By JOHN T. WARD
They’re out at dawn, and at dusk, grim-faced, schlepping kettlebells along the sidewalk, squatting as they go, alarming patrons of the Count Basie Theatre and drawing double-takes from motorists stopped at traffic lights.
No, they are not the undead. Far from it. They’re clients of Sean Webber, and they’re getting their asses kicked. By choice.