COMBAT SPORTS | RUNNING | YOGA | MEDITATION | WRITING
**Trigger warning: narrative contains mentions of assault and harassment. I don't think about being pretty when I enter the gym. Too busy applying a peppermint oil underneath my nostrils, I'm more concerned with blocking out overlapping smells of wet towels, damp canvas, and still-moist gloves that might have three strains of fungus growing inside of… Continue reading ABOUT BEING PRETTY
Reality sets in when you hit week seven. The number is an uncomfortable reminder of how rapidly the days meld into one another. By this point, you liken yourself to a feckless deer at the edge of a clearing—minding your business, looking for cover. But if you are a deer then time is a huntsman.… Continue reading REALITY CHECK AT SEVEN WEEKS
When I was young, my father relied on a few staples whenever we fell sick. He claimed these makeshift meds could cure almost anything. They were the ultimate elixirs and potions under the category of 'do-it-yourself' remedies. His primary go-to was bitters, Angostura to be exact. The caramel liquid from the motherland had all kinds of… Continue reading HONEY WHITE (FOR THE LOVE OF EPSOM SALT)
I fight because it feels damn good and, more importantly, because I can. But there is another, more sinister, reason I rock out on the daily. I took up boxing, in part, because of the Krav Maga trainer who sent me an unsolicited ‘dick-pic’...of someone else's penis. dick pic* 1. A picture of your dick. "Hey dude,… Continue reading A DICK PIC MADE ME DO IT
Some days everything comes together. The stars align. A stranger offers his seat on the subway. The productivity meter hits 110% before noon. Things flow effortlessly when all is in balance. I hold pincha mayurasana with ease, or pound 10K of pavement in under an hour. After twenty rounds of aerobic exercise and strength training—sweat… Continue reading BLACK CAPRICORN DAYS
NOT MADE OF GLASS 