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I fucking hate yoga. I fucking love yoga. I’m gonna be sore as hell tomorrow. I was thinking all this as I walked down Valencia Street…

I know I’m not a pillar of health. Hell, if we’re making pillar comparisons I’m far closer to the pillar of salt that Lot’s Wife turned into in the bible than anything else. That said, I know some of you motherfuckers love yoga and juice and other healthy stuff. So that’s

1. Taking Van Ness Instead of Gough or Franklin Unless you are actually going to one of the commercial spaces on Van Ness Avenue, there is really no reason on God’s green earth for you to be taking what is consistently the most trafficked thoroughfare in SF. After all, it’s

My Facebook and Twitter feeds are constantly flooded with updates about going to the gym. Part of me feels like being a smart-ass and asking, “If you don’t post about going to the gym, did it not happen?” Personally, while these people are advertising to the world that they’re sweating

I’m smelling a slight stench coming from the direction of my armpits, and I suddenly realize that it’s not my son’s dirty diaper, or some food gone bad that might be lodged in our couch, it’s my sweatshirt.  I’ve worn it five days in a row now.  I can’t help

Back in my early 30s living in New York, I subsisted on slices from the pizzeria downstairs, copious amounts of coffee, and wine. Fitness was simple…I belonged to no gym, but my workout consisted of running in some form or another: to the subway, from the subway, up and down