Going under the blade for good brows. | iStockphoto/Jacob Wackerhausen.
It’s very easy for most women to justify absurd beauty and fashion purchases. We practically have our master’s degrees in it. That stupidly expensive midi dress? “It can be dressed up or dressed down. I’ll basically live in it this summer!” That insanely pricey lotion? “I only have to use the tiniest amount, so it’s actually a good value in the end!” And the eyebrow treatment I just got that cost more than a car payment? “It’s gonna save me minutes every morning, for years, and that is priceless!”
But, in the end, was it actually worth it?
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Solidcore in Adams Morgan, D.C. | Photo by Adjua Fisher
Last Saturday, I found myself in a Solidcore class at 10:30 a.m. The studio, home to a popular Pilates-style workout done on a resistance-based machine, hasn’t yet made its way to Philly (the first Philly studio is slated to open on Chestnut Street this spring), so I figured I’d get a taste of the workout while I was back home in D.C., where the studio got its start.
I’d watched YouTube clips of the workout online beforehand and, let me tell you, If I learned anything in that 50 minutes of class, it’s that you should not — I repeat: do NOT — be tricked by the slow movements and tiny pulses involved in a Solidcore class. It is so much harder than it looks. Like have-to-take-a-Lyft-home-five-blocks-because-you-can’t-walk-afterward hard. (I mean, not that I did that or anything.) Read more »
I hate yoga — hated, I should say. That opinion never bothered me because I thought I gave yoga a fair shake and it, like drinking eight glasses of water a day or not cursing under my breath, just didn’t stick.
I played volleyball in college and my coaches routinely forced us to do yoga every Sunday until we finally revolted (or, more accurately, we quietly stopped showing up and didn’t say anything). Plus, my sister is a trained yoga instructer and has attempted to indoctrinate me many times before.
But it never worked.
In my workouts, I need to be stimulated, I need competition and I need obscenely loud music to distract me from how tired I am. Without these, I give up instantly — especially now that I’m a retired athlete and no one’s blowing their whistle to make me run wind sprints at 6 a.m.
I just didn’t think yoga could offer me what I needed. But then I heard about the new Bulldog Yoga in Villanova. They designed their program to be musically driven without the om-ing and the namastes and all the other yoga speak I never got into. The sweeten the pot, the studio is two minutes from my front door, so I figured why not give it a try. Read more »
“Just relax your leg!” the doctor said with a smirk while shaking my suspended limb back and forth. “My leg is relaxed, it just refuses to bend!” I responded with a hint of frustration and embarrassment in my voice.
I was 13 years old when my pediatrician sent me to St. Christopher’s Hospital to get tested for scoliosis. This was probably my fourth visit in as many years. He was hell-bent in his belief my spine was developing a curve and every visit I feared I’d actually be diagnosed this time. Little did I know I was about to become a medical enigma for a completely different reason.
Part of the test, for reasons unknown to me, involved checking the flexibility of my hamstrings. The doctor’s assistant was the first to take on the challenge of pushing my leg to my chest. I just laid on the examination table watching this poor lady attempt to find a trace of flexibility in my leg. The assistant, after laughing with my mom about the situation – which definitely made me feel normal — left to grab the orthopedic doctor. His efforts were also wasted. After pushing and pulling my leg like a stick shift, the resistance left him stunned. While the test for scoliosis came back negative, I left St. Christopher’s scarred with the memory of the wrestling match between my legs and their staff.
Clearly, flexibility and my name have no business being in the same sentence. But as the intern for Be Well Philly, I felt it was my duty to experience yoga for myself. Plus, I love a challenge and I’m no stranger to making a fool of myself. So when my editor suggested I try a class at CorePower Yoga on Walnut Street, I accepted with enthusiasm but feared the worst. Surely enough, my fears came true. And then some. Read more »
Yep, that’s me dangling there.
To say I was given the opportunity of a lifetime yesterday is a bit of an understatement. And to say I wasn’t completely terrified about said opportunity is an even bigger one.
I joined the folks at Philadelphia Outward Bound School for their four-years-running Building Adventure event, a fundraiser that supports Outward Bound’s outdoor leadership programs in Philadelphia schools. The fundraiser was launched back in 2012, a year after the School District of Philadelphia cut Outward Bound’s funding in the face of a budget crisis; Building Adventure was created to close the funding gap in order to keep Outward Bound programs in Philly schools running. Every year, Building Adventure takes around 100 thrill-seekers, who raise at least $2,000 each, to the top of One Logan Square for a 31-story rappel — gorgeous, once-in-a-lifetime views of Philly included. Read more »
Tonia got it pretty darn close. | Emily Goulet.
I’ve always considered myself to be someone down to experiment with hair, yet I wind up getting the same style every time. However, Shoppist has been putting my self-awareness to the test, first turning me bronde for the love of summer trend testing. To be honest, that was easy. This time, though, we really went for it: I got full-on ’70s fringe. Read more »
“Do you dry brush?”
This was what my sister asked me the other day, as casually as one might ask whether or not you floss. My eyes almost rolled out of my head. What are you supposed to brush? And when did “dry brush” become a verb? (Turns out, a few years ago, when Miranda Kerr mentioned that she did it.) The health benefits sounded too good to be true: lymphatic drainage, increased energy, immunity boost, firmer skin. Then my sister mentioned ‘cellulite breakup,’ and I was in. One trip to Rite Aid and a few days later, here’s what I discovered. Read more »
To say I enjoyed the 12 minutes I spent trying 10-20-30 training on Sunday morning like I would enjoy, say, a mimosa followed by a fat stack of pancakes would definitely be an overstatement. But it was over in time to squeeze both a workout and brunch into a packed morning, and that counts for something in my book.
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Under the needle. | Shutterstock.
That’s the best way to describe it. Like a troop of misguided butterflies has taken up residence in the center of my chest, just beneath the breastbone, making me jumpy, anxious, like I’m about to take the stage in a school play, or like I’m hiding from a serial killer.
I’m not sure why I’m so nervous, only that I’ve always been this way. Photos of me as a little girl show my index finger poised at the side of my thumb, ready to pick at the skin around my nail (something I do to this day; it’s a wonder I still have thumbs). Lately, though, with work and house-hunting and general Life Stuff, the butterflies have turned into more of a softball-size lump, a heavy gelatinous mush of nerves I can’t quite shake. Which is how I found myself lying on my stomach with a bunch of needles sticking out of my back a few weeks ago. Read more »
Lithe Method | photo via Facebook
Last week, as I was rushing to make it to my first-ever Lithe Method class, I realized that I’d not only forgotten my water bottle, I’d also forgotten my inhaler, one of my must-haves for basically any physical activity beyond a brisk walk. But instead of panicking about the possibility of not being able to breathe in front of a room full of strangers, I thought to myself: I probably won’t need it, anyway. After all, it’s called Cardio-Cheer-Sculpting. The classes have names like “Skinny Jeans” and “All That.” How hard can it be?
Boy, was I fooled.
Within the first 10 minutes of the class—an hourlong, demo-style medley of the Lithe Essential Workout classes, taught by Lithe Method creator Lauren Boggi—my legs were trembling, I could barely feel my arms, and my face resembled a sweaty, overripe tomato. And I really wished I’d remembered my freakin’ inhaler.
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