Fitness 101: What To Do With Body Hair

There are many healthy activities that I wish I could do but for various reasons can't get away with. Take running at night - it feels like flying but there are myriad safety issues. And now that I'm a responsible mom-person, I can't risk a twisted ankle or, worse, a mom-napping. I'd also love to wear a sweat band - They are the epitome of functional! Plus they look like Muppet eyebrows! - but I still haven't found one that my fashion sense will permit. It'd feel really good to hawk a loogie into the spittoons at the gym (I'm not sure what they're called - bidets for your mouth? Oral urinals?? - but they're right next to the drinking fountains at my Y and their express purpose is to be spit in.) and yet it just seems the height of impropriety to spit in public, indoors. And so I don't. I don't run at night, I don't wear sweat bands and I don't spit (unless it's on my fingers and I'm using it to wipe the muck off my baby's face, in the grand tradition of mothers everywhere).

But there is one healthy "don't" that I'd really really like to do.

It all started with CrossFit a few months ago. Like Jen Sinkler pointed out on her blog, the stronger your shoulders get, the harder it is to shave your pits. But I used the "star method" and while it took a bit longer, it worked. This would have just stopped at entertaining over-share fodder at dinner parties except that during last month's Great Running Until I Barf Experiment (if I ever get the privilege of writing another GFE book, that's gonna make an awesome chapter, which is my only consolation for putting myself through that idiocy) my pit hair tried to kill me.

Thanks to a tank top and a lack of bodyglide, my pit hair stubble - it's like a 5 o'clock shadow except I get it at 11 a.m. - chafed so badly that I ended up with two open sores under my right arm. And as everyone knows, the gym is the last place you want to have an open sore thanks to MRSA, impetigo and other scary bacteria. See? Nearly killed - or at least maimed - by my prickly hair. Thank goodness my immune system is still on my side and rallied.

So many questions: Do I just have sharper hair than other people? Or does this happen to other people and they just don't talk about it? Why was it just my right armpit that was afflicted? Would this have been fixed by running in a t-shirt instead of a tank, as suggested by Gym Buddy Megan? And why has this never happened to me before, despite the fact that I've been in possession of said hair ever since puberty? I don't know the answers but there is a solution: stop shaving. Legions of men will attest to the fact that unshaven underarm hair doesn't chafe, nor does it give you razor nicks which then burn like crazy when you put your deodorant on. Why should men get to be the only ones with non-stinging soft braid-able pits?

Then there's leg hair. While I have never been attacked (yet) by razor sharp leg stubble, it can also be a problem. When you are as pale-skinned and dark-tressed as I am, even clean-shaven my legs still look, as one of my sons put it, "all polka dotty." (Poor boy was so disappointed when I told him he couldn't have polka dot legs like mommy.) Anytime men complain about having to shave their faces, I like to point out that for sheer acreage needing harvesting we women have got them beat by a mile. Besides the worst hair-removal damage I have ever done to myself was a lip waxing gone horribly horribly wrong. And we won't even discuss the many many issues with maintaining the hair that is between the pits and the legs.

Before you start mailing me daisy chains and fringed vests, there is a precedent for this. Behold the beautiful yet unshaven:

The most recent example of this is the gorgeous Russian supermodel, Natalia Vodianova, who stepped out in a gown accessorized by some serious fur on her million-dollar gams. (Click through the link to see the close-up if you don't believe me.) And does she look ashamed? Not even a little! As Lauri Apple on Jezebel posits "Hm, maybe she saw herself in the mirror and thought, 'I look awesome,' instead of, 'my legs will displease the gossip press'."

And who can forget the awesome Drew Barrymore sporting her pit hair loud and proud on the red carpet?

One website even put up a poll about which is worse: M'onique's shaggy leg hair or Julia Roberts fluffy pit hair. (Click on picture to enlarge... you know you want to.)

All this shaving business is a fairly new phenomenon. While women have had body hair since the dawn of time, we've only been routinely shaving it off since 1915 when safety razors were invented. (Although it should be noted that many Muslims shave their body hair as part of their religion and have been doing it ever since Islam was founded.) That said, I've never grown out any of my body hair. I've been shaving, waxing and plucking things since the fifth grade when I stole my mom's pink plastic bic and butchered myself in the shower. (I still shudder remembering that early lesson: never slide the razor sideways. Owowowowow.) And honestly, Even though I wish hirsuteness would come back into fashion, I'm probably not going to quit shaving now. I can't even go to the gym in unflattering workout pants much less sport a full arm bush, slave to society that I am.

As to the myth that shaving hair makes it "grow back thicker", wikipedia debunks that - although it notes that pit hair grows faster than other body hair and may require multiple daily shavings to reduce stubble. That's just great. I can barely get one shower a day in and I'm certainly not going to dry-shave under there. I've also tried those deodorants that claim to thin and soften pit hair over time and they so totally do not.

What about you - do you shave, wax or otherwise pillage your body hair? Have you ever grown out your body hair? Have you ever been mauled by your pit stubble? Does it gross you out to see lady pit or leg hair?? Lastly - do you feel weird spitting in those loogie-catchers too?

Your Top Fears About Exercise - Solved!

This will not surprise you: I spend a considerable amount of my life trying to convince people to try new things. It ranges from small things like trying to get a stranger at the grocery store to try the free yogurt sample with me (it's less gross if you do the fiber shots with a friend!) to big things like voting (you! Vote!!) to the gross things like convincing my three pre-men that peeing IN the toilet rather than just in its general direction will result in sunshine, puppies and a happy mother (not literally puppies of course, I cannot have another incontinent bladder in the house). But aside from literally having to mop down my walls - that's why we painted them high gloss Mr. Home Depot man! - the most common changes I champion are of the fitness variety.

So, naturally, I hear a lot of excuses (some refer to them as legitimate reasons but whatevs.) They are varied and occasionally creative but they usually distill down to some variation of the following:

Excuse: I might be bad at it.
My answer: Of course you will. If you expect to be the best at everything you try then you will never try anything. Just accept that it probably won't come naturally to you - if it did you would have figured it out by now and you'd be playing pro golf with Tiger - and move on. I'll let you in on a not-so-secret of mine: I suck at most things I try. Especially at first. That's why God invented giggling. Everyone is horrible at something but it doesn't mean you still can't enjoy it! Have we learned nothing from American Idol? Other variations of this theme include "I'm too uncoordinated" "I'm not a runner" and "I spaz like a three-legged chicken whenever anyone starts counting backwards."

Excuse: I might not like it.
My answer: True. I've done lots of things I hated. But I've always learned something from it so it's not a waste of time. I'm not asking you to pick out curtains with it; just try it twice. Try it once and you'll probably hate it but go a second time and guaranteed there will be someone newer than you there. It's amazing what feeling like a "regular" does for your confidence! And if you try it twice and still hate it? Cross it off your list. You'll get no grief from me.

Excuse: People will stare at me.
My answer: You lucky dog. I've been making desperate bids for attention practically my whole life and still rarely get a chuckle from a passerby. But seriously, I do realize that some people are not as exhibitionistic as I am and balk at getting checked out. This is especially true in a gym setting but can be true for any fitness endeavor. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that people really aren't watching you. They are. They might be ranking you on the hotness scale. They might be making fun of you. They might be wondering where you got those sexysexy yoga pants. They might be staring off into the distance in your general direction. But chances are, whatever they're thinking, unless you're Marissa Miller or David Beckham, you're not the main attraction. So if you just keep going about your business, then so will they. (Alternative option: if you are really brave/confrontational, stare right back at them. Ear wiggling optional.)

Excuse: I don't know what I'm doing.
My answer: Nobody does. At least not at first. There is nothing natural about the chest press or a roundhouse - they're learned skills. And thankfully most of us "regulars" (man I feel like I'm subliminally pimping fiber here - yay for poop!) remember what it was like to be a newbie. We'll help you if you ask! Or ask a friend you trust to show you around. Or one of those gym employees standing around looking bored. Asking questions doesn't make you look silly, it makes you look smart. Besides, teachers love it when you ask them questions. It's so much easier than trying to read your mind based solely on that squinched-up face you're making.

Excuse: I might get hurt.
My answer: This one's a certainty. You will get hurt. But think how cool the battle scar will be to show off to all your buddies! I know, I know, some people have legitimate health issues but seeing as my paraplegic friend spanks me in basketball, surely you can find something that won't exacerbate your bursitis. Besides, exercise provides a huge range of health benefits so that scraped shin or rolled ankle will be totally worth it in the end! And if you tell someone you're really sore from weight lifting/yoga/recumbent hand biking then you might even get a free massage out of it. (Just don't tell them your butt is sore. I once had someone at the gym ask me to massage their butt for them because they had a big ol' knot in it. That led to one of the longest awkward silences I've ever participated in. Just... no.)

Excuse: I might get bored.
My answer: Then you're doing it wrong.

This list is by no means exhaustive so fill me in: what are you afraid of? What holds you back from exercising? You have some good advice to relieve people's fears? Has anyone ever asked you to massage a strange body part for them?

Mariah Carey Gets a Modesty Makeover

We've all seen Photoshop used to slim down "fat" people (read: everyone not emaciated), hid pimples, smooth aged skin and even to plump up sickly thin people but the Saudi Arabian censors have taken computer image enhancement to a whole new level: They used it to de-sluttify Mariah Carey. Somebody nominate them for the Nobel, pronto.

Confession: Mariah Carey's music is like nails on a chalkboard to me, especially when she sings in her famous upper register (she sounds exactly like a Whistling Pete firework - you know, the ones that screech higher and higher until they end with a bang and have no cool lights or sparkles or anything to recommend them except they're guaranteed to make small kids cry?) But even setting aside my inherent dislike of her singing, girl has worn nothing but 700 different takes on the micro-mini dress over the past decade. She's totally gorgeous and has a bangin' body but seriously, haven't you ever wondered what she would look like in sleeves? Or even - hush now - pants?? Wonder no more my friends. To make her modest enough to sell in more conservative countries, entrepreneurial Arabs gave her a Modesty Makeover. It almost makes me want to like her. That is until I remember that she sleeps in a Hello Kitty bedroom and has dedicated an entire bathroom to the mouthless kitty, despite being a fully grown woman. That makes me feel all stabby again. (Not that there is anything wrong with a little Hello Kitty love, Java Chick!)

Check out my post on HuffPo to see the full slideshow!

Am I unfairly maligning Ms. Carey's vocal talents? Do you think she actually looks better post-makeover too?? Any of you have a go-to wardrobe item that you have in 20 different colors because you know you look awesome in it?

Supplement Ads Take You For a Ride [Badvertising]

I just finished reading October's Fitness magazine (The one with the lady in the bikini on the cover. No, not the bikini-clad girl on the bike. Or the one on the beach. Or the 20 standing in the water. The one with the bikini-clad girl standing in the water by the beach BUT wearing an open cardigan over the bikini, you know, 'cause it's fall? Yep, that one.) And when I got to this page, I just about fell off my Little Tykes picnic table, I was laughing so hard. I love this ad because it is the mold from which all supplement ads are created from. And that mold is so utterly ridiculous. Behold, your Badvertisment for the day:

Buff Man: Oh hello! What are you doing here?

Set of Boobs With Blond Wig: Lil' ol' me? I'm just wandering around in the dessert!

Man: But you are wearing nothing but a bra and panties.

Boobs: Oh I don't know, I just felt like taking off my clothes. I have a feeling I'm not even wearing shoes! Isn't this what everyone goes hiking in?

Man: You are delusional, miss. I must rescue you and take you to safety! Good thing I ripped off my shirt - I can use the reflection off my glistening abdominals to signal a rescue 'copter!

Boobs: Now who's delusional?

Man: Fine, hop on the back of my two-wheeler and I'll give you a pump.

Boobs: Did you just offer me "a pump"? Never mind. Your mountain bike even has pegs? You must do this a lot.

Man: More than you'd think, actually.

Boobs: But wait, I haven't seen the pinnacle of perfection yet!

Man: Don't worry - I have a pinnacle of perfection right here!

Boobs: Um, gross!

Man: Geez lady, I'm talking about this protein bar! What did you think I meant?

Boobs: Oh. Just shut up and pedal. They're not paying you talk.

Man: Yeah well they're not paying me to actually ride this bike either, are they?

Boobs: At least we have this protein bar to keep us going until the rescue 'copter shows up.

And... scene.

Anyone else perpetually amused by supplement/protein powder/bar/drink advertising? Do you have a fave? Anybody else like to make up dialog for complete strangers?

Yoga Mats as Status Symbols - What Does Yours Say About You?

See? He's so cool he doesn't even need a mat! The Times was right!

Scorpio? Libra? Who needs a sign to make unfounded snap judgements about strangers? The zodiac is sooo 70's! According to the NY Times, the new thing is to judge a girl by her yoga mat. (Because yoga is soooo, uh, '70's?) Actually the Times article is mainly about whether to use a sticky mat or go commando on the bare floor (for all you hygiene enthusiasts, apparently the floor gets cleaned a lot more than your mat*) but anyone who has been to a yoga studio knows that your yoga mat says a lot about who you are and how you live your life. So what does mine say about me? That I'm cheap and that I love my lady bits!

There I was the other day, blissfully inhaling and exhaling through a nice deep down dog (oh yoga, why so porny?) when I looked through my perfectly starfished hands to stare at all the pretty lotus flowers etched on my mat. Lotus flowers a la Georgia O'Keefe, that is. At that zen moment I realized my yoga mat is covered with a repeating pattern of - oh yes - the female genitalia. Which explains why I got it for ten bucks at TJ Maxx.

I was not as bothered by this as one might think - there is something oddly fitting about being in a class all about body awareness whilst sitting on replicas of my, ahem, awareness. Although anyone who asks to see my yoga mat from here on out has to buy me dinner first.

So what does your yoga mat say about you? Let's break it down:

Color: Yoga classes are usually pretty subdued and yogis are generally conforming (You may think you're being an individual by binding when the rest of us are extending but unless you go totally rogue then we're all doing the same flow - even our breathing is synced. Baaa.) so neon or rainbow sparkles shows that you! are! different! And also, that you don't mind glitter stuck in your awareness.

Pattern: Are you a tigress? Or a pansy? Unless you are like me and shop at a store so steeply discounted that they only carry one pattern (hey at least I didn't buy my "lotus flowers" in pink!) then you must have chosen the adornment upon which you like to stand. Personally I find this baby panda creepy but maybe you just need a big hug when you're lying face down in Sivasana?

Thickness: Yoga mats come in every size from paper thin - you might as well just buy one that looks like wood planks - to super plush. The fluffier your mat, the kinder it is to your knees, back, head and elbows. Unfortunately it is also that much harder to roll up. I've seen people so devoted to their comfort that they give up on rolling up their mats and just walk around looking like they're carrying a piece of dry wall (with leopard spots!). Also, in case you missed all the "breathing through the pain" admonishments, yoginis are not supposed to be wusses so unless you're pregnant then I'd better see headstands on the hardwood people.

Material: Ever wondered what the "sticky" in sticky yoga mats is? Most likely it's some toxic combination of plastic and carcinogen that will not only sicken you from inhaling the delicious plasticky fumes but will live forever in our landfills. You're a junkie and a polluter! (Of course this is the kind I have. Cheap, remember?) If you are environmentally aware however, you can buy all natural rubber mats or at least synthetic ones that don't have that new-car smell. You're green and rich!

Shape: Think rectangle is your only option? Think again! The one time I visited a high-end yoga studio I was shocked to find all the mats were large cushy ovals. Corners harsh your mellow, I guess. Also available are circles, squares and "yoga sheets" - mats large enough that no matter which way you come crashing out of your inversion, you'll still land on mat. Although you should know that the larger your mat, the more territorial you appear. Floor space is at a premium; are you a good sharer?

Bag: While creativity is limited with the actual mats, options abound for the bag you carry it in. (Of course you need a mat bag! Always practice safe yoga, that's my motto.) Is your mat bag a simple, austere strap? (Do you also tie back your pony tail with a string you bit off the frayed cotton hem of your tank top?) Or do you robe your mat in bright flowers or polka dots? I'll admit it: mine is the grand dame of mat bags. Fed up with carrying a gym purse, a diaper bag and a yoga mat that unrolls at inconvenient moments, I finally got this baby:

Owner: This is probably the most telling aspect of your mat. Do you own your own mat or borrow one from the gym? Sure remembering your mat in the trunk of your car is hard but getting impetigo from putting your child's pose where someone else put their open-sore cobbler is much worse.

Do you use a mat in group fit classes, when you stretch or do yoga? Do you bring your own mat or use the gym's? Anyone else ever end up accidentally seeing va-jay-jays in something innocuous? Tell us what kind of mat you use and we'll make random authoritative judgments about your morals in the comments!

*One of the best yoga tips I ever got (and heaven help me I can't remember which one of you taught me this on your blog so if it was you know that a) I love you! and b) feel free to name check yourself and post a link!) was to fold your yoga mat in half - short edge to short edge - before you roll it up. That way the patterned side that you rest your face on never touches the floor side. Try it!

In Search of a Cape: This Year's Most Ridiculous Halloween Costumes

What are you going to be for Halloween this year? I know, I know we're still more than a month out but I've got the annual Turboween coming up! It may possibly be my most favorite Turbo workout of the year. This year the theme is "Superheroes" and while my house is replete with capes they all kind of smell like pee or have peanut butter stuck to them. Or both. So I'm on the hunt for the perfect Superhero-ine costume* (that will still let me crescent kick and smash heads into my knee.) In addition, the Gym Buddies and I are running in this year's Monster Dash and of course we are dressing up for that too which means we need costumes we can run 10 miles in without chafing.

Beginning my search today, I immediately ran up against the first problem of female costumes: The Slut Factor. The Slut-o-ween phenomenon - the one night of the year when all good girls (and nurses and maids and cops and even feminine hygiene products) go bad - has been well documented. And yet I was still surprised by this year's crop of ever more ridiculous costumes. So here are my Top Ten Halloween Costumes That Should Not Exist:

1. Elmo: This little cutie lives on Sesame Street, is voiced by a man, and whose sole talent consists of playing Jingle Bells over and over on a PlaySkool piano. What part of that screams sex pot?

2. Ditto for Big Bird here. I actually saw this one in the flesh (feathers?) at Target and it is twice as horrifying in real life. And why is this woman so insanely happy when Big Bird is apparently eating her head?

Image Source: Buzzfeed

3. While we're cannabalizing children's shows, how about this Peanuts costume that skipped right over Uncanny Valley to fall straight into Creepy Caldera. But hey, at least they didn't try and sex her up.

Image source: Spirit halloween

4. Ask yourself: What is the least sexy animal out there? A cold fish. Although I am left wondering why the model has no googley eyes on her anywhere.

Image Source: Buzzfeed

5. Mrs. Potato head takes care of that dilemma by placing the eyes right where they should be: on a woman's breasts. Totally removes the age-old male quandary of where to look when addressing females. Win!

Image Source: Buzzfeed

6. This one, creatively titled "Club skirt and top" loses on two counts: First, you can't call it a skirt if you can see crotch and second, the only girls who would be interested in wearing this would be girls who go to clubs and reason would say they wouldn't need to shell out 39.99$ when they already own this in 3 different colors. Also as lame: "lingerie model."

Image Source: Zoogster

7. Back to children's items that have no business being sexy: the blue crayon! (Also available in pink!) What I wouldn't give to have been a fly on the wall for that meeting. "Well team, you know what really gets me turned on? A nice stick of colored wax... yeah." Probably the same kid who sniffed the dry erase markers during recess.

Image source: Spirit halloween

8. This costume wouldn't be entirely ridiculous if it weren't for one fatal flaw: it doesn't come with roller skates. So basically if you wear this, you're just a chick in seasonally inappropriate beach wear. Also, don't real "Sexy Roller Derby Girl"s have much better costumes than this? Juliette Lewis would muscle this girl into a locker and leave her there. I've seen Whip It.

Image Source: Zoogster

9. Optimus Prime is a) A dude b) A robot and c) Transforms into a plane (or a car or something - haven't seen that movie). The only thing this costume transforms is her shin guards... into metal knee highs. Two adolescent male fantasies colliding rarely turns out well.

Image source: Spirit halloween

10. The most ridiculous Halloween costume of 2010 has tobe this "Girl in Skintight Dress" costume. Come on, you're not even trying now! Aren't you at least supposed to put on some mouse ears or something? Slap Franklin D. Roosevelt's visage over your navel and call yourself a dime? At least put on an ankle monitoring bracelet and go as Lindsey Lohan!

Image Source: Zoogster

This is nothing super nor heroic in any permutation of hooker (is it crazy that I'm pretty sure someone's going to challenge that assertion?) so what's a cape-tastic babe to do? Any suggestions for me? Have you ever ran a race in costume? What's the most ridiculous Halloween costume you've seen?

*I am a total Grinch when it comes to Halloween. I hate being scared and I hate gore. So that rules out 90% of adult All Hallow's Eve activities. That leaves me dressing myself up and dressing little kids up. And I love it!

Normal Push-Ups Getting Boring? Try These Today!

If there's one move that you will find in every workout from Jillian Michael's to CrossFit to Bootcamp to Prison, it's the lowly push-up. (Pushup? Push up? Whatever.) For good reason too, they work your shoulders, back, chest and even your core. But let's be honest, push-ups have their drawbacks. They can be hard on your wrists. They can give you neck or back pain. They can be too difficult. Or they can be too easy, depending on your skill level. But for me the real downside is how boring regular push-ups get. So today the Gym Buddies and I take you into our gym to show you 33 variations on the push-up (and one mammoth fail!). Try one today!

To get a taste of what the Gym Buddies have to put up with from me on a daily basis, here is me demo'ing a gorilla push-up (I voted for calling it a "guerilla" push-up but apparently I'm not tough enough to pull that off). I went into it absolutely sure I couldn't do one and then surprised myself so much by doing one (for reals!!!) that I screamed a very unladylike scream and then hit the floor. Enjoy (12 seconds):



And because everyone's favorite part are the Gym Bloopers, I've left all our mistakes in the full video! (Look for cursing, falling, geometry confusion and one very awesome Mary Katherine lunge - these girls crack me up every single day.) But here is, hands down, my favorite mistake, wherein I crush poor Allison like a cockroach (7 seconds):



Without further adieu, enjoy our Ode to Weird Push-Ups! (It's 4 minutes but totally worth it! At least watch our attempt at sketch comedy in the intro!):

If you get this through e-mail or a feed reader, please click through to the site to see the videos. Thanks!

What is your favorite push-up? Think of any we missed? What exercise do you find realllllyyyy boring??

High Intensity Bootcamp Report! [War Wounds]

When our trainer said he was going to use the TRX to whip us into shape, I didn't think he meant literally:

What I love about this picture:
1. ATTACK OF THE HUGE HAND! Run! Hide the children!

2. The fact that I am concentrating so hard - as evidenced by my durn-all-these-new-fangled-contraptions-and-their-tiny-buttons facial expression - and yet I still forgot to move the camera strap. Or suck in my stomach. You'd think I'd never used a digital camera before.

3. My awesome shower curtain. It's cleanliness and an education, all in one! Only downside is if my kids wander into the bathroom (as they are wont to do - privacy, whaaaa?) then I have to hide strategically. Thank goodness this is a Mercator projection map so South America is overly large!

4. Oh yeah - and my war wounds! First day of HIIT bootcamp and our trainer had us doing these squat-jump-swing things on the TRX. (Okay technically there's not supposed to be any swinging with the squat-jumping - I just can't help myself, it's too fun!) The TRX schooled me good and then slapped me around a bit for getting smart with it. Yes, there's a matching set of scrapes and bruises on the other side!

What do you think - is leaving marks the mark of a good workout? Do you have any battle scars from the gym you're particularly proud of? You've seen lots of my shower curtain - what does yours look like?

PS> If you are looking for more to read today, check out Leslie's article in Ladies Home Journal - she interviewed me on slide #8!

The Fitness Trend I Wish Would Make a Comeback [The Sweaty Bangs Problem]

Yes, I've used this picture twice on this site before but that is just how deeply I love this dude. I have titled it "Awesome Sauce." I think he may be the patron saint of the GFE!

Bikram kickboxing - you many not have heard of doing kickboxing in a super heated room before but let me tell you it's all the rage at my Y. Oh it's not intentional, it's just what happens when you cram 70+ sweaty bodies into a tiny studio with poor ventilation. We sweat so much all over the floor that Turbo Jennie had to bring in carpet dryers to keep us all from hitch-kicking right onto our well-toned tushies. (Confession: while I haven't kicked myself onto the floor - YET - lest you think me more of an athlete than I am, I did accidentally slide into the horizontal splits trying to do a plie squat. I'm already getting excited for ice-rink kickboxing come winter, when all our sweat freezes to the floor!) So today while I did slip-n-slide roundhouses, I was contemplating fitness trends that I really really wish would come back in style. Why? Because thanks to my propensity to sweat like a dude and my cute bangs, so much salt water runs into my eyes that I'm considering shaving off my eyebrows to fully embrace my pale-wet-and-clammy aesthetic:

You love me, Powder.

You know what I need? A sweatband. Oh yes, one of these bad boys:

They still make them. Under Armor even makes pink ones and I had one in my cart before bowing to the whims of fashion and taking it out. Hey, I may not be the most fashionable girl around but I do like to look au courant and for some bizarre reason bangs-in-your-eyes is the It style right now.

They look adorable but trust me when I say they are about as comfortable as wearing sunglasses rolled in dog hair. They get even worse when I sweat.

I've tried other solutions. Bobby pins work great for pulling my bangs out of my face but they don't do squat for the sweat rivulets. Headbands are super cute right now but I must have the world's weirdest shaped head because they pop right off with all the zeal of Tim Gunn making fun of "I must be carried down the stair by a phalanx of men" Anna Wintour. (You must watch this video, I have never seen Tim Gunn so happy! Or Jon Stewart for that matter.) And I can't pull off do-rags due to the fact that I'm neither black nor an extra on Little House on the Prairie.

So you see how I have arrived at the sweatband? The terry cloth is wonderfully absorbent, the circular shape enfolds my sweaty forehead in a gentle hug, AND it's machine washable! The only problem is I think I'd look more Muppet-unibrow than trendy Hipster:













For the love of little green apples, I'm a 32-year-old soccer mom! (Okay, "soccer mom" in name only - my boys actually do Show Choir, and do it awesomely, I might add.) Help me out! Do you have the sweaty bangs problem too? What do you do? Should I just buck convention and wear the sweatband with pride? What bygone fitness trend do you wish would come back?

PS> You know what else is awesome and I wish I got to wear more of? Tennis dresses. All the coverage of a skirt but so many more cute options! Although maybe not quite like this:

Um, Venus? Do you know you have fireworks exploding out of your lady business? Also, this looks like the world's least-flattering tank top but if you see yourself in the other pictures you will realize this is actually a dress. (You should, you designed it!) Typically we associate crotchtacular dresses with inebriated starlets. Don't be that girl Venus. Think of the children.

But I do give you mad props for wearing underwear! Although I do feel compelled to tell you that when they say to wear flesh-toned undies they mean underneath something else. Carry on being awesome now.

Your Health Food is Trying to Kill You, Part 2 [Attack of the Pine Nuts]

Metallica is performing live and center stage in mouth right now. And I'm not talking the stadium rocking from their glory days. No, my tongue tastes like the puke-covered floor under a mosh pit teeming with 200 sweaty dudes crammed into a third-tier club that hasn't washed their floors since Slash last washed his hair. (Did I just conflate Metallica with Guns-n-Roses? My bad - I may have lived the '80's but it was in my Herself the Elf pajamas watching Rainbow Brite and eating Count Chocula.) All food that I've eaten over the past few days - including the delish Labor Day spread at Gym Buddy Megan's house - has an aftertaste like I mopped the floor of the metal shop with my tongue.

At first I blamed it on eating too many cucumber skins. (True story: My garden this year has refused to grow anything except what I call Bastard Zucchinis. These are the inbred love children of cucumbers and zucchinis. They look all squash on the outside but are all juicy seedy cuke on the inside. It's a rotten switcheroo - have you ever heard of cucumber bread? There's a reason for that - but the worst part is that they taste like lemons. Horrible vegetables, those. So the only edible item to come out of the garden plot besides the habaneros my husband inexplicably planted are cucumbers. Dozens and dozens of them. ) Then, when the metallic after burn only worsened after a few days I moved on to bigger and better diagnoses. Clearly I must have throat cancer. Or liver disease. Or at the very least a hormone imbalance.

I did what every ailing person does these days - I went to the almighty Google and typed in "Why does my mouth taste like I licked the Gulf Coast?" And the answer became immediately clear: My health food tried to kill me.

This wouldn't be the first time. A few years ago I confessed my love of raw, soaked beans on here and discovered from many concerned readers that raw beans are way bad for you and kidney beans can kill you if you eat them raw. Whoops! Then I found out that cilantro tastes like soap to people with a certain gene (officially known as the potty-mouth gene), asparagus gives half the population odoriferous pee and beets will make you think you've pooped out your intestines in a bloody heap the next day. And now, the latest offender in the health food hall of shame are: Pine Nuts.

That's right, according to about 5 million web pages, in the past year or so many people have been struck with "pine mouth" - a bitter metallic taste that can last up to four weeks - from eating pine nuts, especially those from China. While the good news is that this does not seem to be the result of poison, toxins or allergies, the bad news is that nobody seems to know why this happens. Not only that but there isn't any cure for it except to wait it out. It also seems that this is a recent phenomenon, with the first case being reported in 2009. The Center For Disease Control is even tracking the "outbreak" - which you know makes me feel all special and validated in my hypochondria. (CDC: call me!)

I hate waiting things out. We have established that I am not a patient person. My husband had an Oreo cheescake ice cream cake for his birthday and you know what it tasted like? Oreo cheescake ice cream cake... drizzled with liquid mercury. ("How do you know what liquid mercury tastes like Charlotte?" "I'd tell you but those lost IQ points ain't coming back, sweetheart.") My beloved wasabi almonds now taste like nuts rolled in lead dust. And drinking water is the worst. My cold, clean, filtered water that I rely on to make happy not-beet-colored pee tastes like the Hudson river. After a rain storm. After a biker's convention.

The only thing that helps is gum. Which I chew like a cud and use to blow incessant bubbles that sometimes get stuck in my unwaxed lip hair (note to self: make that waxing appointment STAT). I am, and I say this with remorse, an obnoxious gum chewer. But all of you in real life are just going to have to deal with it because according to all of you on Facebook and Twitter who tried to console me (or taunt me, hard to tell with Tweeps sometimes) I have a good 11 days of this yuckiness left.

Beware the pine nut, my friends. (And yes, apparently you can still get pine mouth even if you make it into nummy pesto. Sob.)

Any of you ever got Pine Mouth? Any helpful suggestions?? Have you ever been attacked by your health food? What was your favorite childhood trend from the '80's??

When Old People Attack: Swimming Experiment Results!

Things would have gone better for me had I had one of these caps, I know it!

Either you're a swimmer or you're not. False dichotomy though it may be, there is an easy test to see which camp you fall in. When someone tells you, "Let's swim half a mile." do you answer, "Sure! It only takes me 4 or 5 minutes to run a half mile so this should be a piece of cake!"? If so, you are not a swimmer. If you answer, "How far is a half mile? Like... 10 laps?" you are not a swimmer. If you even think, "Are goggles and a swim cap really mandatory? 'Cause the former make my eyes bulge like Marty Feldman and the latter is just ugly." then you are not a swimmer. (Although you are wicked good with your '80's movie trivia!)

If you just snap your goggles into place, jump into the pool with nary a whimper about the cold and start stroking, then you are a swimmer.

Our first pool workout for August's Great Fitness Experiment went swimmingly - you knew that was coming! - all the way up to the point where we actually got in the water. Our Y being, well, our Y, naturally there were no lanes open for actual swimming as they prefer to keep 99% of the pool available for elderly aquatics classes that oddly resemble square dancing in slow motion. So we were banished to the "leisure pool" where we did a pool workout that I got from Fitness magazine. It was ridiculously easy. We tried everything we could to get our hearts pumping but instead we ended up comparing our pedicures while sculling in random circles around the pool. (Gym Buddy Megan's toenails were a classic red, mine were a zombie-esque blue and Allison's were naked, poor thing. Knowledge you needed; you're welcome.)

If you will recall, the entire purpose of August's Swimming Experiment was to get Gym Buddy Allison ready for her very first triathlon, a sprint tri that included a half-mile open water swim. Clearly, pedi-sculling and otter-rolling over a beach ball (which is awesome fun, by the way) were not going to get us to that point. So we did what we had to do and started swimming some laps. In the 3-foot leisure pool. It only took three laps before the old folks attacked.

"You're not allowed to swim in the swimming pool!" yelled a white-haired gent without a trace of irony.

"Yeah," chimed in a woman who was obviously very invested in keeping her bouffant dry, "this is a LEISURE pool."

"Well I happen to find this very leisurely," Allison explained sweetly as we backstroked around them like some sort of rogue synchronized swimming team taking hostages.

The next day we were back in the pool again but for real this time. There was one lane open for lap swimming and we intended to use the heck out of it. No matter that it was already occupied by three other women which would make six of us in one lane. We optimistically snapped on our goggles (I borrowed mine from my eight-year-old - I'm Batman!) and plunged in.

"So... half a mile," I said. "How far is that exactly?"

"I dunno," Allison replied. "Let's ask the lifeguard."

"Do you mean a swimmer's mile or a land mile?" he asked in return.

Allison started to answer but I interrupted her with, "Whichever one is shorter."

After giving me a long considering look as if to decide whether to address me as an adult or the child I was acting like, he answered, "A swimmer's mile is 35 laps." (Another way to tell you are not a swimmer is to be unaware of the controversy surrounding how far a swimmer's mile actually is. There is calculus involved.)

We sighed with relief. "We can swim down this thing 35 times, no problem!" Allison chirped.

"You do know that a 'lap' means down and back, right?" he added.

No, sir. No we did not know that. (I must point out here that Megan did, in fact, know this but she was not there at this juncture and so it was just Allison and I, as clueless as one can be in Batman goggles.)

"Okay, we got this. We just have to swim down there 70 times!"

"No, wait," I pointed out, "we have to halve that!"

"So.... that's..." Crickets.

"Half of 70 is 35. And half of 30 is 15 plus 4 which is... 19!" I announced erroneously.

"I thought it was 18," Allison said, also wrong. (Why oh why did they have to pick an odd number?)

"Why didn't we just ask the lifeguard for a half a mile in the first place?"

"Well we can't ask him now. He already thinks we're idiots."

"We are idiots."

"Let's just start swimming and see how far we can get, ok?" Did I mention Allison only had two weeks to train for her triathlon? There's a reason the girl was getting antsy.

We made it four laps before we were clutching the side of the pool and gasping for breath. I will tell you this: In three years of trying every conceivable workout I have never been so close to vomiting as I was in that moment. There are workouts and then there is swimming. It was a gut-wrenchingly, head-to-toe achingly, can't-breathe-for-at-least-3-life-threatening-reasons brutal workout. For the first time I understood why people watch the Summer Olympics for events other than gymnastics.

I was ready to be done. But Megan was already off like a fish, ahead of us by 10 laps or so, and Allison was on a mission. We pressed on for the full half mile. (-ish, my counting got a little garbled. Turns out I can't even do basic math when my Batman goggles turn out to be complete duds and yet I have to drive home so I can't lose a contact thereby forcing me to swim with my head out of the water the entire time making me almost as ridiculous as the Bouffant Lady.)

The next day I was sore everywhere, just like several of you warned me I would be. The strangest part was that I was most sore right under each butt cheek, where my leg joins my derriere. Who knew I even had a muscle there?! The worst effect though was - heaven help me - the Gym Buddies freaking loved it. LOVED IT.

Sensing lap workouts long after August ends, I broke down and bought a decent pair of goggles. I still hate swimming. But I hate it a little less than I used to. Plus, I have to admire a workout that brutal. It never did get much easier for me - every swimming workout felt like choreographed drowning - but I did love how it made me feel when we finished.

As for Allison, despite having never swam in open water, girlfriend finished her tri under two hours and suffered nothing more serious than chocolate-covered cleavage thanks to a protein bar she was inexplicably storing down her top.

Which necessitated a little post-race clean up:

(Not pictured: my four-year-old son eating the protein bar off the ground while the rest of us were distracted congratulating her.)

She rocked the running and biking portions and, more importantly, got bit by the tri bug and is already planning her next one! Way to go, Al!!

Gym Buddy Megan and I (a.k.a. The Dry Ones) flanking our victorious girl!

So, any of you change your mind about swimming this month? Anyone else in the "I don't hate it but I'll never love it" club? What's your favorite Summer Olympics event to watch??

Book Cover Photos! (You Guys Were Right About the PinkJacket!)

Well hello there! Fancy meeting you at this park. Don't worry I have lots of random fitness equipment to show you. No that's not a euphemism and no I'm not trying to sell you any of it. Although this post is, apparently, sponsored by Subway. (Which is a bummer because Subway irritates me on two fronts: Jared, their spokesman who only proves you can lose a ton of weight by eating a verrry limited diet and also, how can anyone eat a normal sub after having one toasted with guacamole? Mmm... Quiznos!)

Me? A real model?? (I ask you, would a real model wear a black bra under a white tank??) Oh gosh no! It's a photo shoot for my book that's coming out December 1st. You want an autograph? Oops, you just want me to move out of the way so you can have your kid take a pic of you and your boyfriend... making out on the rocks... in a public park. With tongue. Seriously people, that's your 3rd grader taking that picture - put your shirt back on! Egads.

Look away. Now look back. Look away. Now look back again. I'm on a rock. In a PINK shirt this time. I am the girl your girl could smell like! (If she sweated like a dude and wore Old Spice, of which I do the former but not the latter - I have my pride.)

Now if only I could get a person to follow me around every day with a light-reflector thingy that makes my eyes all glow-y. My kids would never dare disobey me again. Because I can shoot lasers from my eyes. BELIEVE.

And here I am feigning confidence. I was thinking about Miss Tyra telling all the America's Next Top Models (That No One Ever Hears From Again After the Show's Over Except on Cover Girl Commercials) how to "smize" (smile with your eyes). Seriously. That's what I was thinking about.

Until I got distracted remembering that one photo shoot where they made the girls pose with huge spiders and venemous snakes and cockroaches. One girl had the tarantula right up by her eye. Still gives me the heebie jeebies. Thankfully all I had to do was stand in ankle-deep water and get dozens of mosquito bites while waiting for random children to stop swimming in the (public) waterfalls and photobombing my cover.

There is a reason I've never done a pole dancing Great Fitness Experiment and now there is photographic proof.

Don't make that face or it'll freeze like that!

Thank you so much to all of you for all of your help picking out my cover-shoot clothes! It meant so much to me to read all of your supportive and helpful comments (you guys were way right about those gray pants - eek!) As you can see, the shoot went really well. Michael and Sarah Novak of Inventive Media took really good care of me and I managed to not only get over my awkwardness long enough to get a few good snaps but also to have a lot of fun. I still have zero desire to be a professional fitness model (not that anyone's asking me to) - modeling is weird work - but I feel a lot better about being on the cover of my book.

The cover art is being finalized this week and the mock-up is really cute and funny! A little teaser: they didn't pick any of the pics above. But they did agree with you all that the pink jacket ones were the best and so it is one of those that made the final cut! I can't wait to show you guys the finished product!!

So, what is your opinion: Subway or Quiznos? What's the worst pose/prop you've seen a model have to do in a photo? (I always worry about all those high fashion photo shoots where they make the models jump in 8" platform stilettos. Surely someone's broken an ankle, right?) You're not tired of the Old Spice guy yet are you??

Gym Buddy Poll: How Do You Put on Your Bra?

I love a good Do-It-Yourself project! You should never let a good pair of used undies go to waste.

Rowing until we (nearly) puked. Chest pressing our body weight (because we totally weigh 65 pounds). CrossFit's workout of the day for today would have been bad enough all on its own. But our gym upped the ante today by throwing a rainy, muggy day and a very sweaty, smelly gentleman into the mix. Lest you think I'm some kind of gym prude that thinks all bodily functions should be left at home, let me say that I have a very very high tolerance for other people's B.O. And this guy was rank. His smell was so bad that he actually caused another weightlifter dude to kick us off our weight bench so that he wouldn't have to smell the sweaty guy. Impropriety abounded.

I gagged on the rowing machine - which incidentally now I totally get why you all call it an "erg" seeing as that's the sound I was making, yelling to Gym Buddy Allison, "This place smells SICK!" Except that she heard a rather more, ahem, obscene version. I blame the wind generated by the rowing machines for spreading the smell around because after that neither of us could think of anything else other than how it really did smell like what Gym Buddy Allison suggested.

After our workout was finished, we congregated on the stretching mats that still smelled very much like rhymes-with-sick to chat, look up stuff on our phones and basically do everything but stretch. Building on our prior inappropriate conversation, talk turned to bras and how one puts them on and takes them off. Up until today I had no idea that there was more than one way to do up a bra.

This ended up being surprisingly divisive. Two of the Gym Buddies insisted that the best way to do it is to turn it backwards and hook the clasp in front before turning it back around and then slipping your arms in the straps. (Reverse that process for taking it off.) Me and the remaining Gym Buddy use a simpler method: we put the bra on and then reach around the back and hook the clasp. Removing it is done by again just reaching around the back. Us being us, we had to debate the varying methods and then start questioning random people around us, including one older gentleman who was less surprised than I thought he'd be (apparently he's heard our stretching-mat convos before) but wisely declined to give an opinion.

So now I have to know! How do you put your bra on? (Click through to take the Gym Buddy Poll of the day!)

poll by twiigs.com

Anyone else do the WOD today? Anyone ever been nearly strangled trying to get a sweaty sports bra off over your head? Do you have a stretching-mat question for the Gym Buddies?

Calling all Sports Superfans: Would You Lie for Love?

"I love you, man!" "Aw! Come to papa!"

In the grand tradition of Sandra Bullock and Jesse James, Ross Gellar and his first wife Carol, and that governor from South Carolina who went MIA for two days to "hike the Appalacian trail", my marriage was based on a lie.  No, I'm not a neo-Nazi man whore, a closeted lesbian nor do I have a secret Argentinian mistress for whom I would abandon the government of an entire state to canoodle with but nevertheless my lie threatened to rock the very foundations of my early wedded bliss.

See, I did one of those terribly stereotypically girly things that I'm embarrassed to even call a girly stereotype much less cop to doing it.  I lied about liking to watch sports.

When my husband and I first met I was so charmed by his rakish good looks and blatant lack of propriety (he fell asleep on the front row of the very first day of class - and even drooled!) that I was determined to do anything to get him to keep hanging out with me.  This desire to be near to my crush led me to do several unfortunate things like inviting him to "take my dad's car and go get doughnuts at Smith's" (to which he replied witheringly, "What are you, 16?") and agreeing to sit on an ice block at the winter carnival until I won a free t-shirt (and hopefully his heart).  But the most egregious was my sudden interest in all things sports.


Up until I met him, I had never watched an entire game of any team sport.  Figure skating, sure. Swimming, yes (you've seen Michael Phelps, right?). Gymnastics, absolutely.  But no basketball, football, soccer, rugby, volleyball or even tennis match had ever washed over my bored retinas.  Having done everything I could to escape the horror of gym class in high school, I didn't even know the rules to any of those games much less who to scream for or what color to paint my face.  True story: in college I once went to a football game on a date.  I brought a 700-page novel to read.  I didn't even notice when he left me.  Another true story: in high school a friend's dad got me and a few girl friends first-tier seats to the final playoff game between the Bulls and the Jazz.  We left during half time because the cheerleaders sucked and we wanted Chinese food.  (My husband dies a little more every time I tell that story.)

But then love came into my life bringing not only mushy notes and roses but also sports.  Specifically, basketball.  My husband has always loved basketball.  College, pro, kiddie league - if it was there, he'd watch it (he's watching the NBA finals as I type this).  So I pretended to watch whatever he was watching so I could go to the sports parties with him and snuggle up in the stands with him and wear his Utah Jazz sweatshirt so I could smell him (this was back when the Jazz were good).

I know.  I want to smack myself too.  It's girls like me that give girls a bad name.  It's bad enough that I hate watching sports.  But to lie about it?

And then we got married and it all stopped.  Instead of the final four, I was glued to Felicity (ohmygoodness SHE CUT HER HAIR).  When he suggested an away game date night, I made plans to go away... to the Indigo Girls concert.  When he bought me my own school mascot t-shirt I wore it every day... to bed.  He felt betrayed.  He'd thought he'd found one of those cool girls that every guy dreams of but exist far less in reality than they do in Doritos commercials.  Instead he got Bill Walton, if Bill Walton narrated the Miss America pageant.

To this day I still feel bad about my trickery.  And this guilt has led to me to occasionally watch something sports related with him.  I have discovered that team sports are not as boring as I thought they were!  For instance, you have Venus Williams' flesh-toned undies and crazyawesomeinsane tennis costumes to keep you glued to tennis:

Hee!  She gets swack* too!!

And with moves like these, no wonder soccer is the number 1 sport in the world!

Any sport that has fans like these must have a good sense of humor:

And then there is my husband's beloved basketball:

Just awesome.

This is pretty much exactly how I play basketball.  

And this may be the best sports picture ever taken.  How could I not love this game??

Have you ever lied to impress a date?  Do you like watching team sports?  What do you think about Venus Williams' underwear - distracting and unsportsmanlike or fun?

*That would be Gym Buddy parlance for sweaty crack.  We're gross, I know.