When I was in ninth grade, I was teased by some boys that I couldn’t get pregnant because I didn’t have my period. Over a thicket of students, they launched the insult at me while I made my way down the hallway to my next class. It was the first time I’d been body shamed. The first time I used fuck off as a response. Which is worth noting, given...
I went to visit my daughter’s speed coach, Cindy, the other day. She’s the kind of woman who is easy to crush on –super smart, generous with her time, and, above all, kick-ass tough. She trains sprinters and long-distance runners, soccer players and dancers . . . basically any kind of athlete who wants to move faster and more efficiently, which means fine-tuning form and making all of the many...
There’s so much noise around turning 50. Does one deny being a half-century old? Embrace the achievement? Fight like the devil to turn back the clock? Without question, this age instigates a new chapter with bigger stakes and a growing sense of urgency. Given our youth-obsessed culture and my own compulsion to stay young, I wondered how honestly I could write about this milestone. Fifty on Fifty is my experiment.
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