Tag Archives: Friends

Exercise: A Like Story

August 13, 2015


Once upon a time I was never in shape. Not in middle school or high school or in the college fitness center where I pretended to work-out but was really just reading a People magazine and checking out the dude situation. I’ve been thin, but never athletic. A size four, but never able to run a mile without taking a 30 minute “allergy break.” Sports were just never my thing. Instead I was a choir, musical, yearbook nerd with body issues. It all worked out okay, but being in shape has never been on my radar.

This is the part of the story where you insert a BUT THEN anecdote featuring a before-and-after photo and magical juice blend squeezed from a zebra’s liver.

Not today, folks!

I did join our local gym a few months ago, inspired by friends getting fit and a few terrifying heart disease infomercials. The day before I signed up, I tried to back out of it because:

1) I hate gyms.
2) Gyms are expensive.
3) Why don’t you just walk outside, dummy?
4) Locker rooms smell weird.
5) Other people will be there.
6) I’m too tired.
7) Exercise is boring.
8) I hate gyms.

I also have a bad track record of signing up for gym memberships and then never going back to actually exercise. At least twice I have called a corporate headquarters to get out of a one year contract due to “extreme circumstance” (I wanted to stay home and watch TV). There was a brief period in my early twenties when my friend Carrie and I would frequent a sketchy gym on the outskirts of town to use the elliptical for ten minutes and then sit in coin operated massage chairs. It was the best of times and the best of times.

Ultimately I decided to sign up and give it another try. My friends Natasha and Mo were doing it, and despite my crusty exterior, I’m a hopeless romantic for second and 15th chances. Also there’s childcare. Even if I just sit and slow pedal on a stationary bike with a book for an hour, that’s worth something–right?


Wrong. Much to my horror, Natasha and Mo did not want to slow pedal and talk celebrity gossip while our kids were in childcare. They didn’t even want to use the elliptical. THE ELLIPTICAL. Instead they insisted on taking classes because “It’s a better work out” and “We will sweat more” and “It will help us stay on task.”

Come to the gym, they said. It will be a nice break, they said.

The first class we do is Zumba. If you are unfamiliar with this ancient practice, it is basically a bunch of women aged 18-100 shaking their butts to Beyonce. Ten minutes in, I start to cry. I can’t do half the moves, but what can I say? There’s just something about grandmas and teenage girls dancersizing to dirty rap together that moves me. Five out of five stars.

The next class we do is called Boot Camp. I’m nervous about the title but they say I’ll be fine. Two minutes in, I remember why I hate exercise. Three minutes in, I am thinking about how to cancel this gym membership. Anemia? Financial ruin? Chronic pink eye? I give Natasha my angriest glare. She responds with a thumbs up. Zero out of five stars.

The next handful of classes are somewhere in between. Spin class, water aerobics, body combat, body flow, yoga. I make a mental checklist of achievements. Small triumphs for my fit friends, but giant leaps for my soft body.

After a few months we fall into a rhythm. We mix and match classes and make plans on Sunday nights for what the week will look like. Everything we do is hard and semi-unpleasant, but I grab my water bottle and load the kids into the car anyways, knowing that if someone wasn’t meeting me there–I would have quit by now. I would have feigned a terminal illness to get out of that one year contract and kissed 10 minutes on the elliptical goodbye. 

Sometimes peer pressure wins for everyone in the end.

Help me

Once upon a time I was never in shape, but putting on my sneakers without making up a head cold is ten steps ahead of my former self. I have lost zero pounds, but every day I feel my body getting stronger. I still swear during boot camp and lie flat on the ground during push-ups, but I’m showing up. For me, it will always be 100% of the battle.

I wish I could call this a love story, but my love is reserved for the finer things in life; pizza, beer, lying horizontal for as many minutes as possible. So I guess this is more of a like story. A toleration story. As it turns out, I don’t hate gyms. They aren’t that expensive, I can still walk outside, and you don’t have to use the locker room. The people are okay too.

Official Yelp Review—>

I had heard about Exercise for many years and decided to finally give it an honest try at The Gym. Pros: emotional release, stronger muscles, social activity, increased sex drive. Cons: Still kind of hate exercise. 4/5 stars.


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Five Ways To Find Friends, Create A Village, And Possibly Creep Out Your Neighbors

June 24, 2015

I don't need another friend

We’ve been talking a lot about the village lately. I know it can been annoying, especially if you’re a cranky introvert with an aversion to small talk. But sometimes you have to suck it up for the sake of your fragile sanity that has been teetering on the edge of spilled cereal and long Wednesday evenings alone. Also, have you ever tried on skinny jeans in poorly lit dressing rooms? The older I get, the more I realize how much we need each other.

Some signs you might need a village:

1) You recently had a baby.
2) You have multiple babies/children/people asking for sandwiches.
3) You often find yourself hiding in the bathroom because it’s quieter there.
4) Your best friend is a fictional character who lives in Netflix.
5) Your spouse works long hours.
6) Your spouse works fine hours but is not willing to discuss the psychotic undertones of Gillian Flynn novels.
7) You are a human.

Here’s the thing, I’m not very good at making friends. But I have learned a few things as a husband in medical school, the realities of adulthood, and children have forced my hand.  Five ways to find friends, create a village, and possibly creep out your neighbors listed below. May our conversations move past our insecurities and right onto childhood terrors and the joys of night snacking. We are in this together.


1) Research it.

What’s the worst part about making friends? Actually meeting them! Believe me, no one wants to do this part. First friend dates are just as uncomfortable as romantic ones. What do I wear? What do I say? What do I do with my hands? Just as difficult: actually finding friends to date. You will never know if Karen is your new Chipotle champion if you never actually meet her. Ideas: Facebook groups, book clubs, mutual friends, church things, school parking lot, special interest clubs, the park, Zumba class, the mall bathroom. I’ve even met people on Instagram (hello Frances). It’s never easy, but when you find someone else who also loves HBO and hates off-brand cream cheese, it’s all been worth it.


2) Create it.


Parents aren’t the only ones who need a village, but they do fall under a specific category of needs. For example, the need to get away from their kids. Paying for a babysitter is always worth it, but if you’re like me and can’t afford all the help you need, babysitting swaps are a mother’s best friend. Some areas even have whole babysitting co-ops that use things like playing cards instead of money to keep track of hours. My friend Mo and I are starting one in our small town to provide free childcare for things like writing, self improvement, date nights, and solo grocery trips. Some ideas on how to start one here and here. Women helping women. There’s no better thing.

3) Theme it.

tina fey

Sometimes it’s easier to plan things with new friends if there’s a theme involved. Things on our rotation: Game nights, trivia nights, book club, movie club, and pool night. Totally nerdy but who doesn’t like creating complex trivia games with corresponding snacks? Book club is an especially great starting point because it gives you A) a reason to get together with B) something to talk about besides the weather and potty training. Ours is an open invite every month. We rotate houses, book genres, and welcome nursing babies with open arms. You don’t even have to read the book. Movie club is new and similar except we meet weekly instead of monthly as part of a 10 Step Program to surviving residency. We rotate houses, meet after our kids are in bed, and wear our pajamas. The host picks a surprise movie and sends out a snack hint the week before. So far we’ve watched Wild, Still Alice, and The Theory Of Everything.


4) Schedule it. the-secretary-cant-book-a-flight-for-tomorrows-business-meeting-89585

Pro tip: “Let’s do lunch sometime” is not an acceptable way schedule a lunch unless you plan on never actually having the lunch. My college friends and I have been getting together twice a year for almost a decade because from the very first gathering, we’ve always picked the next reunion’s date before we leave. It will always be hard to coordinate seven family’s schedules, but it’s impossible without planning ahead. The same goes with local friends. If no weekly or monthly plans are set in place, it is much easier to hibernate in my house like a reluctant sloth. Putting things on the calendar is the only way busy adults see each other on a regular basis.


5) Show up.


Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the most awkward of them all? It’s me. I’m the most awkward. Over the past 30 years, I have come up with a gamut of excuses for getting out of interactions with people I don’t know. New co-workers in the lunchroom? I’ve got to get to an important financial meeting! Baby shower brunch for a long lost cousin? Sorry, sore throat and a touch of vertigo! But just like Reverend Carrie Bradshaw would probably say in one of her earth shattering monologues, “I’ve come to learn that showing up is half the battle.” If I wouldn’t have studied Spanish with Jen or started a book club with Mo, I wouldn’t have two of the most important circles of women to help raise my kids and give me advice on sports bras. We can do this.


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12 Truths On Female Friendship From Smart Women

June 2, 2015

Gloria SteinamAny woman who chooses to behave like a full human being should be warned that the armies of the status quo will treat her as something of a dirty joke . . . She will need her sisterhood.
Gloria Steinem

oprah2Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.
Oprah Winfrey

Sisters2There are people you are born with and then there are the people you find … I have found my people in the cubicle next to me, in the apartment upstairs from me, and in my book club. One morning one friend brings another friend running, and it sticks forever. Other times the funny stranger across the table at an industry lunch is just who you need in your life. Don’t get me wrong. There aren’t loads of Your People out there. That is why it is important to be on the lookout. Your People are hard to find.
Satellite Sisters

lamottTrappings and charm wear off… Let people see you. They see your upper arms are beautiful, soft and clean and warm, and then they will see this about their own, some of the time. It’s called having friends, choosing each other, getting found, being fished out of the rubble. It blows you away, how this wonderful event ever happened — me in your life, you in mine.

Two parts fit together. This hadn’t occurred all that often, but now that it does, it’s the wildest experience. It could almost make a believer out of you. Of course, life will randomly go to hell every so often, too. Cold winds arrive and prick you: the rain falls down your neck: darkness comes. But now there are two of you: Holy Moly.
Anne Lamott

glennon2The only meaningful thing we can offer one another is love. Not advice, not questions about our choices, not suggestions for the future, just love.
Glennon Melton

annaThe thing about old friends is not that they love you, but that they know you. They remember that disastrous New Year’s Eve when you mixed White Russians and champagne, and how you wore that red maternity dress until everyone was sick of seeing the blaze of it in the office, and the uncomfortable couch in your first apartment and the smoky stove in your beach rental. They look at you and don’t really think you look older because they’ve grown old along with you, and, like the faded paint in a beloved room, they’re used to the look. And then one of them is gone, and you’ve lost a chunk of yourself. The stories of the terrorist attacks of 2001, the tsunami, the Japanese earthquake always used numbers, the deaths of thousands a measure of how great the disaster. Catastrophe is numerical. Loss is singular, one beloved at a time.
Anna Quindlen

virginiaSome people go to priests, others to poetry. I go to my friends.
Virginia Woolf

babsThe friend who holds your hand and says the wrong thing is made of dearer stuff than the one who stays away.
Barbara Kingsolver

Lena-Dunham-by-Terry-Richardson-for-V-Magazine-OuttakesI think about my best friendship – which the Marnie-Hannah friendship in Girls is based on – as like a great romance of my young life.
Lena Dunham

Chelsea-Handler-hotIt’s been my experience that people who make proclamations about themselves are usually the opposite of what they claim to be. If someone is truly a loyal friend, then they wouldn’t need to broadcast it; eventually, people will figure it out. I have a lot of good friends and not one of them has ever introduced themselves by saying, “I’m a very good friend.”
Chelsea Handler

gretaI think that, definitely in your 30s and 40s and early 50s, a lot of women can lose sight of each other because the pressures of marriage and family can take over, but I’ve found that in my mom’s generation and for different women I’ve known in their 60s, they’ve seemed to really find each other again, in a significant way. Whether it’s that they got divorced or the kids are grown up, they have all this time again. I’ve known more women in their 60s who have traveled with each other or see each other all the time and hang out all the time. I feel like it can be rediscovered as a primary relationship, maybe later in life.
Greta Gerwig

The thing with friends when you get older — I mean this is not anything I haven’t written about — is they can’t be replaced. When you’re 30, you accumulate friends and you shed friends and you get closer at certain moments to some than others. And you have a huge bench of friends. And then that’s just not true.
Nora Ephron


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Here Is Where We Stay: Finding A Village

May 27, 2015


A funny thing happens in your twenties and thirties, and this is especially true for millennial women with smartphones and Netflix, all of a sudden it becomes increasingly difficult to actually see each other. We’re busy, we’re tired, we already have our sweatpants on. Nobody wants to meet for coffee after pushing papers or listening to a two-year-old all day. We have our books. We have our phones. We are tired.

The problem with this is obvious, we are not designed to be alone. Work, children, marriage, our aging parents and arm skin–all of those things require support. Collaboration. Emergency meetings and carpooling. Eventually we need to find a village.

It can start in grade school or high school or in those tender years at college when you’re acting dumb but they hold your hair back anyways. But sometimes it’s harder than that. Sometimes it’s at the gym or on a walking path after months of awkward book club meetings when the gaps between small talk make everyone a bit nauseated. Sometimes you have to try, and that’s the tricky part. The vulnerable part. The part where things get weird before they get good.

When Austin started med school four years ago, I thought I would raise my babies alone. Instead I found a group of women who became family. It wasn’t easy at first. There were many brunches and group texts and picnics in the park when I couldn’t tell if it was going to work. But then slowly we opened up to each other. We shared our dark parts and weird habits and cried about our jobs. We did what you do when you keep showing up, we fell in love.

A few months ago my friend Mo sent me an excerpt from Kelly Corrigan’s book, The Middle Place. An ode to women and friendship found in the epilogue. It got me good and I wanted to share it with you, too.

This is for The Birds and The Circle. For B, L, and S. C & E. For my sister and family.

This is for the women who take the time to invest in other women. Our villages as they ebb and flow.

We are in this together.

I turned 40 a few weeks ago. I tried (twice) to make a toast about friendship but both times, I blew it. I wanted to say something about my mom and her friends, who call themselves “The Pigeons.”

There were once at least a dozen “Pigeons” (I believe the name was a self-effacing twist on Hens) but in the past few years, they lost two of the greats, Robin Burch and Mary Maroney, to cancer. On the pigeons go, though, like women do, limping one minute, carrying someone the next. They started in the 60s, in suburban Philadelphia, with bridge and tennis and chardonnay (ok, vodka) and, over time, became something like a dedicated fleet, armed ships sailing together, weather be damned.

For me and women of my generation, it started with playdates, cutting carbs and meeting on Monday mornings in workout clothes to do awkward moves with large colorful balls. And I can see exactly where it’s heading.

We’ll water each other’s plants, pick up each other’s mail, take each other’s Christmas card photos. We’ll confer about jog bras and contractors and pediatricians. We’ll gossip about babysitters, teachers, neighbors, in laws. We’ll speculate about who had a shot of Botox, who cheats on their taxes, who cleans until midnight. We’ll implore each other to read this book or see this movie or listen to this song. We’ll persuade each other to bake, sell, recruit, fold, stuff, paint, clean and write checks for our favorite non-profits.

We’ll celebrate each other’s achievements –opening an exercise studio, a corner store, a jewelry business. We’ll celebrate our kids’ achievements – making the traveling team, singing in the choir, learning to use the potty or speak French or play the flute. We’ll borrow eggs, earrings, extra chairs, galvanized tubs for a barbeque. We’ll throw birthday parties for each other and stain the rugs and shatter the wine glasses and mark up new counters with the odd slice of lemon. We’ll worry about who seems down, who looks tired, whose drinking more and more. We’ll say things we wished we hadn’t and have to find a way to regain each other’s trust. Things will break, they always do. Many will be fixed.

We’ll fret over our children—too shy, too loud, too angry, too needy. We’ll brainstorm ways to help them become more resilient, patient, forgiving, light-hearted. We’ll protect them—fiercely—pulling little bodies from the deep end, double-latching windows, withholding car keys.

We’ll bury our mothers and our fathers—shuttling our children off for sleepovers, jumping on red eyes, telling each other stories that hurt to hear about gasping, agonal breaths, hospice nurses, scars and bruises and scabs and how skin papers shortly after a person passes. We will nod in agreement that it is as much an honor to witness a person come into the world as it is to watch a person leave it.

People will drift in and out. Book clubs will swell and thin. We’ll write someone off and they’ll reemerge later and we’ll remember both why we loved them and why we let them slip away but we’ll be softer and we’ll want them back, for nostalgia will get stronger.

We’ll admire each other for a fine crème brule, a promotion, a degree, a finished marathon. We’ll commiserate about commutes, layoffs, mortgage rates, bosses, unappreciated toys. We’ll confide in each other about feeling anxious or angry or uninteresting or uninspired or how many pieces of Halloween candy we accidentally ate from our kids’ bags. We’ll confess that our husbands don’t really listen to us or that we should be having more sex or that we yell at our kids every day. We’ll admit that we believe in God, Jesus Christ, Heaven and Hell, or that we don’t.

We’ll give up things together—caffeine, catalogs, Costco, social smoking. We’ll take up things too—morning walks, green tea, organic dairy, saying grace.

We’ll throw potlucks and take each other to lunch and give each other frames and soaps and bracelets. We’ll check each other’s heads for lice and examine new bumps and moles and listen to lists of symptoms. We’ll diagnose each other’s brown lawns, torn muscles, basement odors. We’ll teach other how to set a ring tone, make a slide show, download a movie.

We will call and say “I heard the news” and whatever the news is, we will come running, probably with food. We’ll insist on taking the kids, finding second opinions, lots of rest and the best surgeon. We will face diseases, many kinds, and will—temporarily—lose our hair, our figures and our minds.

Eventually, someone whose not supposed to die will, maybe one of us, maybe a husband, God forbid a child, and all this celebrating and sharing and confessing will make certain essential comforts possible. We’ll rally around and hold each other up and it won’t be nearly enough but it will help the time pass just a hair faster than it would have otherwise. We will wait patiently and lovingly for that first laugh after the loss. When it comes, and it will come, we will cry as we howl as we clutch as we circle. We will transcend, ladies. Because we did all this, in that worst moment, we will transcend.


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Ginger + Waylon Forever

May 20, 2015


When Austin started med school, I was worried I would raise my babies alone. Instead the opposite came true. I found a group of women that became my village; a safe place to navigate parenthood and discuss everything from breastfeeding to postpartum poos. It’s also where I met Heather. We had our first babies together at the beginning of medical school, and over the past four years those babies have grown up together as best friends.

2012-09-20 14.29.09

Next week Heather, Ginger, Neil, and Tallulah move home to California for residency. We celebrate with them but also mourn the loss of grocery store dates, first days of school, and chasing our kids together at the park. There is something special that happens when you experience all your firsts together. Our mom hearts are bound together for life.


Ginger and Waylon will miss each other but we know this isn’t goodbye, just see you soon.

There is just something about that first best friend.


Ginger and Waylon forever.