#total body conditioning

[ascendancepyb]

Website: https://www.ascendance-pyb.com/

Address: 1726 S. 8 Street, Fernandina Beach, Florida, United States

Ascendance - Pilates, Yoga, & Barre is your premier boutique fitness studio in Fernandina Beach, offering a diverse range of classes including Reformer Pilates, Yoga, and Barre. Our vision focuses on whole-health and well-being through innovative, collaborative programming. Whether you're a beginner or seeking to elevate your practice, our experienced instructors and state-of-the-art equipment are here to guide you on your fitness journey.

Yelp : https://www.yelp.com/biz/ascedance-pilates-yoga-and-barre-fernandina-beach

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[kthulhu42]

I'm not going to argue with anons anymore

"I don't want to be harassed" for what, your neurosexism? Or your denial of biology (when it suits)? Or do you think the mean terfs are going to pick on you for cherry-picking studies paid for and performed by trans organisations?

You're not worried about harassment. You're worried about being called out.

#To be totally fair though I don't care if by some miracle they found the girliest most feminine flower-engraved brain in a male head #They could do a biopsy and find fucking pink glitter and a signed photo of Dylan Mulvaney #And it would still be a male brain in a male body with male hormones and male conditioning

[robinsnest2111]

the way I'm honest to dog growing an actual dark coarse hair neckbeard and moustache when I don't shave every 2-3 days lmao

I'M NOT EVEN ON T, MY FUCKED UP BODY JUST DOES WHAT IT WANTS APPARENTLY

#another moment of considering the possibility i might actually have an as of yet undiscovered intersex condition 🤔 #like all my bloodwork is always In The Normal Range (even my hormones) #i do have some occasional blips of my thyroid fucking around and calming back down and select temporary vitamin deficiencies #but other than that doctors always tell me i'm totally fine nothing fucky going on in my body #i don't fully trust them esp. since i got a full hormone workup as a teen once and apparently the doctors were alarmed #because my T levels were higher than average?????? but my mother took that call and never scheduled any follow up stuff #so i'll never know what exactly the doctors were concerned about lol #guess i'll just get hairier and beardy-er the older i get #hope my voice will follow suit someday. that'd be nice #no male pattern baldness tho pls i'm way too attached to my hair 😭

[kenobihater]

awesome. now on top of my million and one other medical issues, i just either sprained or strained my ankle while walking around my fucking house. i didn't roll it, didn't trip, i just turned around and my ankle lit on fire. fucking kms 🤗

#len speaks #i haven't injured an ankle since i was like 16 in peak physical condition. and that was from vigorous exercise. not fucking TURNING AROUND #like what the hell. why does my body suck total shit rn!!!!!!! #i'm gonna stay up for a bit and ice it then elevate it and try and sleep. i'm so fucking pissed rn this is the absolute pits

[chryzure]

sitting here, twiddling my thumbs. azure might be some form of aplatonic as well.

#memorie.txt #aspec in all categories i guess!!! #mostly because. i was rlly trying to figure out what his deal is #because he’s Friendly with ppl (or polite) but generally doesn’t pursue deeper friendships #because he doesn’t rlly feel the need to?? he’s jst fine as is thanks… he has his wife and his 21 seaslug free daughters at home.. #hmm. jst feels weird when trying to assign him friends. he would NOT enjoy that!!!! #there’s literally no drive or enjoyment derived from (most?) friendships. he’s jst enduring #i think conni surpassed that by hitting azure’s cheat code totally on accident (photography/chess/chrysi) #and now he and conni are linked for life #and chrysi jst is the most perfect companion for azure ever #so she gets to be his. jst his. like it’s romantic but it’s also so much More than that. they once shared a body. they once shared a SOUL. #it’s too simple to describe as romantic… #anyway. this doesn’t count when azure perceives someone as an adoptive child because he loves kids #but at the end of the day azure jst likes keeping friendly acquaintances #. this is no surprise to anyone but im slowly figuring out labels for all my charas #and assigning them all different mental conditions too. chrysi’s bipolar and has ocd (obvious). jacks has bpd like crazy. #azure’s… hmm. defs low empathy and depression and probably autism #but most of my characters do. chrysi’s ocd might stem from autism i jst need to Consider this.. #anywayyy. thoughts. #i am Going to sleep. i cried vv hard and ate chocolate and thought abt azure so im all good for the night ithink

[soldier-poet-king]

I was writing some thoughts down about a book I'm halfway through (I am trying not to let things stew in my brain as much. Writing incoherent thoughts is good for my nerves) and it's a fantasy 'let's get the gang back together' fetch quest featuring a 60 smthn yr old protag but also I wrote, imo, the best thoughts I've ever had about coming of age stories and my unconventional love of them . An excerpt bc you don't need all my thoughts about the book specifically:

Life is a constant state of becoming, a coming of age novel is supposed to be about growth and self discovery and inching your way towards some sort of peace (loosely defined). If we're a different self everyday, if we are constantly changing and growing, I think all good stories are, in a way, coming of age novels. We're all just, coming of a certain undefined age. We often speak of selves as discrete phases "the former self" as if they're completely disconnected to who we are now, as if our current selves are not just a blend and growth of everyone we have been and are becoming. I hate the common equation of coming of age with "grim or edgy novel about teens and the loss of innocence" because it can be so much more than that! It should be so much more! There no clear loss of innocence, no clear delineation between childhood and maturity, there's no automatic flipped switch in real life. We're never "done" while we're still living, there's no Telos or permanent state of self in life, so how can coming of age be limited to teens? We're ALWAYS in a state of becoming and that is the most wonderful thing I've ever believed

Sometimes "that's just the (innate) human condition" is a source of immeasurable Joy and Hope

#franposting #bear in mind its not actuallt THAT COHERENT #i just managed to put it into words! #which for me is a lot th #tbh #coming of age #bildungsroman #take that english prof who i loathed and totally misunderstood human life #anyway yes i am reading the return of Fitzroy anguersell #the not reallt a sequel but def related book to HOTE #bc the HOTE sequel is out but i havenr read it yet #but i gotta read TROFA and i think the pali avrumpal bk first #and ill probs reread hotebc i rlly did love it that much #THERES NOT ENOUGH HRS IN THE DAY ;-; #anyway. consider. I'm incoherent #im tired. it's late. ive been so sad for weeks. my bodys falling apart. im not wearing my glasses bc i said i was goinf to sleep #but now im squinting ar mt phone half an inch frok mt face like a bad person #ILL GO SLEEP NOW #but pls come talk to me abt books ans stories ans rhe human condition ans states of becoming and life ans possibility #storytelling as a mirror through which we understand ourselves and the world and each other etc et c e tc #ALSO eden if u see this it was partially inspired by u #i cant remember the context but you said smthn abt coming of age and growth and its been banging around my brain since #and it articulated this thing ive tho8ght and felt but never had the words for

[cindydahlwrites]

I'm so sick of people being like "beautiful insecurities on celebrities!" and then showing a picture in which you'd be hard-pressed to find the actual insecurity.

Recently I saw a tiktok that was supposed to prove to you that people with crossed eyes or lazy eyes were beautiful and I got so happy and excited because that's something I've never seen displayed before and something I've been struggling with my whole life and then... I just got so disappointed.

Those people had barely any lazy eye. It was just "leftovers" after surgery. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to exclude them, but...

It's sad that even the people who make those videos to encourage others do not find extreme cases of these disorders pretty enough to include. Because when people talk about being insecure about lazy eyes, that's what they mean. Not an unfocused eye that could have as well been a play of the light. They want to see a person who, as bad as this sounds, undoubtedly has an eye condition that influences their looks significantly.

Then you see videos with people displaying those insecurities as they really are, and the comments are just... Mean.

"Over here mate."

or

"She doesn't like one direction"

and so many, many others. And perhaps those comments would have been funny, if they were made by the person with the actual condition, or by their friends who know this person doesn't mind it.

But otherwise it's just so, so hurtful.

Because it's "everyone is beautiful in their own way" unless they're actually different. And "body positivity is for everyone" unless it's not something that you personally find appealing. Where is body positivity for amputees? People with defective eyesight? Skin conditions? Rare diseases that alter their looks? For people who sweat a lot?

Simply, there's none. Apparently, the society that likes to boast about how everyone should be kind and inclusive and tolerant also dictates who is to be laughed at for something they cannot control.

I don't like being bitter here, because I do not want to be seen as a bitter person who can do nothing but complain. This is, after all, primarily a writing/book/fandom blog. Primarily. Sometimes, however, I just can't help it. Maybe this will get to one person that can learn something. And that will be enough.

#insecurities #beautiful #totally random #bodypositivity #body positivity #eye conditions #lazy eye #cross eyed #I don't care if you find it gross #there's still no reason for you to be mean just because it's not your preference for looks

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

#my brain is not very good at solidifying concepts so im just going rant a bit until i can made sense to myself #the conception and evolution of life is so fucking cazy. its a self assembling machine. building and building and building #without direction. traits flow like a river. branching. halting. repurposing parts for new adaptations #what we see now was not the goal. what u see is an assemblage of traits that avaided death #the creatures u see are not always reflective of their total evolutionary history. somtimes the organisms that survive originate from the #group of weirdos compared to their sister species. the freak survives to confuse paleontologists #paleontology has infinity elevated my appreciation for the study of animals and plants. ive never been very interested in either but the #way they change over time. the creeping of traits. animals are organic machines of flesh and blood. i cant not see them that way. ive been #watching dissection videos and the complexity. the way theyre structured. skin and muscle and viscera all working in perfect order until #theyre not. robust and impossibly fragile. and they came to be as they are by the tumble of genetics thru history. a record of which we #have below our feet. pressed flat. years and years and years. and all that started with a tiny assemblage of molecules that didnt even take #that long to manifest on this plant in the grand scheme of things. it seems impossible that life couldnt be common under the right #conditions. there's so much we'll never kno. we have a limited record but with what we have we can see so much #its just so... its so fucking profoundly interesting. leaning abt paleontology has profoundly changed how i see the world. im so fucking #glad i started listening to common decent bc its warmed my fingers just a tiny bit and i was so so cold. im still cold #im so tired. my brain is exhausting. i wish it understood that if i slept for more than like 4hrs i could focus better #bc i wanted to spend my weekend learning. not stuck in a fog making myself miserable. and yet i dont let myself sleep. i could if i tried #but my brain wont let me try. in my cells is a history of life for a single lineage. my Brain is so remarkablely complex that its capable #of self awareness. introspection. and the intentional inflation of pain upon itself and it's host body #robust but fragile. another aspect of life i find most interesting is where things start to break down. what are the limit? #at what point do things start to come unspooled? and why? what does that say about our history? #sometimes i have a thought thats very unproductive. we humans are destroying the planet. our actions will and have perpetuated vast amounts #of suffering and death. but at the same time life has crept around so much death and suffering. a world without us would continue to #proliferate. we cant kill literally everything. something will survive to stretch across the surface of rhe earth once we're gone. change #continuing. unproductive as i said but also somehow comforting. a nearly empty world filled with now useless information abd only things #tbat creep and crawl. or thats what i like to think. we could prob kill everything if we tried #complex brains capable of infinite destruction #unrelated

[thefitculture]

#thick fit #total body #fitness goals #wellness and health #fitness motivation #body sculpting #strength and conditioning #fitness inspiration #body goals #the fit culture #fitness queen

[cakesandfail]

Hey so was anyone going to tell me that vasovagal syncope is considered a form of dysautonomia or was I supposed to just find that out for myself

#me: wow i have all these linked conditions it's almost a surprise that i don't have POTS too #my body: no you dumb bitch you have a totally different type of dysautonomia instead

[juliettewooten]

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[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[basicfit]

Improving Strength, Size, & Performance with Loaded Carry Drills

10 Tips for Loaded Carries

1. Maintain proper gait alignment throughout by having the feet perfectly straight (or very slightly internally rotated) and semi-inline.  This maximizes torque into the floor, stability, and body alignment while minimizing energy leaks. Imagine walking on a thick 6-inch line throughout. In other words, there should not be a larger lateral gap between the legs or feet when walking.

 2. Keep full body tension throughout the duration of the carry.

 3. Maintain tall posture with the shoulders pulled down and slightly back and the head tall (not pushed forward). 

 4. Brace the daylights out of the abs and core. More about core & ab training here.

 5. Walk smoothly without jerky motions. Imagine you’re carrying a cup of water on your head during the loaded carry and try not to spill any.

 6. Try not to take long lumbering steps.  Instead focus on smaller, more compact, quicker steps.

 7. Go barefoot or wear minimalist shoes to achieve maximal foot and ankle activation which will optimize recruitment up the kinetic chain. 

8. Don’t use wrist straps. Instead, strengthen your grip by squeezing the daylight of the weights.

 9. Use chalk when necessary such as during the heaviest sets where grip is obviously the limiting factor.

10. Don’t use a weightlifting belt. Instead, use your core musculature to stabilize your spine.

Click Here To Learn More About LOADED CARRY DRILLS

#Loaded Carry #Strength Training #Functional Fitness #Weightlifting #Resistance Training #Core Stability #Grip Strength #Endurance #Conditioning #Strongman Training #Weighted Exercises #Full-Body Workout #Muscle Activation #Cardiovascular Fitness #Total Body Strength #Cross Training #Power Training #Balance Training #Posture Improvement #Sports Performance

[utopiandankovsky]

paid all the bills for the month!!!!!

aaaaaAaaqaAAAaaaaaAaaAAAAAAAAAAAA

#hate being a paycheck away from total broke #its ok ill just work my body until i die #nevermind the fact that my autoimmune condition is getting worse by the day #anyways time to start saving up to barely pay bill on time again next month!

[cannedpeachess]

No because the way I get so VISCERALLY angry when someone refers to an animal as albino when they’re actually leucistic, erythristic, or xanthochromatic is both deeply irrational and greatly unhealthy

ALBINISM

Total loss of melanin in the body, i.e. skin, hair/fur/feathers, and eyes (the eyes look pink/red because the lack of melanin in the eye exposes the blood vessels within it to light, which then reflects their red hue)

LEUCISM

Partial loss of melanin in the body; the pattern of melanin distribution is unique in each case, so some people or animals with this condition may have patches of typically-colored skin/hair/fur in addition to pigmented eyes, while others may only have the aforementioned ocular pigmentation

ERYTHRISM

Abnormal prevalence of reddish pigment in the skin/hair/fur/feathers of an animal; concentration of this pigment varies case by case, so humans/animals with the condition can present anywhere from only slightly pink to intensely red in color; to my knowledge, the condition does not affect the eyes

XANTHOCHROMISM

Abnormal prevalence of yellow pigment in the skin/hair/fur/feathers of an animal; similar to erythrism, color intensity can vary from light golden hues to deep yellows; again, to my knowledge, the condition does not affect the eyes

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk

#don’t get me wrong #i didn’t always know the difference either #but still #pet peeves #biology #genetics #animals #albinism #leucism #erythrism #xanthochromism #autism #special interest #ted talks

[headspace-hotel]

Problems like climate change, where solving them requires millions of people to collectively work at hundreds of different solutions at once, are black holes for internal peacefulness because they give you a type of frustration where you alternately become bitter towards yourself or everyone around you. "If only I could work harder to fix the problem!" makes you exhausted, so you must become angry at others: "If only they cared about the problem!"

People who are already working on fixing climate change need to convince more people to work on it. And a popular thing is to share writings that describe how doomed we all are if climate change is not fixed, how terrible everything will be because of climate change, and how quickly all the treasures of our world are being lost.

There is a particular understanding of human behavior that is being accepted here without thinking about it hard enough. Popular news media shows headlines with terrible prophecies, written that way in hopes of getting the attention of otherwise disinterested people, who will then be "motivated" to fix climate change.

The trouble is that fear is no good for motivating thoughtful, patient, steady commitment to solving a problem. Fear is made to cause an organism to avoid things that might harm it. It creates a brief and explosive pulse of action where the organism's energy pours out as it instinctively, thoughtlessly reacts to escape the danger as fast as possible.

It's silly to blame people for avoiding thinking about climate change. The point of an organism responding to stressors is to avoid them. Oftentimes, the only tool people are presented with is personal choices about what products to buy, which inevitably is horribly frustrating and stressful, since a person will frequently be coerced by their situation into buying a certain product, and even if they don't they see others doing it all the time.

Relentless exposure to imminent threats that cannot be escaped causes Trauma, which severely impacts a person's ability to be resilient to stressors.

I think there is definitely a type of trauma associated with being constantly aware of the destruction of the environment and feeling helpless to do anything about it, especially since we as humans have a deep need for contact with other living things and aspects of the natural world, such as trees, water, flowers, and animals—a need that is often totally denied and treated as merely a Want or a hobby meant only for certain people who enjoy particular activities, like Hiking or Gardening.

We need to expand our minds on how this disconnection can hurt a human being. Imagine if a child's need to be loved by their caregivers, a person's need to be loved by their friends and family, was treated as a desire for indulgence or luxury, or a certain use of free time!

Yes, yes, one person has a condition that makes it hard to walk up hills, another doesn't like the bright sunshine, another is allergic to the grass or fungal components of the outdoor world, but WE ARE PART OF THE FAMILY OF ALL LIFE ON EARTH and WE EXIST IN SYMBIOSIS WITH THE ENVIRONMENT WHICH TAKES CARE OF US. Who showed you what beauty was, who taught you to feel peace and relief inside you in the form of a caressing breeze and rustle of leaves, who gave you awe and wonder at seeing the stars or the mountains? Where does every delicious food come from but the soil teeming with creatures? Isn't the most perfectly sweet berry grown from a plant, nurtured by the soil and pollinated by the bugs? Don't you feel delight at seeing a springy carpet of moss, a little mushroom, or a tiny bird? Think of all that the trees give us. Whose breath do you breathe? Whose body frames your home?

The writings of Indigenous writers such as the book by Mary Siisip Genuisz I am reading right now show me that the other life forms are our family. They take care of us and provide for us, and they would miss us if our species disappeared. Isn't that a powerful, healing fact? I think everybody is so enthusiastic about the book Braiding Sweetgrass because it is a worldview that those of us coming from the dominant colonizer culture are straight up ravenous, starving to death for.

Maybe, I think to myself, humans can experience a kind of trauma from being deprived a relationship with their Earth, just as they would experience trauma from being deprived relationships with other humans.

I really believe that it hurts us to be surrounded by concrete instead of soil, to see a majestic tree cut down on a whim without any justice possible, to see wild animals mostly in the form of mangled corpses on the roadside, to have poison sprayed everywhere to kill the insects that life depends on, to hear traffic and lawn mowers and weed whackers instead of birds and flowing water.

We KNOW that this is physically bad for our health, the stifling, polluted, and stressful environments of a civilization that doesn't know the ways of the plants, but I think it's a kind of moral injury too, right? To see a beautiful field turned into a housing development of ugly, big, expensive houses—no thought given to the butterflies and sparrows and quail of the field? To see a big old tree cut down, a pond full of frogs obliterated and turned into a drainage ditch beside a gas station? They aren't just things, they are lives, and while expansion and profit and progress are "necessary," a nice old field of wildflowers or a pond full of frogs are a different kind of necessary. I remember feeling this as a child without words for it—the sheer cruelty of a world that is totally without reverence for the other creatures.

"They own the property, they can cut down the tree" "They bought the land, they can do what they want with it" <but it can also be wrong, and many people know this on some level, even though our culture doesn't provide us with the framework.

Fear could never give people the motivation to fix climate change. Constant fear of what will happen in the future forces a person to protect themselves from the relentless stress by shutting it out entirely or developing apathy.

A fear based argument for fixing climate change either causes a worldview of nature with no bond of kinship at all, based on the physical and practical dependence on Nature as a "resource," or forces people to experience their kinship with Nature only through grief.

Fear tells us that we want to live—it does not tell us WHY to live. If a person tries to live on fear alone, they will eventually find the desire to live burdensome and painful in itself. I see this emerging on a society wide scale in the USA, feeding on influences from the Christian evangelicalism that sees the Earth as something already sullied and worthless, to be thrown away like a dirty tissue, and on the looming monolith of nuclear winter that gave our parents recurring nightmares as children.

If you go to r/collapse on Reddit (don't do that) you will see a whole community of people who cope with the threat of climate change by fantasizing about it, imagining it as a collective punishment for all humanity and a cathartic release from the present painful situation.

We cannot learn to live without seeing the reason for living. We cannot save the Earth without loving it. We cannot heal nature without caring for it. In order to collectively take action against climate change, we must be moved by something other than fear—and that something is love. Not just love of the outdoors as an activity, but love of the Earth as something that loves us.

The dominant Western culture cannot borrow Indigenous land stewardship techniques as though they are just one climate resilience strategy, without being also willing to change its dreadfully impoverished way of viewing human relationships with Nature.

What right have we to think, "Huh, maybe those guys were on to something with the multi-level polyculture systems and controlled burns" while still thinking humans are nothing but a disease on the Earth, and that Earth would be happy to be rid of us? The sustainable ways of using the land practiced traditionally by cultures who have lived in relationship with their ecosystems for many generations work because humans can exist in mutualistic symbiosis with the life forms around them. We care for them. They care for us.

I know for a fact that plants seek relationships with us, and I was taught by them to see how interconnected everything really is, and how I was made to be a caretaker of my ecosystem. I was, a few years ago, just as I describe above. Too scared and pessimistic about the future of nature to bother loving it, and because of this, I could not realize my niche in the ecosystem. It felt for many years like I could do nothing—i believed in climate change, but I felt hopeless, so I put it out of my mind. But when I began to cultivate a love and reverence for the sad, scraggly, beaten-down fragments of Nature around me, everything changed. So much became possible.

I am still learning and exploring, trying to open my mind to ideas totally different than the ones I knew growing up, paying close attention to every plant and learning its ways. And it stuns me to think—some people write about climate change without this process.

The author of the book "The Uninhabitable Earth" (a scary book about how doomed the Earth is because of climate change) says in the beginning of the book that he is not very much of a nature lover. You fool, love is our most powerful evolutionary adaptation!

#climate change #the ways of the plants #plants #nature #environment #symbiosis