#advice from a thriving twentysomething

[qippabtch]

My journey towards self-actualization began with Mamma Mia and ended with me becoming the love of my own life.

(long post, TW: mention of SA, description of PTSD events, themes of religious trauma, allusion to mild body image issues)

Growing up, whenever I watched read anything that featured or even implied premarital sex, I got this sinking, disappointed feeling, like a parent finding condoms in the shoebox under their teenager’s bed. It a this sort of disapproving sadness that somewhat tainted everything I read or watched that had such content or notations. It felt like betrayal, a loss of representation in every character who ignorantly committed these sins, unwary of how harmful the simple act of something as socially normalized as premarital sex was. 

Sex was forbidden, but not taboo. My parents discussed the matter liberally with me, with the conversational condition that it was a beautiful and holy institution ONLY when indulged within the confines of traditional Christian marriage. So, I didn’t want to have it. I didn’t have sexual urges. I was a good girl, wrapped in the Holy Spirit, freed from sex as a vice, an obsession, a possibility. 

In fact, I was so obsessed with the idea of a sanctified chastity that the principle of it became more of a vice to me than the pursuit of sex ever would have been. I had been warned that men (or, in my case, boys) only wanted one thing, and were so pathologically obsessed with it that a good man could be tempted and thus forever laced into the shoes of a deviant, even a rapist, just from seeing my exposed midriff. It didn’t matter that my particular midriff didn’t hold much (if any) sex appeal to my peers, because the presentation of absolutely anything “sexual” was sufficient motivation to ruin both him, this hypothetical boy/man with weak to no control over his primal urges, and me, the chalice of holiness whose very worth was, in no small part, dictated by the virginal status I held.

When I was seventeen, I went to see Mamma Mia 2 in theaters. My mother and maternal grandmother and I made it into a “girls’ night” in celebration of Grandma’s visit to our (the better) side of the States. It was strange, experiencing such a sexually-oriented film with the two women who most often told me how beautiful a “pure” bride was on her wedding night. Especially since these very women were now fawning over a movie that so heavily centered around the lead-up to a teen pregnancy that resulted in a single mother raising her daughter on an island without any of her potential baby-daddies even knowing she’d been expecting. I didn’t know it, but a seed had been planted while I sat in that theater, and it was about to be watered by my craven need for freedom and the innate desire for self-actualization.

The next day, I was home with my mother, doing chores. The events of the night before inspired me to play the first Mamma Mia movie while she ironed and I pretended I cared about the state of my bedroom. In reality, I was listening in rapt awe to “Honey Honey,” the scene where Sophie (the protagonist, former teen mother Donna’s now grown daughter) was reading her mother’s diary from the summer before her birth. In between narrating to her friends the portions alluding to three incidents that were each equally likely to be responsible for Donna’s pregnancy, she sang a song that celebrated the revelations, wondering which man could have contributed the necessary DNA that led to her existence. She was not only approving of, but practically celebrating the sexuality the diary expressed. Instead of disappointed, it made me feel… jealous. I was so envious of these girls, who had the freedom to wear tiny bikinis and openly ogle the agile Greek boys, all lined up to flirt and perform ostentatious dives off the docks for their benefit. They just seemed so… free.

When she’s sober, an addict may keep the source of her temptation out of reach. Before experiencing a relapse, there is often a distinct moment where a critical part of her willpower just… crumbles. She doesn’t decide to relapse then and there, but she subconsciously gives herself permission to use, or smoke, or gamble, or whatever it is. Whenever I start smoking again after a period of abstinence, there is usually a shift that takes place, when I’m weak or in a state of lowered inhibitions. Then the dopamine hits. Dopamine, you know, doesn’t hit when you engage in an activity that is neurologically rewarding, such as sex or drug use. It hits when you decide to do the thing, when your hand stretches out for the bottle, when you begin to salivate in anticipation of that Big Mac and large shake. It hits when you decide, whether knowingly or subconsciously, to reach for the cigarette pack, when you plan to take the long way home, the one that passes the casino. Being hit with a gut-wrenching envy for Sophie and her friends, for teenage Donna, for the archetypal, sexually-liberated young woman with the agency to give her virginity to her high school sweetheart, or enjoy a one night stand with a Tinder date— for me, admitting that jealousy to myself was that shift. I hadn’t actually decided I was going to have premarital sex. But something had permanently altered inside me, and it wouldn’t be long before I became the girl I so envied.

For a while, I clung to the concept of virginity. It’s a lot harder to get past the “zero to one” threshold than it is to go from one to two, two to three, and so on. The technical loss of my virginity happened when I was sexually assaulted, just after I turned eighteen. After that seemingly insurmountable landmark was passed, it was almost arbitrary to continue. So in college I decided to be an absolute whore. I slept with anyone and everyone who I could get into my bed. 

And… I hated it. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t give me any sort of pleasure. In fact, penetrative sex usually hurt. If it didn’t hurt, I mostly just felt bored, compelled to fake enthusiasm in order to cajole my partners over their edge so we could just be done, and I could collapse in sweaty exhilaration into their arms. It was a sense of pride, and really nothing else, that motivated me to even wait until they were done. At first, I couldn’t even get through to when my partner finished. But it only took me a few times before I had control over the panic attacks. I knew I could breathe, stay present, and be in the moment. I could ward off the crippling anxiety and darkness if I just stayed here. But sex was such a chore, such a burden that I sometimes found myself allowing the suffocating alternate to overtake me, just so I could, in good conscious, halt the act mid-stroke, to be freed of the discomfort in lieu of the part I really wanted: the part where they held me, kissed away my tears and told me that everything was going to be okay. 

Then I met... let's call him Elliott. With him, the first time, it was just as it was with everyone else. I laid down and let it happen, giving enough verbal affirmation to encourage him to continue while staying as distant from the act as I could inside my own mind and body. After a few enthusiastic minutes, he abruptly stopped. He kissed me, then got up, removed and disposed of the condom, and then crawled back into bed. 

“That’s… it?”

He laughed. “Now, now,” he chided. “Before you go and pull out the stopwatch, I didn’t finish.” 

I was puzzled. “Why… not?”

He shrugged. “Just wasn’t happening. Sorry to disappoint.” 

As I got to know him, I learned that Elliott had a slightly unique sexual appetite. It wasn’t that he didn’t find me attractive. He enjoyed the idea of having sex with me, and responded to me whenever I initiated (and even sometimes when I didn’t). He simply needed something other than just ��urge’ to be, shall we say, successful in the act. For him, sex was cool, but the simple primitive urge to spill seed was more easily satisfied without a partner. In those cases, he was in complete control of the act. With the help of his imagination, a landscape so vivid and detailed and perfect that it made reality pale in comparison, there was no need for me, or anyone else. So, for him, the benefits of sex over masturbation were purely rooted in the one thing another human could offer: intimacy.

Elliott doesn’t need sex to feel love. He loves himself. He doesn’t need sex to feel pleasure or satisfaction for the same reasons. The only thing sex with me could give him that he couldn’t give himself was kindred spirit, and while that was lovely and wonderful, he didn’t need it to live, or even to be satisfied. Everything he needs to be happy, he can provide for himself with just a piece of paper and a pencil, a hiking trail, and adequate space in which to do a cartwheel. Elliott, like me, is autistic, but unlike me, his entire life revolves around his special interests. For him, there's nothing that anyone could give him that would satisfy him more than what he did himself.

I fell so hard, so fast. When we first started dating, I confided in him late at night that my biggest fear was of the phenomenon of love-hate dynamics, wherein the very quality or characteristic that you fall in love with almost inevitably becomes the same quality, recontextualized by circumstance and time, that drives you out of love again. He was always honest about who he was, never trying to hide his self-centered priorities or disguise the incorrigibly free spirit that makes him so unique and wonderful. So of course I can’t really be angry about what led me to end things with him, because they’re the same qualities I loved and admire even now about him. But even if his unfailing commitment to his own creative satisfaction at all costs made him unsuitable as a life-partner, that doesn’t mean they’re all bad. Quite honestly, even single, he’s one of the happiest people I’ve ever known. I envy that, and I wish more than anything I could be more like that.

Coming to terms with my asexuality meant giving up on the idea that a sexy, sordid love affair would bring me satisfaction in my life. In doing so, I allowed my priorities to shift past seeking romance around every corner, and began to focus on other things that gave me satisfaction. Following in Elliott’s footsteps, prioritizing self-actualization and personal growth and my own goals over the fleeting butterflies of romance— I started to do things.

I moved home, finished my college degree and fulfilled my dream of becoming fluent in sign language. I reconnected with my estranged childhood best friend, finding in him the inspiration in him to write the novel I always wanted to write. I found a job that, despite it being the last thing I actually wanted to do, benefitted me as a mode of improving my newfound bilinguality. I made friends at that job, and made a new life from the pieces of the one I left behind. I let my satisfaction come from the girl group I forged in the trials of the job, not the endlessly uninspiring monotony of the work itself. The friend group as a whole might’ve fallen apart after I left, but I held on to my roommate, someone who has taught me how to value myself and not settle for anything less than what I deserve. Having gotten everything I wanted from that job, I quit and found something I want to turn into a career. I started to learn to code, spent endless hours editing and drafting my novel, took up kickboxing and knitting, and discovered that I have a knack for bringing near-dead houseplants back from the brink until they're thriving. Just like I'm thriving, here, having left my own 'brink of death' long in the past. I finally found someone to love: I found myself.

I’m not saying that feeling lonely or wanting love is somehow wrong. But maybe, if you refocus your priorities onto the things that cannot be given to or taken away from you in this life, just maybe you’ll find a happiness that isn’t conditional, or inexorably tied to somebody else’s existence. More than anything else in the world, if there’s one thing I can say is worth the effort, it’s this. Find yourself first. 

Life will probably throw me plenty more curveballs. But I've got somebody really great in my corner. She's a total badass, she's smart, resilient, and happy. And she'll be there for me even when I'm not thriving. She is... me.

[ultralifehackerguru-blog]

New Post has been published on http://lifehacker.guru/the-13-best-movies-you-didnt-see-in-2018/

THE 13 BEST MOVIES YOU DIDN'T SEE IN 2018

LAST YEAR, FOLKS in the US spent $11 billion going to the movies. Yet the bulk of those people, and those dollars, went to the mega-blockbusters—the Panthers, the Venoms, the Avengerseseses. Even though indies are getting a renaissance thanks to streaming services, there’s just not the same thriving middle-class that there was in decades past, and a ton of legitimately great films still don’t get in front of as many eyeballs as they should. So, fine, you let some smaller gems slip by; now’s your chance to make things right. Got a few free evenings over the holidays? Queue up these 2018 unsung heroes first.

Suspiria

Amazon Studios’ art-house horror flick did modestly well in its small theatrical run, but limited distribution meant it didn’t get the attention it deserved. Directed by Call Me By Your Name‘s Luca Guadagnino, the film is, on the surface, a remake of Dario Argento’s horror classic of the same name. But it’s also much, much more than that. (Star Tilda Swinton, who actually plays a few roles in the film, went so far as to refer to it as a cover version of Argento’s original.) Beautifully shot, with an appropriately haunting performance by Dakota Johnson, this Suspiria goes beyond the tale of a witch-run dance school by digging its nails into the many ways the past will forever haunt us. It’s not for everybody, but if you have an itch for something truly gruesome and mind-bending, this’ll scratch it. —Angela Watercutter

First Reformed

Here’s a sentence I never imagined myself writing in 2018: Ethan Hawke gave one of the best performances of the year. It’s not that I didn’t think he was capable; I just didn’t see him showing up in a dark eco-conscious Paul Schrader film wherein he plays an alcoholic priest trying to keep his sanity and his congregation together. And yet, here we are. Moody, existential and even a little bit ethereal, First Reformed is one of the year’s craziest headtrips—right down to the ohshitwhatthefuck? ending. It got a very limited theatrical run but has been playing free to Amazon Prime subscribers for a while now (as well as Kanopy). If you happen to be one—or even if you’re not—go watch it immediately. —A.W.

Shoplifters

I’ve tried half a dozen times to explain director Hirokazu Kore-eda’s teleportative tale—about an ad hoc family living in near-poverty in urban Japan—and failed in each instance. So instead, here’s what Shoplifters is not: mawkish (though it is deeply moving); downbeat (despite its character’s increasingly desperate turns); nor needlessly twisty (though the family’s backstory is full of slow-building surprises). Instead, it’s a lovely, quite funny accounting of ordinary people staring down extraordinary circumstances with pragmatism, wits, and sporadic joy. And, in a year full of movies that viewed tough realities with deep empathy—from Roma to First Reformed to First Man—it’s the denizens of Shoplifters that have lingered in my mind the longest: Wondering where they are now, hoping everything turned out OK. —Brian Raftery

Mandy

You know what sucks? The fact that so few movies today are confident enough to feature coked-out demon biker gangs, strange Jesus cults, and a truly off-the-leash Nicolas Cage. Luckily, though, there’s Mandy—director Panos Cosmatos’ movie starts with that grand trifecta and goes about a thousand steps further. Shot using lush nighttime colors that would make the Stranger Things crew jealous, the revenge tale follows Cage’s Red Miller as he goes searching for his girlfriend who has been taken in by the aforementioned cult. Explaining it any further would ruin the fun (it’s also kind of impossible), but rest assured it has one of the best eviscerations of fragile masculinity ever put onscreen. —A.W.

Miseducation of Cameron Post

If you were an indie movie fan in 1999, you remember a delightful little film called But I’m a Cheerleader. It starred RuPaul as an instructor at a gay conversion camp and Natasha Lyonne and Clea DuVall as two of the unfortunate souls sent there for “treatment.” The Miseducation of Cameron Post, based on Emily M. Danforth’s novel of same name, is a much, much less campy version of that. In it, Chloë Grace Moretz plays the titular Cameron, a teenage girl who gets sent off to a conversion camp after getting caught in the back of a car with another woman the night of her prom. Heartwarming and heartbreaking, director Desiree Akhavan’s adaptation of Danforth’s novel is as vital and necessary as Cheerleader was in the late-1990s. It just has fewer laughs. —A.W.

Matangi/Maya/M.I.A.

The last time you heard from (or about) agit-pop hitmaker M.I.A. it likely had something to do with her flying her middle finger at the Super Bowl or the term “truffle fries.”That was years ago, and a lot has changed in terms of how the public, and pop culture, treats its female artists. Well, maybe not a lot, but there’s been progress—and in Steve Loveridge’s documentary, the ways in which Maya Arulpragasam was mistreated and misunderstood couldn’t be more obvious. Built on archive footage and personal footage shot by the Sri Lankan artist over years and years, it creates a fuller picture of M.I.A. than any magazine profile or online hot take ever could. It might be a little late, but it’s also right on time. —A.W.

Shirkers

The set-up for Sandi Tan’s autobiographical Netflix doc sounds like something out of a pop-culture thriller: In 1992, Tan and two other bright, outsidery teenage girls decided to make a semi-surrealist feature film in their home country of Singapore. They were aided by a mysterious older American man who absconded with the footage—and then all but disappeared from their lives. Yet Tan’s story doesn’t involve tidy resolutions or shocking twists. Instead, Shirkers is actually something infinitely more compelling: A gorgeous-looking self-interrogation about creativity, power, and the strange twilight zone between adolescence and adulthood. It also contains the most succinct one-liner about ’90s alt-teen life I’ve ever heard: “When [we were] were 14,” Tan says of her pals, “we discovered unusual movies and unpopular music.” Decades later, they all reunited for a film more unusual and profound than they ever intended. —B.R.

Tully

Here’s the thing about Tully: It builds up to one really great twist. I won’t reveal it here, and maybe you’ll guess it before getting to the end anyway, but it’s a gut-punch. Before that happens, the setup is fairly simple. Marlo (Charlize Theron), a mother of three children, hires hip twentysomething Tully (Mackenzie Davis) as a nanny for her new baby. Over the course of weeks, Marlo and Tully become close and Marlo begins to yearn for the life she had when she was Tully’s age. Sounds dry, but this is a project from director Jason Reitman and writer Diablo Cody, a pair that has wrung blood, sweat, and tears out of domestic dramas (Juno, Young Adult) twice before—and does so double-time here. The quest to prolong youth while also raising children has never been so cuttingly portrayed. —A.W.

The Favourite

I truly thought that nothing could top Suspiria for the most haunting final moments of any film in 2018. I was wrong. Director Yorgos Lanthimos’ film about the love/hate triangle between Queen Anne of England (Olivia Colman) and her companions Lady Sarah Churchill (Rachel Weisz) and Abigail Masham (Emma Stone) ended on a note so unsettling, I’m still not done processing it weeks later. (I won’t spoil it, but I will say I’ll never look at rabbits the same way ever again.) Much like with his film The Lobster, Lanthimos’ latest lands somewhere in the gaps between drama and farce. It is, instead, a crooked glance at humanity’s relationship to power—the things people do to get close to it, to claim it, and to throw it away. In Lanthimos’ askew version of history, when Sarah’s relationship with the Queen is threatened by the arrival of her cousin Abigail, she does what she feels she must do to wrest back control and steer Queen Anne’s War to her liking. Anne, sensing the manipulation, grows closer to Abigail, only to realize her intentions might not be much better. It’s an unparalleled study in the utter lack of trust that accompanies being in charge, in the dread that comes with knowing those who seek your favor may never have pure intentions. It’s as bleak as it is laughable—and one of the most wonderfully weird tales to hit the screen this year. —A.W.

Annihilation

Director Alex Garland‘s adaptation of the first book of Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach trilogy was easily one of the best dystopia films of 2018. It was also one of the year’s finest specimens of female badassery, featuring Natalie Portman, Tessa Thompson, Gina Rodriguez, and Jennifer Jason Leigh as a team sent on a expedition to find out why nature’s rules seem not to apply in the mysterious, government-protected space known as Area X. Haunting, unpredictable, and science-y (someone turns into a plant!), it was a whirlwind head trip—and a weird examination of what it means to exist. —A.W.

Eighth Grade

Even the title strikes fear in the hearts of anyone who didn’t have the easiest time walking the halls of their middle school/junior high. In writer-director Bo Burnham’s film, that uneasiest of times is compounded by the fact that it takes place in the modern world, where all insecurities are reinforced by un-Liked Instagram posts and unreceived Facebook invites. Heroine Kayla Day (Elsie Fisher) knows she’s on a pretty low rung in her school’s social hierarchy and with each new YouTube video she posts full of advice she doesn’t take, her story becomes more and more poignant, more and more real. And whether you grew up in the social media age or not, it’ll punch you in the heart—and make you glad you survived adolescence intact. —A.W.

Leave No Trace

Debra Granik, who every reviewer will remind you made a star out of Jennifer Lawrence with her film Winter’s Bone, pulled off another wrenching look at a family on the edges with this year’s Leave No Trace. When Will (Ben Foster) and Tom (Thomasin McKenzie)—a father-daughter pair who have been living off-the-grid outside Portland, Oregon for years—are arrested and put in the system, it tests their bond in new ways, and exposes Tom to a life unlike the one she’s lived with her father. Granik’s latest is almost deafening in how quiet it is, but its message about finding one’s place in the world is loud and clear. —A.W.

Three Identical Strangers

Were you surprised by the twist? What about the one after that? These are kind the kinds of questions folks ask you after seeing this documentary about three identical triplets who discover each others’ existence in their teenage years. At the time they found each other, they became America’s latest talk show feel-good story and national intrigue. Everything that happened after that, though, is so unbelievable it pushes all boundaries of credulity. It’s a Can you believe? story that quickly becomes an examination of heredity and (possible) corruption that goes beyond unbelievable into truly mind-boggling. —A.W.

(C)

[fitplanetmag-blog]

WHEN IT COMES TO SUCCESS, YOU CAN’T BEAT FAILURE!

Sarah Robb O’Hagan is something of an expert in smashing goals. As an endurance athlete who’s successfully climbed the corporate ladder she knows first-hand how physical fitness can build mental and emotional fortitude. And surprisingly, she believes success doesn’t always fuel success – it’s often quite the opposite.

We caught up with Sarah to discuss what it takes to maximize your potential and how making the most of failure can get you where you want to be. It’s something she’s so passionate about she’s penned the book, Extreme You.

In your book you’ve coined the term ‘extremers’ for people who are at the top of their game. Have we all got what it takes to become an extremer? And is it something we should all aim for?

Absolutely! An extremer is anyone willing to max out their own potential to the extreme, and everyone has the potential to do this. It is just a matter of understanding what your potential is – you need to think about your core skills and strengths, and what it is that you love. Once you have an understanding of what you want to achieve you can commit yourself to consistently developing the qualities you need to achieve it – that's how you become an extremer.

How do you know where to channel your efforts? How do you find your calling?

The one thing that I feel successful people do a really good job of is something I call “checking yourself out”. Rather than reading text books or googling stuff, these people just get out there and have the willingness to try new experiences. It comes down to being open-minded and really throwing yourself into new things. With this experience you realize what you like, don’t like, and really love – you get in tune with what makes you thrive.

Focusing on where you want to be is just part of the picture; how does focusing on your failures help?

If you haven’t experienced any failures or mistakes that have led you to a place where you’re not thriving, then you can’t have that strong filter for what is right for you.

In my book I share my own failures and the stories of several people who have gone quite a long way in their career before they then realized that they simply weren’t going to get to the level that they wanted to. Condoleezza Rice is a perfect example of this. While studying a classical piano major at college she realized she wouldn’t ever be talented enough to play Carnegie Hall. At first it was a devastating loss, but she now credits it with helping her redirect and travel in a direction that led to her extraordinary success.

I’ve learned that you can’t plan success. When I was in my twenties I went through life thinking that successful people had a very clear path – and a five year plan etc. But actually it’s way more random than that. When I discovered that you can’t really plan for success it was a real relief.

You’re concerned we’re cultivating a society of young people who fear failure – the ‘woossifying of the western world’. How do you think we can counteract this?

There’s been this incredible generational shift where we are increasingly questioning risk and essentially becoming more woossy. I believe this has a lot to do with what I call the self-esteem movement, which kicked in around 20 years ago when we started awarding kids trophies just for showing up, protecting them and making them feel good the whole time. By doing this we are not allowing children to experience loss and to figure out where they shine. Frankly, we’re not giving children the chance to develop their own internal drive.

So, we should embrace the knockback?

The more knockbacks you have the better you get at dealing with them. I am now so much more comfortable talking about so many embarrassing parts of my failures because I’ve learned that they are part of the journey. But when you’re younger it can be very daunting. You constantly think, “God, if I screw that up how will I ever recover”. But you do recover.

Instead of spending all your time fearing failure, it is more important to digest it, learn from it, figure out what you would do differently, and then start to take steps forward – so that you’re not stuck in a place of fear.

Being stubborn and humble are two traits that you feel are key to success. Can you please explain.

I was incredibly lucky to experience success at such a young age – I spent my 26th birthday at the Cannes Film Festival alongside Richard Branson. It was something that I never imagined would ever happen, and at the time it went flying straight to my head. But fast forward a year and I had been fired. The truth of the matter is, I didn't have the maturity or self-development to deal with it. I needed to have a much bigger sense of humility, self-awareness and understanding. I went through a period of real despair in my career, but it taught me to be incredibly humble, and to know that no matter what there is always a shitload of people who know more than me.

Who do you look to when you need inspiration/motivation?

I get a ton of inspiration from listening to and learning from other people. I find it very interesting seeing how people look at other problems and solve them. Right now I am listening to Bruce Springsteen’s memoir – it’s just fantastic, listening to someone who is one of the greatest rock stars on the planet talking about the struggles of being a broke twentysomething playing in dirty little bars.

Inspired by the suggestion that you might be ‘lazy’ you went from the kid who would barely finish the school cross country to marathon running … How?

I really struggled with fitness in my teens – I was never terribly good at sports and was just too lazy and unfit. I remember that when I was about 19 I attempted to run the Auckland Round the Bays [an 8km fun run] with my brother-in-law. I nearly died! Just three k’s in I was wheezing and it was mortifying. Meanwhile my sister’s husband is crushing it, probably hungover but still smoking me! That was the moment I went holy shit, this is embarrassing and I’ve got to do something about it.

I joined the gym and started doing Les Mills workouts, quickly becoming part of a cult of young people who loved group exercise and wanted to be there every day. Frankly, Les Mills made exercise a lot of fun, and was a huge part of my learning to develop a passion for fitness.

Now where do you find your fitness motivation?

When fitness becomes such an integral part of your life you don't need much motivation. So I don't feel I need a lot of motivation to stay fit, but I do enjoy setting goals – I tend to do a half marathon every year, a triathlon here and there, I’m doing [endurance event] Tough Mudder later this year. I generally find that setting goals is a great way to challenge yourself, break the routine and experience different types of training.

I deeply believe that maximizing your own potential starts with physical fitness. And I know from my own personal experience, and from that of many of the people who I spoken with, that the act of strengthening the body physically is key to building confidence and mental and emotional strength.

Sarah Robb O’Hagan is the founder of Extreme You, a movement to unleash high performance. As the global president of Gatorade she led its reinvention and turnaround, and she is the former president of Equinox Fitness Clubs. She has held leadership positions at Nike and Virgin Atlantic Airways and is now the CEO of Flywheel Sports. Sarah was named one of Forbes’ “Most Powerful Women in Sports” and one of Fast Company’s “Most Creative People in Business”.

Written by Emma Hogan

If you want more health and fitness inspiration simply sign up to Fit Planet and get the freshest insights and advice straight to your inbox.