And we're back with another installment! It's been slow around here the last couple of weeks, first with some technical snafus and then a much needed vacation, but updates will be resuming semi-regularly.
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This one is a little scary to write, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise for one second.
My job is, in a big way, based around how I look; for better or worse (and I certainly lean towards “worse”) people looking for a personal trainer lean towards someone who looks the part, even though their training and credentials might not be as good as someone who isn’t super muscular. Size and weight are only part of a person’s overall health—one of my good friends, for instance, is an avid (read: crazy) runner who completed one half-marathon every month last year and topped it all off with a full marathon. She’s a beast. But that doesn’t stop people from giving her unsolicited options about her weight. My friend’s BMI will probably always be higher than mine, but she’s fit as hell and could thoroughly kick my ass in a race any day of the week.
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In the FYS house, Tuesday is our big outing day: Thumper and I spend our mornings at the nearby park, and then we hustle over to our local library for Toddler Storytime. It’s a nice way to get out of the house (and away from the 300,000th viewing of Moana), and a chance for her to interact with other kiddos her age while Mama can have maybe half a conversation with another adult for an hour. Everyone wins!
Read More“Eat clean, look lean”. “Eat clean, train dirty”. Eat clean...insert other clever comparisons here.
If you’ve been a human and paying attention to any form of media in the last decade, you’ve probably been inundated with the concept of clean eating. You’ve probably also read things about clean eating in regards to the evils of sugar, gluten, generic “chemicals” and the miracle-inducing powers of “superfoods” like quinoa and acai.
It’s bullshit. Full stop.
Read MoreSome of my earliest memories are of my mother sashaying around our living room, holding two white five lb. weights that were each the size of a toddler. Almost every morning I would join her as she did her monkey arms, turkey tail feathers, and grapevines (all slightly behind the beat). We would jig and salsa together in ways that resembled neither, because the trim and bubbly woman in a jewel-toned turquoise leotard told us to.
I’m speaking, of course, of Jane Fonda and her Complete Workout.
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