Living a healthy lifestyle is imperative for a long and happy life. If you work out your off to a good start, but being in good shape is not only beneficial to your health; it is now beneficial to your vagina. That’s right, you read correctly. Not only can you now get a personal trainer to get your body into shape, you can get a personal trainer to get your vagina into shape. Your vagina can be worked out, and in doing so you can improve your love muscles and your sex life. After the jump, read more about how you can improve your vaginal muscles.
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I’ll be honest — I always feel a little ridiculous when I go to the gym. There I am, walking on the treadmill, in between the buff dude pumping iron and the impeccably toned woman running effortlessly on a steep incline; it seems brutally obvious what a workout novice I am. Even in yoga, where I feel more at home, embarrassing moments occur: the occasional, sudden bout of audible gas, toppling over while attempting a fairly easy pose. There may have even been a queef once, when descending from shoulder stand. In short, Madonna, I am not. After the jump, a few of my fellow Frisky staff members share their workout bloopers — share yours in the comments and I’ll pick the best ones for a roundup next week! Keep reading »
I snapped a picture of this new McDonald’s ad in the Paris metro system a few days ago. Apparently, McDonald’s chains in France have added a new dessert to the menu—a frappé, a Frenchisized version of a milkshake—and these advertisements have gone up all over Paris. Despite rising obesity rates in France, here’s a clue as to why French people “don’t get fat”: while we’re super-sizing portions in the U.S., McDonalds in France are super-smalling portions. (Seriously, I’ve seen shots of vodka that are bigger!) To make sure my eyes weren’t fooling me with some whack Photoshop job, I browsed the McDonald’s France website to find nutrition information for this frappé. (Which, I might add, proved to be extremely difficult. For a web-savvy person fluent in French, it took me over 10 minutes to find because this info must either be a) downloaded as a PDF format, or b) found on an entirely different website. Scandal! But I digress …)
The McDonald’s frappé in France is served in a portion of 167 grams. The smallest sized milkshake in the United States clocks in at 332 grams. Keep reading »
When I was 4 years old I was in my first play. When my big, finale scene came along I was supposed to sweep a moneybag down from a chimney and rejoice. But when the moneybag was not in its place, I was forced to think on my feet and come up with a new ending. I began to improvise a scene: “We don’t need any money, we have each other, we’ll live on love!” Where did I come up with that? I have no idea. But I followed my inspirational dialogue with what I thought would be some awe-inspiring dance moves I had learned in my ballet class. I did some kind of a funked-up pirouette and some leaps. Much to my surprise, the audience began to roar with laughter and applaud. My dancing was funny? It was supposed to be great. While I was a big hit as a comedic actress, I was a big flop as a dancer. Keep reading »
Allow me to give you a little background on my history with fitness. Don’t worry, this won’t take long. I danced a bit as a kid; I learned how to surf in Costa Rica; I’ve taken yoga off and on for three years or so, focusing on Bikram yoga in the last six months, although, um, I haven’t gone in a month; I have tried “running,” with embarrassing results, although Ami’s essay
on completing her first half-marathon was inspiring. I also ride my bike a lot during the summer, but only around my neighborhood and not in any way that could be described as physically challenging. I’ve belonged to a few gyms over the years, but working out has always been a struggle simply because I have very little interest in it. In short, fitness has always bored the crap out of me and with the exception of a new challenge — like surfing — I have never looked forward to it. That all changed with Anti-Gravity Yoga Wings. Keep reading »
Best news ever for an extreme pickle lover like me! A new study shows that pickle juice is better at relieving muscle cramps than water or other sports drinks. This discovery led to an new amazing product, Pickle Juice Sport, a sports drink loaded with electrolytes, pickle brine, and a little bit of vinegar, the magic ingredient which penetrates the muscles. You best believe I will be drinking Pickle Juice Sport when I run my next half-marathon. In the meantime, I’ll just keep drinking those dirty pickle martinis I love so much. How about you? Are you switching to Pickle Juice or sticking with Powerade? [AOL]
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Do your friends marvel at your discipline to be at the gym EVERY morning at 6 a.m.? Or is your favorite exercise move texting? (C’mon it has to burn some calories, right?) Maybe you’ve become addicted to fitness gizmos ever since you tried out your mom’s Thighmaster in the 8th grade … or you’re nursing the tennis elbow you got from playing Wii Fit (who woulda thunk it?). What’s your fitness style? After the jump, take our quiz and find out if you’re a Workout Warrior, Gym Rat … or just Loving Your Lady Lumps. Keep reading »
I love yoga (along with the other 30 million women who practice in the U.S). And when I realized that I could combine my love for yoga and my love for James, my fiance, into a partner yoga session, I was honestly psyched.
The day of our lesson, I asked James if he was excited? “Excited is not the word I would use,” he answered. I think he wanted to say “tortured” but abstained. Keep reading »
In fifth grade I was the new kid in school, which is always hard. But I think it’s hardest in gym class. Especially if you’re the new “chubby” kid with zero athletic ability. Hello locker room spitballs.
It was the day before Thanksgiving and, much to my dismay, running day in gym class. Running days were my most dreaded, aside from dodge ball days — my head is a ball magnet for some reason. I was the slowest runner in my class besides Stephen, the even fatter, even newer kid who everyone called “Snuffy.” I already knew what would happen out there on the track. Everyone would be staring at me from the sidelines, having finished ages ago, as I rounded my final lap, huffing and puffing from my allergies, turning red with embarrassment and possible heat stroke, everyone laughing as I crossed the finish line flapping my arms. I can’t do this today, I just can’t, I thought. I hid in a corner of the locker room trying to come up with creative ways to get out of running.
Mr. Pollack, the gym teacher, announced that we would be running the “Turkey Trot” — a glorified one-mile run with a stupid name to make it sound fun. The person who came closest to guessing their time would win a giant, chocolate turkey. How awesome would that be to receive a giant piece of chocolate at the end of this torture session? So totally radical, to use the vernacular of the day. Not that I needed any chocolate. Keep reading »