Every October, my clients start celebrating a little early. “Don’t forget,” someone will say at the end of a session, “we get an hour of sleep back in November.” They say it like they’ve won something. I used to nod along. Then I started actually looking at the data. That famous extra hour is the most oversold gift on the wellness calendar. The clock changes on Sunday, November 1st at 2 a.m. this year — but your body doesn’t read memos. Your liver, your hunger hormones, and the labrador who wakes you at dawn all run on the old schedule…
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Every October, my phone lights up with the same text from a different client. “Woke up with a scratchy throat. Do I cancel?” Some of them want permission to skip. Most of them want permission not to — they’ve spent months building momentum, and the idea of losing three weeks to a cold feels like watching their progress evaporate. So my coaching team and I built a system for it, the same one I’ve refined over fifteen flu seasons: three lights, one thermometer, and a rule about coming back that saves more fitness than any workout ever will. Here is…
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Every year, right around the last week of October, my group texts go quiet. The 6 a.m. crew that spent all of September hammering out tempo work on the river path suddenly develops elaborate excuses. My favorite this season came from a client named Dana, who wrote, verbatim, “it is 38 degrees and I am one woman, not a furnace.” She was joking, but she was also gone for three weeks. Here is the thing I have learned after two decades of coaching people through the cold: the problem is almost never the cold. It is the wardrobe. Most people…
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There is one specific night every fall when I stop trusting my house. It is not a dramatic night. Nobody throws a party, nothing breaks. It is simply the first evening cold enough that the furnace coughs to life, every window in the place shuts for the season, and my family and I begin the six-month project of breathing the same air over and over again. My husband calls it sweater weather. My coaching clients call it nothing at all, because most of them have never once thought about it. I call it the night the house closes — and…
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There is a specific smell that takes me straight back to 2004: old rubber track, deep heat liniment, and the faintly earthy funk of beet juice. Our club physio kept a cooler of the stuff behind the training shed, and he guarded it like state secrets. Drink your purple, he’d bark at us forty minutes before repeat 400s. Most of us grimaced through it. One of my training partners swore the beets were why she closed her last lap a second faster that season, and I rolled my eyes at her every single time. Twenty-odd years later, I owe that…
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There is a moment every September when my walking group looks at me with the same question in their eyes. This year it arrived early, courtesy of a viral clip of someone power-walking through a park with what looked like a small sandbag strapped to their chest. Ten texts later, I had my answer ready: yes, the weighted vest is having a moment, and yes, I would find out exactly what it does before any of you buy one. So I did what I always ask my clients to do before they chase a trend: I built a little experiment…
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Nobody warned me that 2026 would be the year everyone I know became a walker. My Tuesday-morning client roster includes a retired firefighter doing Japanese walking intervals, two moms training for an October half marathon walk, and my own mother, who texts me her step count like it’s a stock portfolio. Search interest in walking workouts jumped almost three thousand percent last year, and my coaching inbox finally reflects it: the number one question I get is no longer about macros or heart rate zones. It’s about shoes. I get it. When walking becomes your actual workout — not just…
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Every September, around the time the school buses reappear and the morning air gets that first cool edge, I put a reminder on my calendar that reads like a riddle: “The sun is leaving. Act accordingly.” My husband thinks it’s dramatic. My clients think it’s funny. My bloodwork disagrees with both of them. Here’s the part most people never learn: the sunlight that returns after Labor Day is not the same sunlight. The equinox is a week out, we’re hemorrhaging daylight at close to three minutes a day here in the Northeast, and the sun is arcing lower across the…
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The most expensive mistake I ever made in fitness cost me exactly three hundred dollars, and I didn’t even feel it happen. It was early January, years ago, and I ordered a rower at full price because a New Year’s crowd had cleaned out every other machine in my size range. Eleven months later, that same model sat on the same website with a Black Friday banner across it — three hundred dollars cheaper. I stood in my kitchen staring at my phone like the screen itself had pickpocketed me. That was the day retail lost its magic for me,…
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Somewhere around the second week of September, without fail, a text lands in my phone from at least one client: “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m crashing at 8:30 p.m. and my 6 a.m. run feels like someone snuck weights into my shoes.” Every single year. For a long time I chalked it up to back-to-school chaos or the mental exhale that follows a busy summer. Then I started paying closer attention to the calendar instead of the client, and the pattern became impossible to miss. Here’s what’s actually going on: we are in the steepest daylight decline of the…