Can I see your ID please? Why of course I thought as I smugly handed my ID to the lady at the register in our local grocery store. “I need to see her ID as well,” the lady pointed to my teenage daughter. “No you don’t, I said, that is my daughter.” The woman looked down at my ID, looked up at me, and had that typical look of confusion on her face that most

Since the beginning of time, at least my time, women have presented themselves as truly unique creatures. I’m starting to think that we were born screaming because we had to leave our comfy place of slumber knowing all too well the responsibility and nonsense we would have to take on in our life. One would think that with age, the drama, jealousy and the emotional madness of women would pass, dwindle, go back to somewhere

I used to know this girl, but I’m happier now that I don’t. It was toxic, our friendship. It was based around drama, the more, the better. Everyday was something. Something to complain about, someone to make fun of, a secret shared, a lie covered. Whispers to each other that no one else could hear, private rude jokes that no one else would understand, eye ball rolling to each other when we thought no one

I’m not apologizing for being fit. Not now, not ever. Not happening. And, I’m not apologizing for wanting to get more fit, in better shape, and stronger. I frequently find myself saying, “I am just getting started.” And I mean it. Getting healthy energizes me, it’s like the best natural high I could ask for minus a hangover. Furthermore, I am not apologizing for wanting my daughter to be fit, healthy, and strong either. Or,