on one dice and rep counts on the other. Includes jumping jacks, crunches, squats, push ups, walking lunges and a Phoenix Fitness wildcard of your choosing, in reps of 10, 20 & 30, or 30, 60 and 90 seconds.
- SPECIFICATION: Lightweight | Easy Clean | Travel Friendly | Material: Soft Foam | Dimensions: 6.5cm x 6.5cm x 6.5cm (each) | Weight: 36g (each) | Perfect for Gifting | Complimenting Exercise & Fitness Accessories Available
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The human called them her "Exercise Dice." She placed the two foam cubes—one the color of a stormy sky, the other a garish, offensive orange—on the living room rug with a sigh that suggested she was about to do something deeply unpleasant, like clean my litter box. She shook them in her clumsy paws and tossed them. They landed with a soft, unsatisfying thud. The black one showed a little drawing of a figure doing what she called a "Push Up." The orange one showed "10." Then, to my astonishment, she got down on the floor, on my level, and began to press herself against the rug, groaning. It was a pathetic display, a desperate attempt to communicate with the floorboards, perhaps. I watched her bizarre ritual with detached pity. When she finished her ten floor-presses and collapsed in a panting heap, I decided to investigate these strange artifacts myself. The dice smelled faintly of vinyl and human resolve, a truly unappetizing combination. I nudged the black one with my nose. The stick figure wasn't communicating with the floor; it was clearly demonstrating the "Low Stalk," the foundational posture for ambushing a sunbeam. The human had misinterpreted it completely. Her form was all wrong—too much noise, not enough grace. This was no mere toy. It was a codex, a cryptic set of instructions for a higher physical discipline. I nudged the die again, rolling it. It landed on "Jumping Jacks." I glanced at the other die: "30 SECONDS." Of course. A timed challenge of vertical assault. The stick figure's splayed limbs were an obvious depiction of a mid-air pounce on a particularly agile fly. It was all so clear to me. The human, with her limited perception, saw only toil. I saw a path to enlightenment. I ignored the panting human on the sofa and began the true workout. I executed a flawless Low Stalk, my gray-and-white form melting into the shadows behind the ottoman. Then, for precisely thirty seconds, I practiced my vertical leaps, batting at an imaginary moth just out of reach. The dice had spoken, and I had listened. They were not for the human's clumsy games. They were oracles, tools for a master like myself to further perfect his craft. I would permit them to stay. After all, one must have standards.
