After a run in the sun or a day spent on the windy ski slopes, I usually come home to discover that my hair is a sweaty, tangled mess. Trying to pull a comb through it only seems to make it worse, forcing me into yet another wash, which I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to do daily, right? And considering how much of a beating our hair takes when exercising, it’s important to take good care of your hair during and after a workout.

The good news is that protecting your hair doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your fitness goals. With the right routine for your hair type and a few mess-free styling tips, you can ensure your hair and scalp stay as healthy and strong as you.

A Build-Up of Sweat Creates the Perfect Environment for Bacteria to Grow

According to a Colorado-based dermatologist, and avid hiker and climber, when we work out, sweat sits on the scalp and increases moisture and oil, which can lead to excess fungal growth.

She explains that this kind of fungi, also called , is a type of yeast that naturally exists on our skin. But, if it overgrows, it can lead to inflammation, itching, scaling, excessive oiliness or dryness, and flaking on the scalp.

Sunlight and Elements Dry Out—and Break—Your Strands

“Sun exposure can damage the actual hair shaft, and it can lead to excessive dryness, which can lead to breakage,” says Shao, who adds that sun exposure over time on the scalp itself can also increase your risk for skin cancer.

If you are doing an activity like skiing or biking, wind may also cause damage. “When your hair is getting whipped around, it gets super knotty, and you have to get all that out; that is definitely going to cause hair breakage and damage,” says Shao.

She adds that it’s important to avoid doing outdoor activities while your hair is wet. “Wet hair is really weak, making excessive heat and cold when your hair is wet a potential problem.”

Too-Tight Buns and Ponytails May Cause Hair Loss

Keeping your hair pulled taut and away from the face with a scrunchie can lead to , a type of hair loss caused by prolonged or repeated tension on the hair strands. “This pulling can lead to hair loss and scalp damage,” says Shao.

Swim Caps Are, Ironically, Not Great Either

Wearing tight swim caps may also cause the hairline to recede.

“Swim caps are great in one sense because they have the benefit of protecting our hair from chlorine,” says Shao, who explains that the chemicals can damage the protective hair cuticle, drying out your strands and scalp. “But swim caps—especially if they are too tight, or worn for extended periods of time, or not put on properly—they can cause a lot of excessive pulling force.”

Silicone caps are better than other materials, like latex, because they tend to fit better and don’t pull on the hair. Regardless of your chosen material, Shao suggests applying a leave-in conditioner to your hair before putting on a cap, which can allow it to slip on more easily. Put both hands inside the cap facing each other and stretch the cap as wide as you can, pulling it over your forehead.

How to Manage Your Hair While Working Out

Your active hair care routine should be tailored to your specific hair profile.ÌęHair knowledge and routine adjustments will go a long way in protecting and nourishing your hair.

Consider Your Hair Type

Hair types divide your hair’s growth pattern and texture into numbered, lettered categories. The accompanying letters, A, B, and C, align with section width, aka the tightness of your curl. Coily hair, for example, may be categorized as type 4b or 4c.

In terms of texture, there are :

• Straight (Type 1): lays flat and can be harder to curl
• Wavy (Type 2): has more volume than straight hair; the tightest waves can be mistaken for curls
• Curly (Type 3): can be loose or tighter, springy curls; because oil has a harder time traveling down the winding strands, curly hair can get dry and frizzy
• Coily (Type 4): tight curls and strands have a zigzag pattern

Additionally, your hair may be naturally thick or thin, oily or dry. And while anybody can experience scalp conditions like psoriasis or alopecia, different hair types are often associated with different conditions. “In general, coarse, coily hair is going to be more prone to dryness and breakage, while more fine hair can be more susceptible to oiliness and scalp irritation,” says Shao.

Choose Accessories Best Suited to Your Hair Needs

While getting to know your locks is a must, proper styling is another can’t-miss step. , co-founder of , an organization dedicated to elevating Black women distance runners, suggests wearing hats with satin linings to prevent snagging.

That said, Shao notes that cotton hats can trap sweat and moisture against the scalp—so if you are going to wear a hat, make it a moisture-wicking one. “Make sure that you are washing those caps frequently and allowing them toÌę fully dry before using them again, as caps, as well as headbands, can hold on to bacteria, and that can lead to acne, folliculitis, and breakouts,” she says

In terms of all styles, loose is better. Shao recommends a low bun, loose braid, or hair twists rather than tight braids for those with type 4b or 4c hair. Silk or snag-free hair ties can help ensure that there’s no unnecessary tearing.

“Everyone’s hair is unique to them and how they care for it is also something that is deeply personal to them, so finding what works best for you is important,” says Robinson. “If one thing doesn’t work, just try something else.”

5 Easy Workout Hairstyles

Not sure which updo is right for you? These simple styles are worthy contenders.

1. French Braids

“My go-to is two French braids that lead into a ponytail,” says running influencerÌę. “It keeps hair out of my face and is super cute, too.”

SAVE FOR LATER! Instructions below! What you’ll need: two clear elastics, regular hair tie, brush Step 1: Part your hair down the middle Step 2: Start a French braid on the left side. When you reach the back of your head, don’t gather more hair and instead pivot to a regular braid! Tie off at the end. Step 3: Repeat on the right side Step 4: Gather all hair in a ponytail and that’s it! Optional Steps: Use a wax stick to keep any flyaways down. You can also untie the smaller elastics once the ponytail is secure and undo the braids in just the pony so they still stay up top but the ponytail is brainless. If you try this out, defo let me know!

2. Loose Bun or Puff

A not-too-tight bun or puff is a good choice to keep your hair off your neck on hot days. Spiral hair ties Ìęare a good option if you want to toss your hair up; they can stretch to accommodate thick hair, are durable, and are gentle on your strands.

A hair tutorial for hair or any babes.

3. Bubble Ponytail

Justine also often wears a bubble pony (where you use elastic bands to create puffy sections in a ponytail). This is a great style for an intense workout because gathering the hair down the ponytail can prevent nasty tangles which then cause breakage when you try to comb them out.

Now accepting ideas for my next running hairstyle! I need fun inspo and I love trying new things!

4. Rip Tied

Shao suggests a , a brand of hair tie that keeps your hair contained. “Those are really nice, especially if you are a skier and you want to wear your hair in a braid, or if you’re a surfer, because the wind factor is a problem, so having your hair a little more tied up is nice.” As a bonus, Rip Tie offers ties in an array of vibrant colors to suit whatever vibe you’re going for.

This @RipTieHair are such a game changer for my tangled hair girlies

5. Softly Secured

Robinson likes to wear wide elastic headbands if she is wearing her hair straight and loosely clipped back to avoid the dreaded ponytail dent. “If I’m wearing a protective style, same thing: I just loosely tie my hair up so it doesn’t give my edges too much tension,” she says.

Need more headbands

How to Care for Your Hair After a Workout

Ultimately, intentional hair care is just one part of a healthier whole. After working out, the correct cleansing schedule and between-wash products can make all the difference.

Cleanse with Care

“In general, it’s important to maintain a regular hair wash routine, but that is going to be a little different for everybody,” says Shao. “It really does depend on the type of scalp and hair that you have, and also your activity level.” If you are exercising daily and have an oily scalp, for example, you may need to wash your hair daily or every other day. For frequent cleansing, Shao suggests using a mild, sulfate-free shampoo and applying it directly to your scalp before lathering. “You don’t necessarily need to put shampoo on your hair shaft, and definitely not your hair ends unless you rolled around in the dirt or something,” she says.

People with coily, type 4b or 4c, hair may not need to wash every day. Shao notes that these hair types tend toward dryness and brittleness, making the natural oils that come with skipping a wash essential. For people with extensions, weaves, or braids, Shao recommends diluting your shampoo into a spray bottle—just spray your scalp and rinse.

Refresh Between Showers

There are ways to refresh your hair after a workout without fully washing it. If you have coily hair, Shao recommends doing a water rinse of your scalp after workouts to get some of the salt and sweat buildup out. Robinson says she only washes her hair about once a week but uses the to revamp her hair between washes.

If you are washing infrequently and still struggling with dry hair or dandruff, Shao suggests using an anti-dandruff serum ( from Jupiter, a scalp repair and haircare brand), which she says can help control yeast growth.

“Don’t be discouraged by your hair getting messed up because the bigger picture is making sure you are well,” says Robinson. “You can always style your hair in a different way, try something else, wash it, and start over, but you only get one you, one life, to be healthy. That’s the priority.”

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Now that the excitement of New Year’s has long worn off, you might find yourself de-prioritizing the list of resolutions you made at the top of the year. I, for one, have already skipped the daily journaling and stretching practices I committed to more times than I’d like to admit. Whether your goal was to squeeze in a ten-minute walk each day before work or totally overhaul your fitness routine, it’s always tough to make new habits stick.

For this reason, many Americans who resolve to be more active each year quit into the new year. And according to data from the , some people report that they break their resolutions even earlier. About 60 percent of adults who made at least one resolution in 2024 had kept all of them by mid-January; another 28 percent said they’d kept some of their resolutions, while 13 percent said they’d already given up on them. If you’re in this last camp (or you’re about to be), we have good news: “It’s never too late to start a habit or get back on track, especially when it’s tied to a core value you hold,” says , a psychologist based in Florida. “You can pick back up at any time.”

Here, experts provide a few tips for anyone whose resolutions are in danger of being put on the back burner until the next new year rolls around.

1. If You’ve Been Missing Your Daily Walks, It’s Time to Recruit a Friend

If you’re just not excited about your daily walk, inviting a neighbor might do the trick. “It’s harder not to do something you said you’re going to do when there’s another person involved in it,” says , a psychologist based in California. Another plus, she adds, is that “It’s just probably more fun. Changing behaviors can be challenging, and you should infuse fun and joy into that any way you can.”

You may even take longer walks when you bring a friend. I’ve found that time flies by when you chat with a friend while strolling through the park. If you’re still not convinced, that people may see added mental health benefits when working out with others compared to those who work out alone.

2. If You’re Skipping Workouts Because It’s Cold, Reassess What Kind of Gear You Need

Extreme cold has descended upon much of the U.S.Ìęin recent weeks, and this could be why you’re dragging your feet when it’s time to go for your daily run or other outdoor exercise routine.

If those workouts have led to severe discomfort lately—for instance, if your fingers, toes, or any other part of your body got so cold they became stiff or numb—that’s a sign you need to wear different gear, says , an exercise physiologist at the Hospital for Special Surgery in New York. This doesn’t necessarily mean you need to buy anything new. “Try dressing in layers,” Horan recommends.

If you’re up for spending a few bucks on some cold-weather gear, consider investing in a good base layer, fleece-lined gloves, or a headband that doubles as an ear warmer. that stick to the bottom of your socks have also been a game-changer for me this year.

3. Plan to Skip Some Days

Because implementing a new practice into your daily life can be difficult, you should be prepared to miss some days. This means designating a few days each week or month as “no-gym” days when you know you won’t make it.

You can approach this one of two ways: blocking out certain daysÌęyou know will be extra busy or picking those days as they arise. Try to spend the time that you would normally dedicate to your resolutions doing something rejuvenating, like reading, meditating, watching reality TV, or doing another activity that leaves you feeling refreshed.

“As much as routine can be helpful and good, it’s not always realistic to say, ‘I’m going to start going to the gym four times a week,’” Puder says. Inevitably, you will have a sick day, a really long work day, or a day during which things just don’t go as planned. Knowing you won’t meet your goal every single day can help you reset when that happens.

“All-or-nothing thinking is a cognitive error,” Reynolds says. If you’ve come to terms with the fact you’ll probably break your streak, you may also be more inclined to give it your all on the days when you do make it to the gym.

4. Listen to Your Body—If You’re Sore or In Pain, It’s Time to Go Back to the Drawing Board

Taking your fitness routine from zero to 100 can leave you feeling fatigued or worse. “We call it ,” Horan says. “When someone’s new exercise regimen is too intense, thisÌępaired with sleep lack and/or lack of proper nutrition can increase injury risk,” she says.

It can be hard to differentiate between regular soreness that occurs after working out a particular muscle group for the first time in a while and overtraining. But one sign that you’re going a little too hard is pain or soreness that lasts more than four days after the workout that caused it. “If it’s lasting five days, that can be a sign that our bodies are not recovering properly,” Horan says.

Another tell-tale sign is asymmetrical pain. For example, Horan says, “When someone comes to me and says, ‘My right knee really hurts, but my left knee is fine.’”

Overtraining can highlight slight muscle imbalances throughout your body. Let’s say you always do certain household chores with your right arm; this could mean that the muscles on the right side of your upper body may already be a bit stronger than those on your left. If you start overtraining, those muscle imbalances may become noticeable via asymmetrical pain.

If this sounds familiar, consider scaling back your workout routine and then building up to your ultimate goals.

5. Make Sure You’re Getting Enough Protein to Accommodate Your New Activity Level

If you’re beginning to feel less energized than usual ahead of your workouts, you may need to tweak your diet.

“If you are increasing your movement without also increasing nutrition, you’re asking your body to perform at a higher level with less fuel,” says , a dietitian based in New York.

You may need to work more protein into your meals or simply eat more of the foods you usually gravitate towards. “Maybe someone who used to be satisfied with a cup of rice alongside their dinner finds they’re going back for seconds,” Geraty says. Paying attention to your body’s needs will boost your energy and help you meet your goals.

6. Consider Starting Some (Healthy) Competition

Many fitness trackers and apps, like , allow you to share your progress at the gym with friends and family members, and they can give you kudos when you’re on a roll. The recognition from loved ones is nice, but it can also be motivating to monitor their progress as well.

If you see that you’re the only one in your family who didn’t go for a walk today, that may be all the incentive you need to grab your tennis shoes and get out the door. Each time I learn that my Dad, who’s one month shy of 70, has hit five-plus miles in a given day, I’m far less likely to rot on the couch all evening.

Want more ofÌęșÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű’s Health stories?Ìę.

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There’s tons of evidence, from hundreds of studies with hundreds of thousands of participants, showing that exercise is an effective tool to combat depression and other mental health issues like anxiety. These studies find that it’s at least as good as drugs or therapy, and perhaps . It’s now recommended in official guidelines around the world as a or treatment. Still, there’s an important caveat to consider: is all this evidence of a connection between exercise and mental health any good?

That’s the question debated in in Medicine & Science in Sports & Exercise, based on a symposium held at the annual meeting of the American College of Sports Medicine. Four researchers, led by Patrick O’Connor of the University of Georgia, sift and weigh the various lines of evidence. Their conclusion is mixed: yes, there’s a relationship between exercise and mental health, but its real-world applicability isn’t as clear as you might think.

The Observational Evidence on Exercise and Mental Health

O’Connor and his colleagues assess three main types of evidence. The first is observational studies, which measure levels of physical activity and mental health in large groups of people to see if they’re connected, and in some cases follow up over many years to see how those relationships evolve. The headline result here is pretty clear: people who are more physically active are less likely to suffer from depression and anxiety now and in the future.

Observational studies also suggest, albeit more weakly, that there’s a dose-response relationship between exercise and mental health: more is better. is enough to produce an effect, but higher amounts produce a bigger effect. It’s an open question, though, whether doing too much can actually hurt your mental health. Some studies, for example, have found links between overtraining in endurance athletes and symptoms of depression.

The big problem with observational studies is the question of causation. Are active people less likely to become depressed, or is it that people who are depressed are less likely to be active? To answer that, we need a different type of study.

The Evidence from Randomized Trials

The second line of evidence is from randomized control trials, or RCTs: tell one group of people to exercise, tell another group not to, and see if they fare differently. Overall, the evidence from RCTs lines up with the observational evidence: prescribing exercise improves or prevents the occurrence of depression and anxiety.

For example, here’s a graph from a 2024 meta-analysis of 218 RCTs with a total of over 14,000 participants, :

Dots that are farther to the left indicate how much a treatment aided depression compared to a control group. Notice that walking or jogging ranks slightly above cognitive behavioral therapy and far above SSRI drugs. That’s an encouraging picture.

The evidence still isn’t bulletproof, though. One problem is that it’s very difficult to avoid placebo effects. Participants who are randomized to exercise know that they’re exercising, and likely also know that it’s supposed to make them feel better. Conversely, those who sign up for an exercise-and-depression study and are assigned to not exercise will expect to get nothing from it. These expectations matter, especially when you’re looking at a difficult-to-measure outcome like mental health.

Another challenge is the timeframe. Exercise studies are time-consuming and expensive to run, so they seldom last more than six months. But a third of major depressive episodes spontaneously resolve within six months with no treatment, which is in part why FDA guidelines suggest that such trials should last two years, to ensure that results are real and durable.

Why Context Matters When Studying Exercise and Mental Health

The third and final body of evidence that O’Connor and his colleagues dig into is the contextual details. Exercise itself seems to matter, they write, but “who we play with, whether we have fun, whether we are cheered or booed, and whether we leave the experience feeling proud and accepted, or shamed and rejected also matters.”

For example, most of the research focuses on “leisure time physical activity,” meaning sports and fitness. But there are other types of physical activity: occupational (at work), transportation (active commuting), and domestic (chores around the house). Is there a difference between lifting weights in the gym and lifting lumber on a construction site? Between a walk in the park and a walk down the aisle of a warehouse?

One view of exercise’s brain benefits is that it’s all about neurotransmitters: getting the heart pumping produces endorphins and oxytocin and various other mood-altering chemicals. If that’s the case, then manual labor should be as powerful as sports, and working out alone in a dark basement should be just as good as meeting friends for a run on a sunny day. Both intuition and research suggest that this isn’t the case.

Instead, some of exercise’s apparent mental-health benefits are clearly contextual. Doing something that creates social connection and provides a feeling of accomplishment is probably helpful even if your heart rate doesn’t budge above its resting level. And conversely, an exercise program that leaves you feeling worse about yourself—think of the clichĂ© of old-school phys ed classes—might not help your mental health regardless of how much it boosts your VO2 max.

This is where the big research gaps are, according to O’Connor and his colleagues. It’s pretty clear at this point that exercise isn’t just correlated with mental health; it can change it. But the best ways to deploy it in the real world remains understudied. For now, the best advice is probably to follow your instincts. Don’t stress about what type of exercise you’re doing, how hard to push, or how long to go. For improving mental health, these variables seem to have surprisingly weak effects. Instead, focus on the big levers: whether you’re enjoying it, and whether you’ll do it again tomorrow.

For more Sweat Science, join me on and , sign up for the , and check out my forthcoming book .

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My favored route to the top of Mount Sanitas, in Boulder, Colorado, gains some 1,200 feet in just over a mile. It starts on the aptly named Goat Trail and then climbs the East Ridge Trail to the 6,800-foot summit. There are much better trails for running in Boulder—less rocky, less steep—but I prefer this route up Sanitas because it has a great view, it’s near my home, and, if nothing else, it’s very efficient.

I’m not a particularly good runner, definitely not fast, but I am consistent. Over the last 15 years, I’ve chugged up Sanitas more than 2,000 times. Occasionally I’ll mix it up with one of those other Boulder trails, where the grade is more running-friendly and my dog can chase new smells, but we always come back to Sanitas. Which is to say, I know the route to the top really, really well. I know where wildflowers appear in yellow and purple bunches in late spring and where ice persists long after winter storms. I know where water pools after summer rain and which pine trees smell like butterscotch.

And I certainly know my pace. The ascent takes me about 30 minutes, depending on how many times I have to pick up my dog’s poop. (I once made it to the top in 22 minutes, without the dog, which isn’t bad for a middle-aged desk jockey, but for context, Kilian Jornet ran the nearly identical in 14 minutes and 12 seconds, according to).

Even at my slowest, though, I’m at least maintaining a steady jog. So I knew something was different when I suddenly stopped running halfway up. Weird, I thought, as I slowed to a walk with no conscious decision to downshift. It was a bright April day, perfect conditions, and I was glad to be back on Sanitas after a couple of weeks out of town. I had been put-putting along like normal, on a section of trail that steepens considerably after a couple of long switchbacks, and then suddenly I was walking. It felt like running underwater: I was telling my legs to run, but they just wouldn’t go any faster.

I felt fine in every other way—no pain, nothing. I was breathing hard but that’s normal on a trail that ascends more than 1,000 feet per mile. This must be what serious athletes mean by hitting the wall, I thought. But why was I bonking on a trail I know so well? I continued to swim-walk, considering possibilities. Did I need to re-acclimatize to the altitude after being at sea level for two weeks? Did I have a virus that was sapping my energy? Were the effects of aging unfolding the same way Earnest Hemingway, in the Sun Also Rises, described the process of going bankrupt: gradually, then suddenly?

More than a decade ago, surprising research sparked sensational headlines suggesting that endurance training might be bad, not good, for your heart. Articles like “” captured the spirit of the moment. The counterintuitive results of these studies turned out to be flawed, but they did jumpstart a series of investigations into the relationship between endurance training and cardio health.

Alex Hutchinson, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű’s Sweat Science columnist, has written extensively about the subject. Most recently he dug into the latest news in “Two Promising Updates on Heart Health in Endurance Athletes.” The upshot? It’s clear that endurance training affects the heart, but it’s difficult to say exactly what the changes mean. For example, one study found that masters endurance athletes have elevated scores compared to non-athletes, which on the surface is not good. Higher levels of arterial calcium are associated with a higher risk of serious and potentially fatal heart problems in the general population. That’s because calcium deposits are a sign of possible plaque buildup on the artery walls, and when plaque breaks off it can create a blockage, reducing or stopping the flow of blood.

But the new research goes deeper, examining the difference in plaque between endurance athletes and non-athletes. It turns out that while CAC scores do increase in athletes over time, the athletes’ plaque tends to be smooth and hard, and unlikely to rupture compared to the softer plaque found in non-athletes. Crucially, one study found that subjects with higher CAC scores caused by exercise did not have a higher risk of cardiac events.

Endurance training can affect the heart in other ways. It’s a muscle, after all, and it responds to a workout. Researchers have documented micro-scarring in athletes’ hearts, for example. But the studies are so far inconclusive when it comes to proving if specific changes are good or bad or neutral on the one thing it’s safe to say we all care about: longevity.

Fortunately, a 2022 published in the journal Circulation speaks directly to that issue. It followed 116,221 adults over the course of 30 years. Researchers asked subjects to report on their exercise habits every two years, which provided a much more complete picture of their athleticism over time than previous studies. The takeaway? As Hutchinson sums it up in his reporting, “The headline result is that those doing 150 to 300 minutes a week of vigorous exercise such as running (or, somewhat equivalently, 300 to 600 minutes a week of moderate exercise such as walking) were about half as likely to die during the study.”

That’s good news for runners who have been confused by the mixed messages on heart health. Five hours of running a week—about exactly how much time I spend going up and down Sanitas—is as good for your body as it is for your soul. (Logging more than 300 minutes of vigorous exercise per week yielded about the same benefits.)

Of course, large epidemiological studies can’t say anything about an individual’s experience. Which is why endurance athletes should take comfort in the latest research, but pay very, very close attention to what their own bodies are telling them.

Halfway up Sanitas, I should have stopped and paid a little more attention to my sudden inability to run. But mostly I felt confused, not worried. And embarrassed. I encountered an acquaintance who was going down the trail, and as she passed, my main goal was to jog a few steps so she didn’t see me walking. I barely managed it. Then I started thinking about how late I would be getting to the top, where I was meeting a friend. Would he get impatient and leave?

I kept slogging away, and though my legs felt the same—deadweights—I actually started to feel better about the situation. Just a fluke, I figured, I probably just need a good night’s sleep.

By the time I reached the rocky summit, I felt victorious, like I’d really achieved something. My friend Aaron didn’t see it that way.

“You look like shit,” he said when I arrived on top.

“Just need to catch my breath,” I gasped, like I’d just finished a marathon. I sank gratefully onto a boulder. It took a few minutes longer than expected, but I did catch my breath, and also fended off Aaron’s efforts to ask if there were any doctors among the summit crowd. I felt vindicated—and mostly back to normal—on the descent.

Two hours later, after eating and drinking and showering, I was ready to write off the whole episode and try Sanitas again the next day. But two things changed my mind. My resting heart rate was still high, over 80, when it normally hovers in the 50s, and when I called my wife, she encouraged me to get checked.

If continuing up Sanitas that day was my first mistake, identifying my second is pretty easy: riding a bike to the urgent care a half mile away. But at this point I was feeling fine. Going to the doctor? Just an abundance of caution. So when the folks at urgent care said they lacked the required diagnostic tools, and I needed to go to the Emergency Room at a hospital across town, I was mostly annoyed. I had to ride home and drive there (mistake number three: driving).

Things only coalesced for me when I was in the ER, hooked up to an EKG machine, and heard an announcement over the intercom: “Cardiac alert room 9.”

Room 9? That was my room.

An hour later, I was in the operating room getting a stent inserted in my left anterior descending artery. According to the cardiologist, the artery had been partially blocked by an event I’d experienced while running. A piece of plaque, he said, had “exploded” and formed a clot. He couldn’t say what had caused it, but he reassured me that the rest of my arteries were fine, and now this one was too.

In my particular case, it’s impossible to say if running had any role in the heart attack—either as a contributing or mitigating factor. Could exercise have led to an increase in plaque? Or could some level of cardio fitness have protected my heart from damage while the blood flow was diminished? And did I have soft plaque despite running, or did I have hard plaque that ruptured anyway? Was it due to genetics? (My dad, 82, has three stents.)

Regardless, the cardiologist saw no reason for me to change my running habits. Just take it easy for a month, he said, and then I could resume exercising with no limitations. And that’s exactly what I did, first on Sanitas, and then farther afield. In the following months, I rafted the Grand Canyon, trekked in Nepal, and topped 17,000 feet. I drove a moped around northern Vietnam, a stress test if there ever was one.

If that sounds like a post-heart attack bucket list agenda, it’s just a coincidence—the trips were already planned. So this is not the part where I reflect on my close call and embrace a newfound fervor to live for today. I like to think that we all have the capacity to appreciate how precious and fleeting life is without having a near-death experience.

But here’s something I have been thinking about on recent runs up Sanitas: Could endurance athletes, even very average ones like me, be their own worst enemies when it comes to recognizing serious medical events? After all, the ability to push through discomfort is literally the definition of endurance. We practice training our minds to overrule our bodies.

That doesn’t mean we should start walking instead of running. Heck, plenty of sedentary guys have ignored heart attack warning signs. There’s no reason to miss out on the well-documented physical and mental benefits of endurance sports.

So rather than backing off—and to be clear this is my evidence-free opinion—I think we need to push a little harder. Most everyday athletes, even very accomplished ones, don’t redline their bodies. Elite athletes may know what hitting the wall actually feels like, but most of us ease up well short of collapse.

What if that’s a mistake? What if knowing the full range of your potential—what it feels like at the outer edges of what you’re capable of—is exactly what you need? Will you be more likely to notice, and act, when you enter unfamiliar territory?

Before experiencing a heart attack, I thought I knew the, chest pain chief among them. But of course, it’s not so clear cut. On Sanitas, shortness of breath and fatigue were my only complaints, and they were exactly what I expected to experience, to varying degrees, when running up a very, very steep hill.

So go ahead, run hard. Or bike hard or hike hard. But take it from me: if you experience serious changes, take them seriously.

Lewon says he isn’t sure if he has good luck or bad, but this was actually his second close call in the backcountry. To hear about his first, listen to of the Out Alive podcast.

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Last fall, tech entrepreneur and multi-millionaire Bryan Johnson spent two hours having all the plasma in his body removed. There was nothing wrong with his plasma; he simply hoped that replacing it would help him achieve eternalÌęyouth. ÌęSo, despite very limited scientific evidence, Johnson swapped it all for a protein-based fluid called albumin.

It’s not the first time Johnson’s pursuit of immortality has made the news. The 47-year-old allegedly spends about $2 million on anti-aging treatments each year. In 2023, he injected himself with a liter of plasma harvested from his then-17-year-old son. At the time, Johnson he was trying to “become like an 18-year-old.”

I turn 32 this spring. That’s not old, but it’s old enough to have gotten my first few wrinkles. Over the last few years, I’ve watched my friends get laser facials and boob jobs. I’ve watched them spend a fortune on face creams and dyes, an endless and expensive game of whack-a-mole with their laugh lines and battle scars. Sometimes it doesn’t work, and I feel validated. Sometimes, it does, and I feel I’ve been left to grow old alone.

As women, we’re taught that we are desirable as long as we’re beautiful. We’re useful as long as we’re young. But it’s not just the cosmetic aspects of aging that scare me. I’m also afraid of the pain and endless surgeries my grandparents—both in their mid-80s—are enduring right now. I’m afraid of having to hang up my ice axes and skis, and give up steep trail runs for slow walks around the pond. I’m afraid of the day that achy knees cost me access to all the places I love.

That fear is very human—and very common. While Johnson may be one of the more extreme longevity obsessives, he’s far from the only one.

You may have heard of 81-year-old real estate mogul Kenneth Scott, who spends about on “vampire facials”—a skin treatment involving injections of your own blood plasma—supplements, and other unproven therapies. Or posh gym chain Equinox, which recently launched a $40,000-per-year membership aimed at helping its members live longer. Other folks go the budget route, paying just $10 to $100 per month for , an off-label immunosuppressant that’s recently become the darling of longevity zealots.

With the advent of experimental new therapies, pop-science books like The Blue Zones, and big-name wellness influencers like Andrew Huberman and Wim Hof, more people than ever are tapping into the longevity trend. According to research firm Grandview, the current longevity market was valued at $37 billion in 2020. By 2028, it’s projected to .

I get it; I’m not immune to the allure. But still, when I first started reading about the extreme lengths people go to for longevity—the plasma swaps, the drugs, the weird diets—my initial reaction surprised me. It wasn’t bemused curiosity; it was a flash of fist-balling, brow-sweating, red-hot anger. It pissed me off. I just couldn’t put my finger on why.

Bound By Biology

It’s said that there are two certainties in life: death and taxes. And while a privileged few have proven that extreme wealth can help you avoid taxes, they have yet to successfully fend off death. With infinite money and resources, most problems seem solvable. But how much control do we really have over our lifespans?

To find out, I called up Cambridge professor Dr. Venki Ramakrishnan, a Nobel laureate in chemistry and author of Why We Die: The New Science of Ageing and the Quest for Immortality.

I chose Ramakrishnan because of his expertise in this field. But, more importantly, he’s not peddling anything. Unlike other top longevity authors and researchers,ÌęRamakrishan isn’t selling a training plan, video course, or pill. He doesn’t own any longevity-coaching startups, and he doesn’t have any supplement sponsors forking over a commission.

Our lifespan is dictated by factors outside of our control, Ramakrishnan told me. All our cells undergo regular wear and tear just from living, eating, and surviving. Different species have adapted different strategies for dealing with that wear and tear. Some animals have robust mechanisms for cleaning out problematic cells, which helps them live longer. But developing and maintaining those mechanisms takes energy and biological resources.

That cost might be worth it for a large animal, which isn’t likely to get eaten quickly. An elephant, say, is going to last a while, so it makes practical sense for the species to develop some strategies for cleaning out dead cells and living longer so it can reproduce more and defend the community group.

Small animals, on the other hand, tend to get eaten pretty early in life. To work with that constraint, they evolved to grow, mature, and reach reproductive age as fast as possible. It never benefitted them to develop sophisticated biochemical machinery for dealing with old age because they never got there. For millions of years, small animals evolved under that constraint. Everything about a rabbit or mouse—from their rapidfire puberty to their litter size to their fast metabolisms—adapted within the bounds of this shorter life. Same with human beings. All of our machinery is adapted to work within a medium-sized lifespan.

In other words, our capacity for longevity is built into the blueprint of our species. It’s the framework—not a feature you can freely dial up or down.

The Illusion of Control Ìę

Still, some human beings live longer than others. Take Jeanne Calment, the oldest woman who ever lived. She died in 1997 at the age of 122. Allegedly, she also smoked a cigarette and drank a glass of port wine every night.

“She was simply lucky that she didn’t come down with cancer or other diseases,” Ramakrishnan says. “There’s definitely luck involved.”

There’s also genetics. In an old but often-cited on twins, researchers found that about 25 percent of longevity was heritable—in other words, predetermined by your genes. The remaining 75 percent can be influenced by individual lifestyle factors.

But when it comes to those lifestyle factors, we don’t have as much control as we’d like to think. According to the Social Determinants of Health, a for thinking about factors that influence overall health, our personal habits—like eating, smoking, drinking, and exercising—only account for about 30 percent of influencing factors. The rest are structural and social forces far harder to control: about 40 percent of a person’s health is determined by socioeconomic factors, 10 percent by their physical environment, and 20 percent by their access to healthcare.

Even if radical new therapies did come online in our lifetime, there are bigger forces at play here. A in the journal Nature indicates that people cannot live much longer than they do now. There is a cap on the human lifespan, and we’ve reached it. No one has lived to 120 since Calment died. There’s no guarantee that anyone ever will. At least, not until we cure all cancers, dementia, and other neurological diseases—something Ramakrishnan says is still very far off.

The truth is we have little control over our lifespans. Many of us obsess over what we eat and how we exercise not because these habits hold the secret to health and longevity, but because we feel helpless, and are comforted by the illusion of control. But even if you eat and exercise perfectly, you can still die young.

When The Plan Goes Awry

My father wasn’t perfect. He often worked too much. He stayed up too late. He had a weakness for Little Debbie Nutty Buddies. He once binged an entire season of Game of Thrones in a single sitting even though he’d sworn to my brother and I that he’d wait to watch it with us (we’ll forgive him someday). And often, at the dinner table, he would make me laugh so hard I’d shoot orange juice out my nose.

But he did a lot of things right, both as a dad and as a health-conscious American man. He ate mostly rice and vegetables, wore sunscreen, and woke up at 5:00 A.M. every day to run five miles and lift weights. He was thin. He had a rich social life. He was a good husband and father. He spent time outside. And despite all that, he died from an out-of-nowhere heart attack at age 53.

Six months before my dad’s funeral, I lost my dear friend and former boyfriend Alexander. He was a vegetarian. He fasted. He’d just taken the MCAT and was on track to be a doctor. He exercised and stretched. He even flossed every day. And he right before he turned 25.

Both of themÌędid practically everything right. And they’re gone.

And that, I realized, is why I’m angry.

Johnson often wears a T-shirt that says “Don’t Die,” as if it was that easy. As if, for my dad, it was avoidable—and all his fault for not doing the right things or adopting the correct obscure therapies soon enough.

As if, instead of spending his free time with his family, he should have been flying to Dallas to get his plasma replaced or consulting with overpaid doctors about a custom nutrition plan. As if that would have saved him. As if any of us could be so arrogant as to pretend to play defense with the Reaper.

Can You Extend Your Life?

Of course, it’s Johnson’s prerogative to spend his free time pursuing various therapies and longevity-boosting routines. We all have our hobbies. And maybe it’s not my place to say this is a less-worthwhile use of time than dodging cactuses on a steep trail run under the hot Colorado sun, which is how I spend many of my free afternoons.

The good news is that some studies show that lifestyle choices can make some difference—and even help offset our genes. One long-term study published in 2021 examined more than 350,000 individuals with DNA markers indicating they were genetically predisposed to early death. The study showed that exercise and other healthy habits reduced that chance of early death in those populations by . The effects aren’t necessarily dramatic. The researchers estimated that even if you adopt such habits by age 40, they’re only likely to add about five years to your life. Still, eating relatively healthy and exercising: definitely good for you.

The nitty gritty of what you eat or how you exercise tends to be less important. A recent study shows that only exercising on weekends is just as beneficial for your health as sticking to a strict daily routine. Concepts like the Blue Zone Theory—which purports that people living in certain areas of the world hold the secrets to longevity—rest on shaky science, according to critics.

However, some research shows that how much you eat does matter. In animal studies, animals placed on restrictive diets tend to live longer than those that aren’t. A quick caveat, though: these fasting studies often use animals on a gluttonous, all-you-can-eat diet as the control group. They don’t always compare fasting mice to mice who eat in moderation.

“So these studies might just show that all-you-can-eat isn’t healthy, not necessarily that fasting is the benefit,” Ramakrishnan says. Regardless, the science does indicate that caloric intake makes a difference.

Sleep is another big lever you can pull. One of more than 700,000 U.S. veterans showed that folks who slept at least seven hours a night lived 18 percent longer on average. And even if you don’t sleep a ton, sticking to a can also increase your life expectancy.

Cold-exposure therapy and contrast therapy (the practice of alternating between heat and cold) are also commonly touted as ways to boost longevity. But while cold therapy has been shown to help —both contributors to chronic disease—the effects aren’t necessarily long-lasting. Longevity studies thus far have mostly been limited to mice and worms. There’s no evidence that cold exposure can make human beings live longer.

Does Biohacking Really Work?

So, what about the biohacking stuff—the rapamycin and the lasers and the thing Kenneth Scott does where he bathes his face in his own blood? Does that give us the power to take back control?

Ramakrishnan calls some of these therapies “promising.” Rapamycin, for example, mimics the effects of calorie restriction by targeting similar metabolic pathways. In mice, rapamycin has been shown to extend lives by 20 percent. But humans aren’t mice.It’s also only FDA-approved as an immunosuppressant for organ transplant patients, because it helps prevent the body from rejecting the new organ. Its side effects include slower wound healing and a higher risk of infection—the opposite of what you want if you’re trying to live forever.

Stem cells are another promising (albeit new) area of research, Ramakrishan says. So are genetics—i.e., reprogramming cells. However, both involve injecting human beings with new cells or new DNA, which is difficult to do safely.

Johnson’s plasma replacement strategy represents another approach: cleaning out senescent cells that have stopped dividing because they’re too old. Scientists think they can have a domino effect on nearby cells, causing them to become senescent, too. This is an enormously complex process, though. And while plasma replacement sounds good in theory, it might not actually address any of the root causes of senescence. We just don’t know yet.

In other words, the science on all of this is new. The studies that do exist are small and mostly inconclusive. And many of the folks who say otherwise are trying to sell you something.

Yes, there are some promising therapies and drugs on the horizon, Ramakrishnan says, but it could take decades before they’re available. Plus, they’re expensive and time consuming.

As I researched, I started to do some mental math, adding up all the time I’d spend planning out therapies, working to pay for them, and agonizing over whether or not they worked. I realized it wasn’t worth it: I was more likely to spend years missing my life by trying to extend it. Perhaps the right question to ask isn’t how to live a longer life, but how to live a better life.

The Gift of Growing Old

When I started writing this story, I wanted to punch Johnson in the teeth. For his dumb shirt. For his arrogance. But now, I just want to shake him. He—and all of his adherents—are missing the point: the hours you spend swapping plasma or getting your skin lasered to look younger are hours you could be spending with your family and friends. The money you spend on rapamycin could go toward a plane ticket to visit that college roommate you haven’t seen in ages, or to a date night with your partner. Spend it on a scuba certification, a telescope that lets you see the stars, a skydive, a dance lesson, a concert. On any one of a million things that make this life worth living.

I think of the afternoons I’ve spent flopped on my housemate’s bed, talking between sunbeams about what it means to grow older. I think of the pre-party minutes we’ve spent examining each other’s roots, our new freckles, the pudgy bellies we laughed over. I have such fond memories of growing up—even when it was hard or painful or ugly. I want fond memories of growing old, too.

Alexander never got the chance to watch his hair go gray, or to see time etch his laugh lines into place. He will be 24 forever. I think often of how much he’s missed.

If I’ve learned anything from his death—or that of my dad—it’s that aging is a privilege. It’s precious and bittersweet and wonderfully human. It isn’t easy. But nothing worth doing is.

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Yoga classes these days are as diverse as the personalities drawn to them. And in recent years, one of the most polarizing topics among teachers and students everywhere is the use of music in yoga. Should classes boast banging soundtracks or should the room be as silent as a temple?

Spoiler: There is no universally right answer. Whether you’re a teacher or a practitioner, you need to search for your “why.” Once you understand that, you can more easily unpack the pros and cons of music in yoga class by balancing collective experience with personal growth.

Should There be Music or No Music in Yoga Class?

Ultimately, whether you practice to silence or let beats set the tone, you want to approach your decision with purpose and recognize both the magic and the challenges that each approach brings.

Yes to Music in Yoga: It Sets the Tone and Energy

There’s no doubt that a well-curated playlist can transform the energy in a room. Music creates a vibe, infusing the space with emotion and guiding practitioners into a shared rhythm. Moving together in sync with music can feel like a collective heartbeat, a unifying pulse that connects everyone in the room and creates an atmosphere where bodies and minds align almost effortlessly.

In dynamic classes, such as vinyasa flow or power yoga, music can fuel the intensity. That uptempo track might encourage students to find strength in their poses or push through challenging sequences.

On the other end of the scale, in more gentle or peace-and-love style classes, music can also unify the participants under the umbrella of a particular emotional state.

Music doesn’t just fill silence—it sets the mood.

No to Music in Yoga: Distractions Disrupt Self-Inquiry

Similar to how music can manipulate the vibe, it can just as easily pull our focus elsewhere. Yoga is ultimately a practice of self-inquiry. It encourages practitioners to observe their thoughts and emotions without judgment or commentary. It’s a place where, to quote Mary Oliver, “to pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.” For some, music becomes yet another external stimulus—a distraction that makes it more difficult to tune inward.

Think about meditation. Most practitioners wouldn’t pop on the radio or TV while sitting in stillness, although it would undoubtedly make the practice easier and more pleasurable. Instead, we seek out a space with as few distractions for the mind and senses as possible.

Asana, or the physical practice of yoga, is an opportunity for mindful observation. Silence can amplify that experience. When you strip away external noise, students might find themselves more attuned to the breath, the physical sensations, and the subtle workings of the mind.

Yes to Music in Yoga: Anchors the Mind

On the flip side, music can serve as a powerful tool for grounding. As we all know, the mind loves to wander, especially in moments of stillness and quiet. For some, silence can feel deafening with its infinite space for spiraling thoughts and emotional discomfort.

In these instances, music can act as a life jacket by helping wandering minds remain relatively present without getting pulled away by the undercurrent. A steady beat, gentle melody, or familiar lyrics can become an anchor—a point of focus that helps practitioners stay engaged with their movement and resistant to ruminations. This is especially true for beginners to yoga. Familiar music can ease the transition into a practice that might otherwise feel intimidating or overwhelming.

No to Music in Yoga: Emotional Interference

The very same qualities that make music so powerful in everyday life can make it challenging in a yoga class. Music evokes memories, emotions, and associations that can send you tumbling into an entirely different time and headspace. Have you ever been flowing through a vinyasa class when the playlist includes a song that unexpectedly dragged you back in time to the first dance at your wedding, a brutal breakup, memories of your late parent, or a hilarious instagram reel?

Yoga asks us to be present—to let go of distractions and cultivate awareness. Silence, while stark, offers a clean slate for the mind. Without the influence of music chosen by a teacher,Ìę students may find it easier to access a state of calm observation, free from emotional interference.

(Teachers, come clean: Have you ever tried to influence someone’s emotions with music? A little tear-inducing in Savasana, perhaps?)

Yes to Music in Yoga: Creating a Welcoming Atmosphere

For many, silence can feel intimidating and unfamiliar, especially in a group setting. A quiet studio might come across as uninviting, particularly for newer students. Music, even just a gentle piano soundscape, softens the edges and creates warmth and approachability.

Music also acts as a buffer against noises from the outside world; emergency vehicle sirens, local bars, the gym floor music or the very audibly enthusiastic front desk team. In doing so, music creates a cocoon of sound and an escape from life off the mat—a safe container where students can focus on their practice without interruption.

No to Music in Yoga: A Place of Fun or Learning?

Sure, adding music to class can make the whole experience more fun, but is fun what we are seeking? Life offers us countless opportunities for entertainment, but few places where we can experience aÌę deeply introspective journey—a sacred space to sit with our thoughts, face discomfort, and invite growth.

The spiritual and philosophical roots of yoga emphasise stillness, awareness, and connection with the self. In asana, we’re using our physical bodies as a vehicle of self-inquiry to then ultimately transcend the physical.

By removing external distractions, we can fully embrace the discomfort and transformation that come with facing ourselves on the mat. Self-development and challenge go hand in hand.

The Answer? It Depends.

There is no universal “right” or “wrong” when it comes to the music question in yoga. The answer is unique and personal to each of us. And that comes back to your intention. You want to make certain you’re asking yourself questions and not just doing what everyone around you is doing.

For teachers, this means considering the kind of experience you want to offer students. Are you cultivating a lighthearted, playful vibe where music can uplift and energize? Or are you prioritizing introspection and needing silence to encourage enhanced self-awareness?

Let yourself be liberated by the fact that you don’t have to be everything to everyone, but also be aware that one decision may be more commercially successful than the other, meaning you’re probably going to draw more students if you bring the tunes. But if you base your decisions solely on chasing money or fame, you’ll lose your integrity.

For practitioners, it’s about noticing what resonates with you. Do you feel more grounded with music as your anchor or does silence provide the clarity you need? Are you choosing one simply because it’s the route of least resistance? Even if so, that could be perfectly fine if simply showing up to your yoga mat requires lots of will power.

In case you’re curious, I prefer to soften the edges of an intimidatingly quiet space to make it welcoming for as many people as possible. I rely on chilled-out, low-volume piano melodies with songs almost blending into the next when I teach public classes. But I don’t want music to interfere with the practice. No one would recognize these tunes. When I lead a teacher training, I typically teach in silence.

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Growing up in South Florida, a mere 30 minutes from the Everglades, the creatures that go bump in the night never really scared me, especially when it came to snakes. When I discovered snake yoga was offered an hour away from my current home in West Los Angeles, California, I was intrigued. I’ve been practicing yoga for four years and have enjoyed my fair share of vinyasas and sun salutations, but synthesizing my practice with snakes would take it to an entirely different level.

On a cloudy December day, I embarked on an hour-long trek on the 405 to . Studio owner Tess Cao opened the door to a private entrance, and I was greeted by by macrame wall art and the tangy smell of incense.

Tess and her husband, Huy Cao, opened LXR studios in 2019, but it wasn’t until the pandemic that the idea of snake yoga was born. Some people picked up baking bread or running during isolation, but Tess decided to pick up a ball python. She bought her first snake, Howlite, and integrated it into her daily yoga practice.

In June 2024, the Caos launched snake yoga. Today, LXR offers two every week for $160 per class. As it is a private practice, only one to three people are allowed in the class.

I sat on a bench in the welcome area as Tess introduced me to one of her beloved pythons. She demonstrated how to correctly handle one: gently supporting it behind the head, ensuring to keep the belly down, and not touching the snake’s face or neck. I took a turn holding the snake in my arms while sitting on the bench and getting a feel for the support and weight of the animal before meeting the one I’d holdÌęduring practice.

Next, I selected a bowl from a row lined up on a table. Each contained a different crystal hidden beneath it that represented which snake I would be paired with. I picked the Larvikite crystal, which was the size of my thumbnail and had a silver-blue shimmer; it representsÌęgrounding, tranquility, and transformation.

After the meet-and-greet and selection process, I headed to the practice room. As I rolled out my mat, I took in my surroundings of the studio’s backdrop. There were pythonÌęcages all stacked on top of each other that formed a wall of snakes. I settled into the jungle-like space, and it was time to begin.

Practice started like any other: cats and cows and deep inhales and exhales. But when it was time for the first Mountain Pose, Tess gently placed Larvikite intoÌęmy palms. I looked in front of me at the four-foot long, six-pound, bone-white snake as it settled into my hands, grounding itself in the space between my thumb and index finger. It wrapped around both of my arms and slithered up to my chest before descending back down to my hips.

Fear bubbled up in my chest, and my diaphragmatic breathwork turned into nervous tension. From there, my classmates and I moved into Tree Pose, using our snakes as extensions of our branches.

At this point, I was sweating—my forehead was soaked, and I was breathing deeply with anxiety and apprehension. I’m used to practicing in a room heated to 112 degrees Fahrenheit, and this class was closer to 75 degrees. But adding a six-pound weight in the form of a snake mimicked my usual Yoga Sculpt classes. While meditating in a pose, my limbs began to shake from the weighted resistance.

Breathwork, the act of breathing in and out in conjunction with various poses and movements, is a key component of yoga practice. The added python made it difficult for me to breathe, causing me to break into a sweat. I found it hard to focus on my breath while I felt the spine of a snake crawling over my shoulders. Larvikite and I were only one-third of the way through the class and I already felt exhausted. But as I got used to the snake, it became easier to keep up my concentration.

After Tree Pose, I transitioned to a Warrior Pose. I have never felt more like a warrior than with my legs spread wide, in a fighting stance, with a serpent wrapped around my neck. At the precise peak of our Warrior Two, Tess recounted the ancient royals and pharaohs of 50 B.C. who would wear snakes as accessories to display their power and status. At this moment, Larvikite was no longer a focus in my practice but had become a part of it.

Next, came Camel Pose. While I placed my hands on my lower back, opening up my chest to the ceiling, Larvikite explored my posterior. I felt the push of her muscles contracting as she slithered down my spine, giving me a slight massage. Because pythons are cold-blooded and use their environment to regulate their temperature, Larkavite was attracted to my body heat. I felt her forked tongue flick out to take in her surroundings as she slithered from my back to between my arms.

The practice was closing and our cool-down to Supine started. I went to touch my toes and Larvikite stretched with me, both of us grounding ourselves from the practice. We went into a Runner’s Lunge, and I felt at peace focusing on the deep stretch while Larvikite wrapped around my neck. We then transitioned into our final Savasana, Larvikite gave a final slither across my body before Tess came to collect her. By the end of our practice, I missed having a friend attached to me by the hip, arm, or shoulder.

Since I’ve taken the class, I’ve successfully boasted about the experience to every person who will listen. Initially, I expected the practice to be just another trendy yoga class that substituteÌęgoats with snakes, but Larvikite helped me find new depths to my breathwork and concentration. I won’t be adopting a ball python anytime soon, but I’d practice yoga every week with a snake if I could. For now, though, I’ll keep working on my cobra pose.

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Mountain sports areÌęsaturated with alcohol. Summit beers, lift beers, aprĂšs ski, post-ride happy hours, whiskey around the campfire—some days it feels like you could drink from beginning to end of your favorite outdoor activity. But as public health officials issue warnings over alcohol and younger Americans report that they drink less than previous generations, it’s worth asking whether our outdoor adventures should include so much booze.

On January 3, U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy called for cancer warnings to be added to alcoholic beverages, citing research that shows there are around 100,000 cancer cases and 20,000 cancer-related deaths due to alcohol every year. Drinking has also been to problems with the heart, liver, pancreas, gastrointestinal system, and immune system.

The advisory came at the beginning of Dry January, when many choose to give up alcohol for the month after indulging over the holidays. Even before Murthy’s report, U.S. alcohol sales were trending downward. But the percentage of American adults who drink has held relatively steady for decades. “It’s just so built into U.S. culture,” says Adrienne Webster, an addiction counselor based in Bozeman, Montana. “Alcohol is carcinogenic. It’s a neurotoxin. Those things are just facts. But we’re fed this B.S. that we should be doing it all the time. It’s probably the only substance that when you stop using it, people are like, ‘What? Why?’”

In my early twenties, I usually went skiing with a flask of Fireball or an unholy jungle juice of tequila and preworkout powder in my pocket. On hikes and bike rides, I would drink hard seltzers and beers that appeared from friends packs without much thought, and down a couple more in the parking lot at the end of the day. Then early last year, I started taking a medication that made me feel horribly sick if I had more than one drink in an evening. Suddenly, I had to get much more selective about my drinking habits—and cut back, a lot.

Coincidentally, several of my friends and adventure buddies were also rethinking their relationship with alcohol last year, for various reasons. As I began trying to be more intentional about when and what I was drinking, it was nice to compare notesÌęwith people who were going through the same process. Do I really want to be drunk right now, or is it just easy because everyone else is? If I just want a post-exercise treat, or to keep hanging out with everyone after the activity, could going out for ice cream or french fries be just as satisfying as stopping by a brewery?

I was lucky to have supportive friends, many of whom were in the same boat,Ìęas I navigated cutting back on alcohol. Not everyone does. “I see behind the scenes how many young people are trying to abstain, but nobody wants to talk about it, because there’s still so much stigma associated with it,” Webster says. “It’s still embarrassing.”

For Nick Pearson, the founder of the Colorado-based nonprofit Sober Outdoors, carving out a space in nature free of the stigma around sobriety has been critical for his recovery from alcohol use disorder. He spent years working in sales for outdoor brands and drinking a lot in the process, which led him to see firsthand just how thoroughly alcohol and the industry are enmeshed.

“When I finally got sober and went camping again, it was pretty nerve-wracking going with friends that drink,” Pearson says. “I was like, what am I gonna do while everyone’s sitting around the fire drinking? I wanted to create a space where people could experience the outdoors and not have to worry about alcohol being a part of the picture.”

Pearson quickly found that he wasn’t the only person who wanted a substance-free outdoor community. Roughly 900 people have attended the 40-plus outings Sober Outdoors has hosted since it was founded two years ago, and the group is starting to branch out into states beyond Colorado. That community has helped fortify Pearson’s resolve when he goes out with friends who still partake, and he hopes that the broader outdoor recreation culture will take some cues from the growingÌęsober contingent.

“My biggest wish is that everyone takes a step back, looks at how substances impact them, and asks themselves, ‘How can we change to make the outdoors more inclusive?’ Because the sober audience is so much bigger than anyone even realizes,” Pearson says. “And Sober Outdoors is the proof in the pudding that you can have a great time without drinking—all these people that are hiking and camping and having a blast, without a beer in their hands the whole time.”

Personally, I’ve found that an ice-cold root beer or coke from the snowbank next to the car after a long ski tour hits just as hard as a regular beer. The hardest part was breaking the habit. Sometimes I’ll still take my favorite cider to savor at the top of a mountain, or split a beverage with a friend in the parking lot to celebrate a particularly stellar day on the slopes. But it’s a choice now, not a reflex.

Even if you feel comfortable with your current consumption habits, Pearson and Webster both have suggestions for ways everyone can help make a culture that’s welcoming and supportive of others’ sobriety: educate yourself, don’t make assumptions, and be inclusive.

“Sometimes people aren’t sure what to do when one of their friends stops drinking,” Webster says. “But just act normal and keep inviting your sober friends to things. They might not want to deal with being around alcohol, but it should be up to them.”

Pearson emphasized that you don’t always know what someone is going through, and statistically speaking, there’s a decent chance someone you know and recreate with has an unhealthy relationship with substance use. The National Institute of Health that 28.9 million, or just over one in ten, teenagers and adults in the U.S. had alcohol use disorder in 2023. When you include all substance use disorders, that number jumps to . “Someone may not tell you they’re trying to get sober, or they’ve got a problem with it, or want to cut back,” said Pearson. “But you need to just take people at their word. If they say, ‘No, I don’t want it,’ don’t push it.”

Occasionally, it’s still awkward or just a bummer when everyone I’m out with is drinking and I can’t. And I have no doubt that it’s much harder to navigate sobriety in mountain culture, in so many ways, for people in recovery from a substance use disorder than it is for someone like me. But for the most part, my newly sober-ish friends and I have all been struck by the degree to which our experiences in the mountains haven’t really changed this year. Your real friends won’t give you a hard time for not drinking, non-alcoholic beers truly are pretty good these days, and often french fries actually are the more enticing post-exercise treat.

I’m not asking you to stop drinking, or even telling you that you shouldn’t drink. But I think anyone who participates in outdoor sports, and anyone who drinks alcohol while they do, could probably stand to reflect on when and why they’re partaking. And we would probably all be better off if we asked ourselves what we’re doing, and what more we could do, to make sober people feel more welcome and included.

The post Young Americans Are Drinking Less. How Will It Change șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Sports Culture? appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

New Year’s resolutions are all well and good—we’ve even made a few ourselves. There’s nothing wrong with setting goals to improve your wellbeing, and the fresh start of January can be a greatÌęmotivator. But not every aspect of our lives needs optimizing.ÌęEating dinner at midnight, watching trashy reality TV, and blaring music through our headphones during a run—this isÌęthe spice of life. Here are all of the vices that we’re hanging onto in 2025.

Not Planning My șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs More Than Absolutely Necessary

At school and work I’ve always managed to be organized enough to get by, but it’s a constant struggle against my true Type B nature. In real life, I don’t even try to pretend that I’m a planner.

There are undeniable consequences to the seat-of-my-pants approach to life—I don’t make it to some really amazing backpacking spots because I don’t think to enter the permit lottery months in advance, for example. But even if you put aside the headache of making plans, I also just genuinely enjoy making last-minute decisions throughout a loosely planned adventure. I love being able to shape my weekend based on how far I feel like driving and what the weather’s like to the south versus the west and if, at that moment, I want to go for a hike or a bike ride. And I like that a loose itinerary leaves me flexible to jump on any unforeseen opportunities that might arise.

Obviously there’s a point when not making plans becomes inconsiderate (like when other people are trying to coordinate their schedule with yours), or even downright unsafe (like when you don’t have the right gear because you didn’t know the conditions you were getting into). That kind of thing is worth the extra effort. But in 2025, I fully intend to continue leaving town on a Friday afternoon with a full car and only the vaguest idea of what I’ll do the next day, or even where my campsite that night will be.—Miyo McGinn, assistant editor, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű

Spending Way Too Much Time on Facebook Marketplace

Every night after we put our daughter to bed, my wife and I pour ourselves steaming cups of tea, curl up on the couch, and then scroll for hours on Facebook Marketplace. We hunt for the items we need and sell the items we no longer use. We bargain, lowball, and negotiate with random people on the internet. It’s not exactly the romantic ritual that we anticipated when we got married almost a decade ago. But back then, we never anticipated that parenthood, homeownership, and normal middle-class suburban life would require so much stuff. And with American wages still trailing far behind the post-pandemic wave of inflation, our checking accounts are far too empty to pay retail for the items we need. Enter, Facebook Marketplace: a user-friendly platform for buying and selling used stuff, where every asking price is negotiable. Winter jackets, toys, tools, books, ski poles, bathroom vanity units, automobile tires, shelves, and bicycle parts—these are just some of the items that I’ve bought and sold on Facebook in recent months. And while I couldÌęabandon this practice and spend my evening hours reading or pondering the meaning of life, that’s just not going to happen.—Frederick Dreier, articles editor, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű

Not Letting My Skins Dry Out In Between Tours

Skiing is my all-time favorite activity, but there are way too many pieces of gear involved. I’m not always the most organized person, so it’s essential to me that my gear is as simple and streamlined as possible. I try to be on top of it and let my touring skins dry out every time after a backcountry ski. But there have been way too many instances when I forget to re-pack them and drive halfway to the trailhead (or sometimes all the way there) until I realize I left them at home. And when I’m touring before or after work on weeknights, there just isn’t enough daylight to waste time like that. As a shoddy solution, I’ve taken to leaving my skins inside my pack right where I left them when I transitioned—ready to go for the next time I need them. My skins won’t stay as sticky for as long since they won’t dry out as well, but if it means it’s one less piece of gear to remember, that’s a price I’m willing to pay.—Kelly Klein, gear editor, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű

Scrolling on My Phone Before Bed

I know, I know. The blue light , the flood of information my brain, and what I’m really doing is . But with a toddler, a stepdaughter, a farm, and a full-time job, I’m on the go from sunrise until the moment my little one is tucked into bed, and I just want an hour or two to myself. I want to catch up on the news I missed while I was in meetings all day and mindlessly watch cooking videos on TikTok—even if it means sacrificing a bit of quality sleep.—Abigail Wise, digital director, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű

Driving an Absolutely Filthy Truck

In 2025, I might try and establish more of a morning routine, or make a habit of walking during my lunch break. But I will not wash my damn truck.

I live down a dirt road, on a dusty piece of desert land with a big garden, tall cottonwoods, four horses, and no garage to speak of. I park outside, in the baking sun and the driving rain. I spend my weekends romping through the mud to get to the bend in the river where the big browns live. I climb into the driver’s seat with dust from dozens of miles on high-alpine trails on my shoes. I road trip endlessly in the winter, through salt- and sand-treated roads, to chase storms. And as much as I love my cherry little 2002 Toyota Tacoma, I just can’t be bothered to try and keep her in mint condition. I will spare no expense when it comes to the parts that matter: her engine, suspension, good tires. But cosmetics? I don’t have the time or the money. She looks better with a little rooster tail of mud on either side, anyways.

Come to think of it, I’ll take the same approach to my body, too. I’ll happily pay for the things that make me go, like physical therapy, great food, and a comfy bed. But the crows feet gathering around the corners of my eyes? Well, it wouldn’t look right to drive a filthy truck with a flawless face, now, would it.—Abigail Barronian, senior editor, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű

Eating the Whole Jar of Nutella

Long ago, in my twenties, I went on a women’s climbing exchange to France, climbing in Buoux, on Corsica, and in the Verdon Gorge. Among my cohort from America was Rhea Dodd, of Boulder, Colorado, and on that trip we were introduced to the Italian-made hazelnut-cocoa paste Nutella, which may not even have been available yet in this country. In La Palud, somehow, we five visitors were each given a little plastic sampler of it along with something—a cookie, a cracker?—to eat it on, and a tiny popsicle stick to dig it out. I thought it was the best thing I’d ever had, and Rhea, with a mock mournfulness that cracked me up, said, of our little bites, “That just makes me want more.”

Unfortunately, when I get a jar of Nutella—which contains 12 grams of fat per two tablespoons, and a primary ingredient of sugar—there is no stopping me. Only last week, my husband said, “What happened to the Nutella?” There had been a jar here…On a hiking trip to Patagonia two years ago, I was thrilled to be offered Nutella at breakfast, but OK, we were hiking eight to 12 miles a day, so we could eat a lot.

Rhea, who became a dear lifelong friend, who was a veterinarian and lifelong champion of animals, including elephants, is gone now, lost young to cancer; and I think of her every time I see a jar. Because I eat too much of it, I don’t always keep Nutella on-hand, but I never go too long between jars.—Alison Osius, senior editor, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű

Not Unpacking from Trips Until the Next One

Few things bring me more joy than returning home after an all-day spring skiing mission, tossing my pack on the floor next to my bed, and not looking at it again until I’m about to head out the door for my next expedition. It makes me frantic to clean dormant electrolyte mixes out of stinky water bottles and throw out old, moldy snacks five minutes after I text my adventure partners, “On my way.” But the simplicity of not unpacking hits like hard drugs.

The spare bedroom of my apartment sits at an ambient 48 degrees Fahrenheit because the woodstove is upstairs and, shocker, heat rises. It isn’t good for much but a gaping, disorganized gear closet. It houses bikes, skis, and touring packs full of dubious goodies. It’s a nightmare, but it’s my nightmare, and I’ll keep it looking like someone tossed a hand grenade in a ski shop this year, and into the next one.—Jake Stern, digital editor, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű

Hoarding Chapstick

I try to be extremely conscious of my consumption and buying habits, which goes only as far as purchasing chapstick. Living and working in the world of skiing, my lips get pretty dry in the winter and I’m no stranger to a bluebird ski day lip sunburn. I have at least ten different types of chapstick for all sorts of purposes—SPF for the day, endless tubes of Aquaphor for the night, ultra-moisturizing, aloe, and of course a treasure trove of some that are just for fun. I don’t need anyone to tell me I don’t need this many lip products, or even worse, that they don’t work (I won’t hear of it). Here’s the thing: I don’t care. Keeping a rotation of chapstick products is fun, and ultimately harmless. I’ll be bringing all of my chapstick with stride into the new year, and probably the year after that as well.—Jamie Aranoff, digital editor, SKI

Bringing a Gourmet Picnic on Every Outdoor șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű

When I moved to Croatia last year, I quickly realized I’d need to reassess my adventure fuel. My beloved Cliff Blocks, and the wide variety of protein bars I’d come to rely on in the states, were nowhere to be found. After attempting to choke down my 47th Corny Big (don’t ask) bar of the year, I decided it was time to branch out. What started as salami and a little bit of cheese from the deli blossomed into over-the-top sandwiches. My husband and I perfected our “mortadella, bresaola, fresh mozzarella, greens and pickled peppers piled on fresh-baked ciabatta with a hefty drizzle of olive oil” combo and it became a staple of every hike, ski day and road trip. Unfortunately, it pairs really well with a half-bottle of wine, so my backpack’s gotten way too heavy. I’m freshly back in the U.S. now, but I can’t imagine a Kind Bar is going to cut it after discovering the good things in life. I think, unfortunately, my snacks are never going back to ultralight.—Mikaela Ruland, editor-in-chief, National Park Trips

Not Wearing a Coat

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve found winter coats to be a sensory nightmare. Somehow, they’re always too tight, too bulky, and too warm. I hate the feeling of wearing them more than I hate being cold. And to be clear, I am cold. I have enough sense to bundle up for a hike, but I can’t bring myself to put a coat on when I’m only walking across the grocery store parking lot. “I’m just going to be in and out,” I say, even when the temperature is below freezing. The ease of forgoing this one article of clothing somehow makes running errands in the winter more bearable. My parents still tsk-tsk me for my ill-advised sartorial choices, but unfortunately, I’m an adult now and nobody can make me change.—Isabella Rosario, associate editor, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűÌę

Eating Dessert Every Single Night

I have a major sweet tooth. I believe I inherited this from my Dad because he’s a late-night dessert eater, too. Maybe I have a sugar addiction—who knows? And who cares? The comfort and excitement that I feel when I warm up a brownie (I always heat it for exactly 23 seconds in the microwave) and top it with Ben and Jerry’s Half-Baked ice cream is worth the calories. I was born in April, and we Taureans like a little bit of luxury when it comes to treating ourselves. Each night, around 11, I sit at my dining table with my brownie-and-ice-cream-filled bowl, turn on my electric fireplace, ask Alexa to play smooth jazz, roll out a place setting, and dig in. When I’m done, I lift the bowl to my lips and drink the melted ice cream. As I type this, I’m already salivating. I can’t wait for tonight.—Ayana Underwood, senior health editor, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű

Sitting Like a Bird

When I’m working, the only way I can focus is sitting perched on top of my chair. It’s hard to explain unless you’re also prone to perching but let me try: I put my feet on the seat, knees bent and tucked up to my chest with my upper body curled forward to type or write. When I worked in an office setting, this position would alarm people. I got a lot of, “How do you sit like that?” from colleagues. Embarrassed, I’d attempt to put my feet on the floor like a professional, but it felt like a prison for my legs. (According to the medical handbook of Instagram, this is typical for neurodivergent folks with concentration problems, and yeah, that’s me.) At some point, I’ll probably need new joints. I could resolve to save up enough money to get myself this but I don’t know if it will let me feel as bird-like as I need to do good work. So professionalism and physical health be damned, I’m sitting like a weirdo for life.—Ali Nolan, digital editor, RUN

Drawing the Line at Cheese

Over the last few years I’ve made some significant changes to my diet for environmental reasons. For instance, I grow a ton of my summer produce. And 95 percent of my home cooking is plant-based. I only eat meat when I’m dining out or someone else serves it to me. That’s because the meat and dairy industries account for about 14.5 percent of global greenhouse gases worldwide. I also switched to plant-based milk (coconut is my fave). But don’t come after my cheese. Cheddar, feta, parm, gruyere, mozzarella, it doesn’t matter which type: I’m nothing without these gooey, salty, satisfying cheeses. I’ll skip meat for the rest of my days if I have to. Just don’t come after my cheese.—Kristin Hostetter, head of sustainability and șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű contributing editor

The post These Are All the Bad Habits We’re Keeping in 2025 appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

The tradwives of TikTok have superhuman trend-setting abilities. They’ve revived and have made whipping up complicated recipes and even everyday household goods from scratch—like and —cool again. Now, is a staple in their skincare routines and on their plates.

Over the last month, TikTok has exploded with videos of people applying beef tallow as a moisturizer, claiming that it heals skin conditions from acne to dryness to hyperpigmentation. In other , users share how they make their own tallow to cook with as a substitute for more conventional sautéing fats like olive oil and butter.

You might be wondering: What makes it so special? Registered dietitians and dermatologists help us get to the greasy bottom of it all below.

What Is Beef Tallow?

Beef tallow is the product produced after removing fatty tissues from cow meat and melting them down, a process that’s also called rendering. Once rendered, any solids are strained from the liquid, and the remaining liquid is tallow, explains , a registered dietitian at Balance One, a supplement company. “The fat generally used is found around the loins or the kidneys of the cow,” she adds.

Once the tallow cools down, it solidifies into a butter or margarine-like texture. “It’s been used for centuries in traditional cooking methods and even in non-food products like candles and skincare,” explains , a registered dietitian and owner at Bravespace Nutrition, a nutrition therapy service. In the beauty world, much of the buzz around tallow stems from its alleged success in treating stubborn skin problems.

From an environmental and ethical standpoint, consuming or using tallow comes with the baggage of the beef industry, which is responsible for 3.7 percent of annual greenhouse gas emissions nationally, per the . (But if you’re down to eat beef, tallow shouldn’t raise any concerns.)

TikTokers Are Adding Beef Tallow to Their Skincare Routines

According to a that analyzed the scientific data on tallow’s benefits,Ìę the big draw to tallow is that it’s biocompatible with human skin, meaning it’s made up of lipids and fatty acids that mimic the composition of the epidermis. There are dozens of videos of alleged complexion transformations with nothing but a beef tallow balm to thank—but dermatologists aren’t jumping on the train just yet. “While it does show some potential for hydration, the research is limited and inconclusive,” says , a board-certified dermatologist based in New York City.

Dermatologists Say Beef Tallow Can Be a Good Moisturizer

The hydration perk comes from its store of fatty acids like stearic acid and oleic acid, which help restore and strengthen the skin barrier and lock in existing moisture, explains dermatologist .

“From a moisturizing perspective, it can work for some people, especially those with very dry or compromised skin,” Kopelman explains. “However, when it comes to clearing acne and scars, I’m skeptical. Acne scars are deeper issues caused by skin damage and collagen loss, and while a good moisturizer can improve the overall look of the skin, tallow isn’t going to regenerate collagen or repair scars,” she says.

But Beef Tallow Might Clog Your Pores

Because tallow is quite heavy and occlusive, meaning it acts as a protective, impermeable shield, it can also trap oils, sweat, and bacteria on the skin, Kopelman adds. “For someone with acne-prone or oily skin, this could lead to clogged pores and even more breakouts,” she adds. “Another concern is hygiene—if the tallow isn’t processed properly, it could introduce contaminants or bacteria.” She notes that it also has the potential to cause allergic reactions in those with sensitive skin.

The review mentioned earlier was inconclusive about other potential side effects of using beef tallow cosmetically. Some studies conducted on animals found it to cause eye and skin irritation. There is also concern about other ingredients brands could put into beef tallow skincare. “What’s marketed as ‘beef tallow’ may actually be a mix of fats from various animals,” says Dr. Kazlosukaya.

And that’s why, for now, you may not find many derms joining the chorus on this one. “I approach these trends with caution. There are already so many wonderful moisturizers available,” says Dr. Kazlosukaya. “Unlike tallow, these products are backed by extensive research, ensuring their safety and efficacy.”

Kopelman adds: “While tallow’s properties may warrant further investigation, this should happen in controlled lab settings where its physical properties and safety can be thoroughly evaluated. For now, it’s too early—and too risky—to start slathering animal fat on your skin.”

Is Adding Beef Tallow to Your Diet a Good Idea?

“Beef tallow is rich in healthy fats but also contains less healthy saturated fats,” explains Best. It contains fat-soluble vitamins A, D, and K, too, “but those levels depend a lot on the diet and quality of the animal,” adds Metzelaar.

The Saturated Fat Content Can Be an Issue

In comparison, olive oil, for example, contains more heart-healthy unsaturated fats, Best says. “Too much saturated fat can impact cholesterol and heart health negatively. And while the science around saturated fat is evolving, eating too much of it while not balancing other nutrients in your diet could still pose risks for some individuals,” says Metzelaar.

It’s Great for Cooking Veggies and Frying

The real pro of using beef tallow in the kitchen is its high smoke point, which makes it versatile and ideal for frying or roasting vegetables compared to more delicate oils, Metzelaar says. It has a rich, savory flavor, which may not always gel well with sweet notes but can be used as a substitute for butter or shortening in recipes like pie crusts because it creates a flaky, tender texture, she adds.

Metzelaar says that you can also use it to fry eggs, sear meats, or make french fries, but that it’s best to eat tallow in moderation. “Ultimately, it’s another tool in your cooking arsenal,” she says. “Whether it’s the right fit for you depends on your preferences and how it fits into your overall diet,” she says.

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