#functional stretching exercises

[fitnessmantram]

Daily Stretching Exercise, Knee Stretching Exercise #fitness #exercise #...

Who Should do Daily Stretching Exercise

Everyone can benefit from daily stretching exercises, but some people may benefit more than others. Here are some people who should especially consider incorporating daily stretching into their routine:

People who are sedentary: If you sit at a desk all day, your muscles can become tight and inflexible. Stretching can help to improve your range of motion and reduce your risk of developing muscle pain or injury.

People who are active: Athletes and other active people can also benefit from stretching. Stretching can help to improve their performance and reduce their risk of injury.

People with chronic pain: Stretching can help to reduce pain and improve function in people with chronic conditions such as back pain, arthritis, and fibromyalgia.

People who are recovering from an injury: Stretching can help to speed up recovery from injuries and improve range of motion.

People who are pregnant: Stretching can help to relieve pain and discomfort during pregnancy and prepare the body for childbirth.

People of all ages: Stretching is a great way to improve flexibility and range of motion at any age. It is especially important for older adults to stay flexible to maintain their independence and prevent falls.

If you are new to stretching, it is important to start slowly and gradually increase the amount of time you spend stretching each day. You should also listen to your body and stop if you feel any pain.

You may also like: 5 Best Portable Exercise Bike

Here are some tips for stretching properly:

Warm up your muscles before stretching. You can do this by walking, jogging, or doing some light calisthenics.

Breathe deeply and relax your muscles.

Start with your major muscle groups, such as your hamstrings, quads, and shoulders.

Hold each stretch for 30 seconds to 1 minute.

Don't bounce or force a stretch.

Listen to your body and stop if you feel any pain.

Cool down after stretching by walking or doing some light cardio.

If you are new to stretching, you can start with a simple routine that includes stretches for your hamstrings, quads, shoulders, and neck. As you get more flexible, you can add more stretches to your routine.

Stretching is a great way to improve your overall health and well-being. It is a simple, yet effective way to reduce pain, improve your range of motion, and boost your mood. So make stretching a part of your daily routine and reap the benefits!

Read More : The Best Exercise for your body type

[guzhufuren]

finished my workout board. it looks more like porn board

[wanderingandfound]

Sleep deprived to the point of giving myself chest pain (literal) and raw emotions (figurative). So how do I spend my Friday night? Collecting stats for the tournament blog while watching copaganda? Read a book cover to cover while enjoying the evening breeze? Or scroll through two days worth of my tumblr dash on my phone while lying on the cement porch outside (what I'm currently doing)?

[feline-evil]

Loathe to say it folks but they weren't lying, exercise and stretching is helping my chronic pain somewhat. Goddamn it. They were right.

[drmilindcom]

Why You Should Try Animal Flow Workouts for Mobility & Strength

Animal Flow Workouts If you’re tired of the same old gym routine or looking for a fun, dynamic way to improve mobility, strength, and overall fitness, Animal Flow workouts might be exactly what you need. This unique movement practice combines elements of yoga, gymnastics, and bodyweight training—inspired by the natural movements of animals. But why should you try it? Beyond just being a fun…

[grand-zammy]

How I start every day

(not my video; I just follow along)

[techdriveplay]

What Are the Best Exercises for Strength and Flexibility?

When looking to enhance your overall fitness, it’s essential to focus on both strength and flexibility. Whether you’re an athlete or someone aiming to improve everyday mobility, balancing these two aspects can help prevent injury, improve posture, and increase longevity. Understanding what are the best exercises for strength and flexibility will empower you to create a comprehensive workout plan…

[max1461]

Some mathematicians claim they can visualize R^4, or even higher-dimensional spaces. I think this is probably possible for the human mind to do, in principle; the human mind often proves surprisingly flexible. But I think it probably takes a lot of concerted practice, and because you are stretching your mind beyond its intended limits in a purely-internal, imaginative way with no external reference points to check against, I think it probably has some things in common with certain types of meditative practice.

It's also common to hear mathematicians say that if humans had visual intuition for dimensions higher than 3, higher-dimensional geometry may have advanced much farther, since visual intuition is so often crucial in thinking of proofs.

So, ok, I suspect that AI will obviate the utility of this before it could ever have the chance to get off the ground, but this all makes me imagine a world where techniques for learning to visualize higher dimensions are well-known and practiced, and have become a functional necessity for being a working geometer in higher-than-3-dimensions. And these techniques require a lot of persistent practice and training, which (by the nature of the thing) is hard to precisely communicate to students. So part of becoming a geometer involves training in what is basically a meditative practice, where, à la Zen, much of the process involves not directly teaching the student but giving them prompts and mental exercises that are meant to trigger internal, incommunicable revelation. But instead of enlightenment it's geometric intuition. And so if we're getting a math PhD in, say, differential equations or something, it's mostly like it is today. But if your PhD is in low-dimensional topology there's like a whole monastic apprenticeship style thing that just comes along with it. People sometimes drive themselves insane. People sometimes drive themselves insane.

[pebblegalaxy]

Unlocking the Power of Brain Cell Stretching: Boost Cognitive Function and Measure Impact

Unlocking the Potential: Effective Ways to Stretch Brain Cells and Measure Impact The human brain is a complex and remarkable organ capable of incredible feats. Just like our muscles, our brain cells, or neurons, can also benefit from regular exercise and stimulation. By actively seeking ways to stretch our brain cells, we can enhance cognitive function, improve memory, boost creativity, and…

[incognitopolls]

This would not override any wounds, illnesses, or chronic issues (though it might help alleviate them depending on what they are).

Eating and drinking: you would never be hungry or thirsty, and you would always have the required amount and type of calories, vitamins, and minerals.

Pooping, etc: you would never feel the urge to use the restroom, and would never have to deal with constipation, diarrhea, gassiness, or other issues that could be caused by your diet.

Sleeping: you would never be drowsy or sleepy, and you could stay awake all the time.

Stretching/light exercise: your muscles would always be in good shape and you would never be sore or tense.

Breathing/blinking: you would never run out of breath, and could be in places with poor air quality or no air without suffering ill effects, and your eyes would never get dry or itchy.

–

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[bloomzone]

self care is . . .

Reading a book: Engaging with literature to relax, learn, and escape from daily stress.

Meditation: Practicing mindfulness to calm the mind and reduce stress.

Eating a balanced diet: Consuming a variety of nutrients to maintain overall health.

Exercising regularly: Keeping the body active to improve physical and mental health.

Getting enough sleep: Ensuring sufficient rest to allow the body to recover and function optimally.

Listening to music: Enjoying music to boost mood and reduce anxiety.

Stress management: Implementing techniques to control and reduce stress levels.

Setting boundaries: Establishing limits to protect personal time and energy.

Being creative: Engaging in creative activities to express oneself and relax.

Time management: Organizing time effectively to balance responsibilities and leisure.

Taking regular breaks: Resting periodically to maintain productivity and prevent burnout.

Stretching: Keeping the body flexible and reducing muscle tension.

Practicing gratitude: Focusing on positive aspects of life to boost happiness.

Looking after your skin: Maintaining skincare routines to promote skin health.

Effective communication: Clearly expressing thoughts and feelings to foster healthy relationships.

Saying no: Declining unnecessary obligations to prioritize personal well-being.

Challenging your mind: Engaging in activities that stimulate cognitive growth and learning.

Learning new things: Continuously seeking knowledge to enhance personal development.

Regular medical checkups: Attending routine health screenings to prevent and detect illnesses early.

Hanging out with friends: Socializing to build strong support networks and enjoy companionship.

Spending time with family: Connecting with loved ones to strengthen family bonds.

Me time: Dedicating time solely to oneself for relaxation and self-reflection.

Self-reflection: Evaluating personal thoughts, actions, and experiences to gain insight.

Asking for help: Seeking support when needed to manage challenges effectively.

Setting goals: Defining personal objectives to provide direction and motivation.

Developing healthy habits: Establishing routines that promote long-term well-being.

Using your voice: Speaking up for oneself to ensure needs and desires are met.

© bloomzone

[euphoriaslux]

two’s a party.

summary: you recently transferred to stanford, and decide to tutor a tennis player in your class. he has a friend. severe indecency ensues.

word count: 3.3k

warnings : smut, threesomes, f!oral receiving, swearing, smoking, drinking. slight cuck energy if you squint (i’m sorry ((no i’m not))). no challengers spoilers!

a/n: this fic got away from me big time but this movie has rotted my brain and as a result i have written utter debauchery that i will not apologize for. just had to get this out of my head, enjoy!

-

stanford science hall. monday , march 3.

You swear the last thing you’ll hear before your body is lowered into your grave is the process of lactic acid breakdown.

It’s 2:30 PM. Kinesiology 189 with Professor Wilson, a lanky middle-aged man with a PhD in exercise science and a half-grown beard that you don’t think will ever fully grow in, is almost over. He’s teaching Extended Studies of the Human Body in a humid classroom filled with student-athletes, most of whom are trying to stay awake, trying to hide that they’re taking a nap, or making no attempt to hide that they’re on their phones. You don’t really blame any of them, because the professor’s voice is so soft and monotone that it feels like he’s begging everyone to pay attention to anything but him. You’ve managed to stay somewhat on course with the thread of today’s lecture, the notebook in front of you filled with scribbles of incomplete molecular structures and somewhat legible drawings of the muscular anatomy of a hamstring.

This class is required for your biology major since you’re on a pre-medicine track. You don’t know why you’re doing it, the whole doctor thing, but you’ve developed a weird fixation for this class. The functionality of the body, how muscles stretch and tear with each movement, and how amino acids work to build them back even bigger.

And, possibly because of the tennis player who sits four rows ahead of you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

His last name is Donaldson. You know because of the faded label on the massive bag he throws on the floor every time he walks into class, at least ten minutes late with a backward Stanford Tennis cap on his head. His first name remains a mystery, partly because he never talks in class, and mainly because you’ve made no attempt to speak to him. You like to think it’s because you’re so focused on the curriculum.

Professor Wilson knows your name, though, since you’re in his office hours every Thursday at 11 A.M. In part because he gives out most of the answers to his homework, and because you just transferred to Stanford your last year and very desperately need a letter of recommendation for medical school. Hence why you agreed to tutor a student with lower than 60% in the class during one of your meetings. And why everyone in the class was staring at you right now.

“... first come first serve, so reach out to her sooner rather than later.”

You give a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room. Most people have looked away, back to their distraction of choice, but you meet eyes with the fluffy blonde-haired tennis player.

stanford library. wednesday, march fifth.

It’s 11 A.M., and you feel like your brain is about to explode if you look at another practice set.

“Hey”.

Your head whips around to the harsh whisper, only to be met with the blue-eyed mystery from your class. He has that large bag slung over his shoulder, with the end of a tennis racket peeking out of it. His hair is slightly stuck to his face, and his compression tee is slick to his chest like a second skin.

“Hi,” you whisper back. He smiles before tossing his bag on the floor and sitting in the chair across from you, either unaware of or completely ignoring the glares he’s receiving from the other students studying.

“You know,” he pulls out some kind of nutrition bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking an aggressive bite, “for someone advertising their services, you’re pretty hard to find.”

“You’re in Mr. Wilson’s class, right?” you ask, hoping your subdued voice will remind him that he’s in a notoriously quiet place. He hums, pointing at you with his half-eaten snack.

“And I’m trying not to fail, but you didn’t leave your number anywhere in the classroom, and you bolt after every class. So how am I supposed to patronize your tutoring services…” he trails off, his volume the same level as when he walked in. You furrow your brows as he leans back into the chair.

“That’s when you say who you are.”

You feel a burn on the back of your neck as you tell him your name. He glances down towards the problem set you’ve nearly finished.

“How do you turn in any of those, I can’t get halfway through one of them.”

You pause for a moment before leaning slightly across the table to whisper:

“This new weird thing called studying. I think it just got approved by the CDC.”

“Very funny,” he shakes his head as reaches for your binder with your class schedule printed out on the front of it.

“Why are you taking so many bio classes?”

“Because I’m a biology major,” you can’t help the sarcasm dripping from your voice, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, you’re making this too easy for me,” you raise your hands in conceit.

“I have practice every day at five so you can tutor me for like an hour beforehand,” he says before standing up, crunching up the silver wrapper and stuffing it into the front pocket of his blue jeans. You scoff at his sentence.

“Well, thank you for so generously fitting me into your schedule,” you roll your eyes, turning the page in your textbook. He grins.

“Tell the coach you’re there for Art. They’ll let you through.”

stanford tennis courts. friday, march 7th.

It’s 4 PM, and the California sun is sweltering. Your shorts feel like they’ve become a part of your legs, and your bag feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. By the time you make it to the tennis courts Art is already on the green concrete, shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his face and chest. You hear his grunts as he sprints across the court, hitting the ball toward a slightly taller brunette with dangerously short red shorts. You watch them at the entrance for a few minutes, slightly entranced as the two play so seamlessly, as if they know every move the other person is going to make. You force your eyes away as you walk up the bleachers, stepping over leftover water bottles and chip bags to sit down and grab your notes from your backpack. It takes a couple more minutes for Art to notice you, yelling your name after he turns around to grab a ball his partner had hit particularly hard. You wave, and he says something you can’t hear to the brunette before the two of them jog across the courts and up the stands to where you are, blocking the sun as the two stand side by side.

“Who’s your friend?” you ask as you stuff the problem set you were working on in between the pages of your notebook.

“I’m Patrick,” he says, with a toothy smile and his ears poking out from under his hair. He has a bit more of a boyish charm to him than Art does, whose eyes are glued to his brunette counterpart.

“Are you in Mr. Wilson’s class too?”

Patrick opens his mouth to answer but Art speaks first, slightly pushing his friend with his shoulder as he says “He doesn’t go to Stanford, too busy being a tennis pro.”

Patrick rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t leave his face. You notice how different this Art feels from the one in the library, how direct his playfulness is and how close he and Patrick stand together, their sweaty torsos nearly melding together.

Interesting.

“Like, Andre Agassi level pro?” you smile as the two of them laugh. Patrick raises the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, and you can’t help but take a glance at the exposed skin just above his waistband.

“Sorry, he’s like the only tennis player I know.”

“No, no I’m taking that as a compliment that you think I’m on the level of Agassi. No takebacks if you see me play,” Patrick points at you.

“Will do,” you salute, turning over to Art.

“You ready to study?” you ask him as he makes a comically loud groan, his head falling back. Patrick laughs, reaching over to ruffle his friends hair.

“You do remember that’s why I’m here, right? Midterms are in two weeks.”

“I definitely have not forgotten that.” he says. You purse your lips just as Patrick’s eyes seem to light up.

“I’m staying at the Courtyard Hotel for the weekend. You two can come over and study, I need to review my last match anyway. Kill two birds with one stone,” Patrick suggests.

“Just studying?”

“Just studying,” Art says, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. You glance between the two of them, trying to decipher the unspoken communication they seem to be doing. But you can’t crack it, so you shrug.

“Sure.”

“Let us finish this set, and then you’ll have me all to yourself. Sound fair?”

“Wow, what a privilege. Don’t take too long, it’s hell on Earth out here!” you yell the last part as Art jogs down the steps and back down towards the net. You look up once you realize that the sun is still being blocked, and Patrick is still standing in front of you.

“You ever play?” he grins, flipping the tennis racket in his hand.

“Tennis? God, no, that would not be a pretty sight. I’ll stick to what I’m good at,” you gesture to the books and notes in your lap. Patrick nods.

“If you ever want to learn, I could teach you sometime, you know if-” he’s cut off by Art yelling his name, and you both glance to see him with his hands on his hips.

“Go, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” you wave him off, and you swear you can see him blushing. Must have been the glare.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder as he runs toward Art.

courtyard hotel. saturday, march 8.

It’s 11 pm. There’s a cold shiver in the elevator as you wait to get to the fourth floor, your tennis shoes tapping against the floor as one hand plays with the handle of the pack of beer in your hand while the other crumples and re-crumples the piece of paper with the hotel room number Patrick scribbled on it.

what are you doing?

You don’t have time to think about the consequences of your actions as the robotic voice signals that you’re on the fourth floor, the elevator doors fluttering open. It’s like your feet have a mind of their own, as you find yourself almost mindlessly wandering through the hotel halls until you’re planted in front of room 4B. You raise your hand to knock on the door but before you can make contact with the wood it’s thrust open, and Patrick is standing behind it. His dark hair is slightly tousled around his face, his striped shirt unbuttoned and his black boxer briefs low on his waist. He’s smiling, that same big smile as before, but his face is a little flushed, a gentle pink hue touching his cheeks. The two of you don’t say anything for a few seconds, as if you were both testing to see who would concede first to acknowledge the other’s presence. You raise the pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in your right hand.

“I brought studying fuel.”

You were never good at waiting.

Patrick laughs before he moves slightly out of the way to allow you to walk into his room. It’s small, with a queen-sized bed and a tiny desk, and the A/C emits an odd rumbling sound as it smacks against the window. Clothes and scorecards are strewn across the floor, and the scent of cigarettes permeates the room. You place the alcohol on the floor before deciding to sit on the bed, kicking off your shoes as you cross your legs. Patrick seems to stall for a moment, smiling to himself before closing the door behind him. He doesn’t lock the door, but you didn’t notice.

“Art’s not here yet?” you ask, watching as Patrick walks over and tears open the cardboard case, cracking open a can. Taking a sip, he leans against the desk as he smiles.

“Art can be bad with time.”

“As I’ve noticed,” you reach your hand out to motion towards the drink and Patrick hands it to you, staring as you take a large sip.

“Well,” you wipe the side of your mouth, “I told him to bring the topics he wanted to study, so I guess we can’t do anything until he gets here.”

Patrick nods with a slight pout, his fingers playing with the pop tab of the can. “I guess we can’t.”

“How’s tennis… stuff,” you laugh as you finish the question, not sure of exactly what to say.

Patrick seems to tense a little at the mention of the sport, moving over to sit next to you on the bed. His knee grazes your leg and you feel a slight buzz at the contact as he takes the beer from your hand.

“I’m kinda fucking it up right now,” he says, and you furrow your brows.

“How? You were like, really good yesterday.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He hands you the beer and you finish it off, placing the empty can at the bottom of your feet.

“I’m good with Art. It feels so fucking natural and easy with him. But in my other matches, I don’t know. I just … can’t replicate it.”

You nudge him with your leg.

“Sounds like you two were made to play tennis together.”

He makes a noise of agreement, his hands slowly moving to ghost over your thigh.

“You and Art are pretty close?” you ask as he plays with the bottom hem of your shorts, but he doesn’t say anything. You take his silence as a yes.

“Do you ever get jealous?”

“Of Art?” he asks, almost incredulously. You shrug.

“Yeah, or jealous of the girls he’s with. Either or.”

Patrick sits on that for a few moments before smirking.

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s his is mine.”

You laugh at that, a real deep laugh, and Patrick giggles next to you, the both of you tipsy from the can of beer you finished. You reach over and put your hand on his flushed face, rubbing your hand across his cheek.

“What were you doing before I came?” you feel his face warm even more against your skin as you position yourself closer to him.

“Practicing- or, sorry, rereading my scorecards from my last match.”

You tutted as you moved your hand to the back of his neck, gently running your hands through his hair.

“You can tell me the truth, Patrick.”

He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand before looking up at you as if to check if that was too much. Whatever your expression is gives him the confidence to move down to your neck, his tongue licking your skin.

“I think you know.”

You feel a pull in your lower stomach at his words, muffled by his mouth nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he sucks hard enough for you to put your hand around on his face at the pressure. Pulling his face up, the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and his eyes glance toward your lips. You wanted to wait, to make him beg and plead for it, but your body seemingly pulled you forward as your pressed your mouth onto his.

You were really quite bad at waiting.

He tastes like tobacco and faintly of the fruit medley in the dining hall, and you sigh as his lips interlock with yours and his hand grabs the back of your neck, pressing you into him. The kiss gets messy and hard, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip and into your mouth as you lift your leg to straddle Patrick, grinding into him. He whimpers into the kiss as his calloused hands drop down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating for a moment before dropping his hand into your underwear. You grind just a little bit faster as his fingers press circles into your clit, covering your mouth with your hand as you moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he uses his other hand to guide your hips, and your move your hands down to tug firmly on his hair. You can feel your climax building, the pressure in your stomach getting closer and closer to taking you over the edge-

You both jump at the sound of the hotel room dor slamming shut. Art is standing there, in that damn backward cap and a Stanford tee shirt as he crosses his arms over his chest, saying nothing as you and Patrick sit up straight, him adjusting his crotch and you smooth down your shirt, avoiding his gaze. Finally, the silence is broken by Art laughing.

“Christ, I’m not the cops,” he slips out of his slides as he waltzes over and opens a can of beer, drinking about half of it in one go. You look at him, and at Patrick, and then back at him, not knowing what the hell you just got yourself into.

“You want to fuck him right?” Art asks, and you can’t help your small gasp at how easily he said that. You glance at Patrick, hoping he’ll know what to say, but he’s just staring at Art.

“I-um,”

“So, no one’s stopping you,” Art cuts you off, taking a final swig of his beer and moving to stand directly in front of you. You open your mouth to try and explain, but before you can talk Patrick’s mouth is on yours again, his hand roaming your body. His grip is firmer now, his fingertips digging into the side of your stomach. He tugs at the bottom of your shirt and you separate, breathless as you pull your shirt over your head and toss it on the floor. Patrick’s mouth moves down to your neck, then your collarbones, and then your chest as he reaches around to take of your bra, and you feel on fire from Art’s gaze across the room. As Patrick kisses down your stomach and yanks down your shorts, you turn over to meet Art’s eyes.

“Come here.”

Whatever resolve Art was holding onto crumbles as he quickly takes off his shirt and slips out of his Nike shorts, tossing his hat on the dresser. In a flash Art’s hands are on your neck, tilting your head around to kiss you as Patrick lifts up your hips so he can take off your underwear. Art’s lips are softer than Patrick’s but he kisses you a little bit harder, his hand cupping the base of your neck. Somehow, they both taste the same. You moan into Art’s mouth as you feel Patrick’s tongue swirl around your clit, rolling your hips into his mouth as Art’s cock presses into your back. It’s just so much so fast, and that familiar buzz starts to pool in your lower stomach.

“Look at him,” Art turns your head to Patrick and you look into his eyes as you cum, Art’s hands hold your head forward as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Patrick’s hands are digging into your hips as he stares up at you and Art. Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath, leaning against Art as Patrick leans back up, his mouth a few inches from yours.

“Who do you want first?

[turtlesandfrogs]

So, someone asked:

And truthfully, I have so much advice that it needs to be it's own post.

First off, let's set some background information: I have ADHD. I have really bad ADHD*, and that has an impact on executive functioning and thus the amount of work that can be accomplished during work time. HOWEVER! You do not have to have ADHD for this advice to be relevant for you. Often accommodations for one group end up working well for others, so just, like, keep that in mind, ok?

On ward!

Step 1: Have you met your mammalian needs? That is, have you had food (type of food matters, make sure you get some good protein, fats, carbs, and vegetables in you. You will not last long on coffee and a bag of candy), water, physical exercise, and ample sleep**? We are animals. We have to have these needs met, or we will not be functioning well. This is the ground work, the foundation of the ability to Do Stuff.

Addendum for those with executive functioning disorders (ADHD, ASD, probably others, I'm not an expert in mental disorders!): You need to make space in your life, EVERY DAY for things you enjoy. Do not limit them to "rewards" for after the task is done- you need things to be happy about in order maintain your mental well-being. Without happy-making things, you get depressed (well, a lot of us are co-morbid and need to keep an eye on that any way), and when you're depressed, you will not be functioning well. Depression literally robs you of energy. Doing things that make you happy is just as foundational as eating, drinking, and sleeping. Time with friends and loved ones, time with hyperfixations and special interests, hobbies, etc. You NEED them. They are prerequisite, not reward!

Step 2. Do physical activities daily. The more physical activity you do, the more you'll be able to do. Yes, there is a point at which it becomes too much, or a person tries to do too much too soon, but for the majority of modern humans in the US, increasing your physical activity will increase your energy levels and endurance. It also does good things for your brain (increased focus, increased learning ability, increased positive mood, etc). Find some activities that you enjoy- walking around the neighborhood and identifying plants and birds? SCA? Dancing? Stretching? Swimming? Biking? DDR? Pushups? Find something that you enjoy doing and can fit into your daily life. Also try to find things that strengthen muscles, maintain flexibility, and train balance.

Step 3. Reduce Cognitive load- and plan to do it before you start. The less you have to think about while you're working, the better. Thinking takes energy, and when you're working on a thing***, you want your energy to be going to that thing. Some things that may help:

Listening to music

Having a piece of paper where you write down any thoughts of things you need to do that aren't the thing you're doing right now.

Putting your phone on Do Not Disturb

Meditating first, so you can write down all those "AAAA! I need to do that!!!" thoughts on that paper mentioned earlier before you even try to work. I find that every time I try to meditate they all come bubbling up, so it's a great way to get them all written down first so they won't be distracting you while you're trying to work on your chosen task.

Set a timer, so that you're not thinking about how long it's been or if you need to stop and do something else.

Do some prep work before working to make the working easier. Like, are you cleaning out a doom room? Grab the garbage, recycling, and empty containers you need first. Are you writing a paper? Grab your snacks and hot beverages, and references, and have a plan for your break times before you sit down to write.

Step 4. Access what you need/want to do. Make a list. Look at the list. Do any of those things feel overwhelming? You need to address that:

can you break the tasks into smaller tasks?

do some of the tasks need preparatory work? Write that down on your list too

does a task have a hard part that is blocking you from progress? Can you do that first thing while you're at max energy? Can you break down that part into smaller parts? Can you get someone else to do it? Can you do it, and then schedule a break?

Step 5. Keep your 'Why' in mind. Why are you doing it? What is the core motivation, the driving force? Eg, "I'm cleaning my room because I feel better when my space is clear and organized, and it's a gift to my future self". Or maybe, "I'm writing this paper because (this topic interests me) or (because I want to get a good grade in this class and do well in school so that I can get a job that will support me in the future)". Some times it's not obvious at first why exactly you're doing a thing, but if you dig, there's probably a solid reason that is meaningful to you in there somewhere (even if it's just, like, avoiding late fees or something). If not, maybe don't do the thing?

Step 6. Take breaks. Breaks are legally mandated, at a minimum of 10 minutes every 2 hours where I am, but everywhere I've worked (except when I was a teacher) gave people 15 minutes every 2 hours. You know why? Because you get back from break with more energy. You also make less mistakes when you take regular rest breaks. You work more efficiently, and can work for longer if you take restful breaks. Just, like, don't do something that's taxing in the same way as the work you're doing. In other words, if you're writing, don't go read more things, get up and walk around the building instead. If you're doing physical labor, sit your tired bones down and consider looking at things that make you laugh or bring you joy.

Step 7. As you work, acknowledge to yourself your accomplishments, and celebrate them. The harder the thing is (or the harder it was to get started), the more important this is. You're training your brain to associate doing the work you want to do with good feelings. You are not that much more complex than a dog or pigeon. If you are mean to yourself, for example by thinking "dang, that was all? What's wrong with me that it took me 3 weeks/6 months/2 years to get started?" then you are effectively punishing yourself. Even a small tweak like "Dang, that's all? That's way easier than I thought it would be! Go me! I'm so glad that's over and I'm no longer suffering through procrastination!" makes a huge difference. Don't be mean to yourself.

Further suggestions:

8. If you have a hard time starting, use some ADHD strategies:

Tell yourself that you only have to work for 5 minutes (or 10, if that feels very doable), and then you can take a break. Set a timer, and at 5 minutes, check in with yourself. How are you doing? If you're doing good and want to keep going, do a quick stretching break, mentally praise yourself, and then get back to it. If not, stop, take a break and assess what you can do to make it better. Then get back to it.

Count down from 10 and start.

Bribe yourself: When I'm done, I'm going to take a hot bath. When I'm done, I'm going to go for a walk. When I'm done, I'm going to spend $300 dollars on houseplants. When I'm done, I'm going to ask for a hug. When I'm done, I'm going to play 6 hours of that new game. You know, what ever is reasonable and fits the scale of the project.

Get a body double/work buddy. They don't have to help you, they are just there, working on their own thing. For some reason this helps a lot of people.

Think about how much future-you will appreciate present-you for doing this task.

Take a second and write about the problem, why it's hard to start. Is there something else even more pressing that you need to take care of first? Have you not met all of your needs? Is there some element that you're avoiding thinking about for some reason? Can you address it?

9. Role play an effective person. Or a person that's good at the thing you want to do. Think of someone, ideally someone you know, who is good at the thing, and pretend you're them. Maybe someone you're slightly jealous of because of their ability to do the thing. What would they do? What would it look like? How would they feel internally while doing it? Just pretend you're them and look at the work through their eyes for a little bit.

10. Do you have sensory issues? Is your body comfortable? Are your clothes clean and nice feeling? Do you need to take a shower (or just wipe relevant bits with a wet washcloth)? Are the lights bright/dim enough? Is the air fresh or does it feel stuffy and stagnant? Are you hungry/sad/thirsty/tired/overwhelmed/etc? Can you address any of those factors?

11. Use usually negative personality traits. I'm not saying this is for everyone, but for some of us, it may be a useful tool when used cautiously. For example, I am a person who has a lot of anger. Obviously I have worked very hard to get better at managing my anger and reducing the sum total of hours I spend angry. HOWEVER, I am so good at cleaning when I'm furious. S,o maybe I pick a thing that I know will make me angry, and I think about it for a while, and then I have a lot more energy to clean the room.

12. Use positive personality traits. I also really enjoy making people happy. So sometimes if it's not enough to motivate me, I think about how happy whatever work will make someone else. That's probably the better, healthier option.

13. Are you trying to do too much? I want you to take an assessment of yourself and your energy and endurance levels. Think of what would use up 100% of your energy and endurance for the day. Got it? Ok, good. Now, don't let yourself go over 80%. At the max. Reduce your task list and responsibilities until you can comfortably get everything done with 60 to 80% of your energy and endurance. Why? Because if you're running at 100% all of the time, what happens when you can't? Because if you're running at 100% all the time, you will burn out. Because if you're running at 100% all of the time, if a small disaster happens, so much will collapse because you won't be able to do it all.

Because you're a human, and you deserve leisure time and rest and relaxation. Because you're a human, and you NEED leisure time and rest and relaxation.

14. Being mean, harsh, disapproving, and demanding of yourself is counter productive and WILL NOT work in the long term. Being kind, creating chances for you to learn new things, being grateful to your past-self, and giving yourself the things you need to be happy and healthy will.

* enough that the physiatrist commented on it, but I was home schooled until I went to college, and thus had no idea what ADHD was or that I had it until year two of my masters degree in teaching. I didn't get formally diagnosed until 29.

**ample sleep, here defined as allotting enough time to sleep that you wake up before your alarm clock on a regular basis. Not like, once a week you sleep in for however many hours in an attempt to make up for the rest of the week. No, I mean allotting enough time EVERY NIGHT that you wake up before your alarm 90% of the time. It doesn't count if you're waking up because of anxiety or pain. I would hope that you're addressing those as much as you possibly can.

*** please nobody think that when I say "working" that I mean jobs/working for other people. When I say "working" I mean literally any activity that you don't find yourself doing automatically and without thought. I love plants- taking care of them is still work. I love food- making it is still work. I love sharing information- compiling it in a format that is intelligible to others is still work.

[doumadono]

hiii!!

hope it's okay if i request a little something for sinful sunday (i'm 19)

would it be okay to ask for dumbification kink with aizawa?

thank you anyway!

SINFUL SUNDAY

The room echoes with nothing but your sweet moans and Shota's heavy breaths, well, if you discount the occasional creaking of a wooden desk, wet noises and the enticing sound of skin slapping against skin.

The ceaseless clinking of his leather belt buckle coaxes forth a weighty sob from the depths of your throat, a blend of lust and despair intertwining. The anticipation in your belly unravels at a leisurely pace, and the looming orgasms skulk back into their corners, denied their moment of reckoning yet.

"Love, come on," your endeavor to pull Shota closer is abruptly thwarted. "H-Harder."

Aizawa's rhythmic thrusts into your dripping core momentarily erase any grasp on how limbs and words function. Instead, he intertwines his fingers with yours, directing your hands back beneath his grasp, once again pinning them above your head as they were just moments ago. "Apologies, love," his snicker drips with wicked delight, "but this time, you're not the one setting any rules here."

Even in your half-defunct state of senses, you sense the man leaning over you, your leg draped over his shoulder feeling the stretch of his movement – and then he pauses as he reaches his intended destination. A sharp nip to your earlobe clears the fog, and as his tongue glides over the tingling skin, a ragged mewl escapes you. "S-Shota!"

"You're familiar with the rules, baby," Shota purrs into your ear, his silky voice contrasting sharply with your disheveled state. He remains nestled in the crook of your neck, thrusting harder into your dripping core at a new angle. Pulling you into a fervent kiss, he licks into your mouth with unbridled lust. "I'm in charge. Your only job is to sing for me. Just the way I like it the most. That's it, kitten."

Aizawa gazes into your bewildered eyes, a smile so sweet and angelic that, for a moment, you almost buy into the idea that he's about to make things smoother for you, especially as he releases your arms.

Frantically, you search for something to grasp onto, an opportunity to seize control, to set the pace — but your autonomy is short-lived.

A hefty glob of saliva makes a precise landing on your swollen clitoris, followed by the nimble, skillful fingers of your husband working the drool around your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"O-Ooooo," your lips form a perfect "O" as you cast a gaze up at Shota with teary eyes; a solitary tear makes its way down your flushed cheek, landing on your naked breast.

"You brought this upon yourself, didn't you," Shota coos into the air, delivering a few playful slaps to your slicky folds, followed by an indulgent rubbing that elicits an arch in your back toward him. "My little, naive girl didn't think things through, hmmm? What did you expect when you sauntered in here in that skimpy skirt, tempting fate by presenting your beautiful ass while filing documents into a cabinet, hmm? I've had a taxing day, dealing with class 1-A for just an hour, and I needed a release for the accumulated stress. And what better way to do that than fucking with my stunning wife?" The black-haired man mused.

You're itching to protest, to inform him that he could exercise more self-control and that you didn't intentionally provoke this.

However, as he resumes relentlessly pounding your throbbing and drenched pussy, hoisting both your legs over his muscular shoulders, and murmuring about your brainlessness for him, your comebacks meet an untimely demise. All you can manage is to nod along with the intensity of his thrusts, fervently moaning, "m-more, mo-more, moooore, p-please, p-please, p-please, Shota."

Aizawa's momentum doesn't show any signs of slowing down, a primal rhythm that vividly illustrates the depth of his own arousal. Shota thrusts into you with precision, a raw hunger guiding every move. His robust arm envelops your thighs as you plant your heels atop his shoulders, and Shota tenderly glides his calloused hand up and down the plush, warm skin, squeezing wherever he pleases, urging your legs closer to his chest adorned with a long-sleeved, black shirt. With each forceful thrust, with every instance his rock-solid cock glides against your tender, spongy walls, his midnight-black, tousled locks cascade onto his forehead, a few damp strands clinging to his temples.

With a final cry, your orgasm crashes over you, a powerful force that brings forth unintentional tears. "O-Oh! Shota! Yes!"

Shota relentlessly pursues his own climax, the tight grip of your pussy on his member leaving him little room for endurance. He only relents when he's completely spent, his cum erupting deep in your warmth. Soon, the man's leaning forward to press a little kiss to your forehead.

You both are panting, and you're left undeniably senseless.

"I never asked for this, you little devil," you playfully scold the man, earning a small snort from him.

"Mhm, yeah, sure, I'll believe you, kitten. We both know well you're the one with the insatiable desires in our marriage."

Your mouth drops open with a loud gasp, a frown appearing on your forehead as he assists you off his desk, handing you your clothes. "Excuse me, Shota, you're just making things up now. You're the needy one. If you weren't, we wouldn't have… done that… now, in the teachers' lounge…"

He helps you get dressed and presentable again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "It doesn't matter, kitten. Thank you for helping me ease the stress down."

[bohemianrapshawty]

The long run

Y/N had a thing for morning runs.

Jack had a thing for Y/N.

So when she laced up her sneakers and flashed him that early-morning, post-coffee smile, he felt that familiar tug in his chest—the mix of God, I love her and Please don’t die on a sidewalk somewhere.

“I’ll be back in like, thirty minutes,” she said, stretching like a cat in the doorway.

He frowned. “You know I hate when you go alone.”

“You also hate olives, traffic, and group texts, but here we are.”

He raised a brow. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

She sighed, stepping closer. “Jack, I know every mailbox on this route. Every squirrel. I think one of them winked at me yesterday.”

Jack crossed his arms. “I’m going with you.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re coming for a run?”

“Yes.”

She grinned like he’d just offered to enter a dance-off. “In those shoes?”

He looked down at his perfectly fine running shoes and then back up, deadpan. “Yes, in these shoes. What’s wrong with these?”

“They look like you bought them to impress a physical therapist.”

“They’re functional.”

She gave him a once-over. “You sure you’re up for it, Super Soldier?”

“I’ve handled worse.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Let’s see if you survive me.”

At first, it was good. Great, even. The morning was cool, her hand brushed his every few strides, and the city hadn’t fully woken up yet. She slowed her natural pace without a word—he noticed—and it made something warm bloom in his chest.

But then… it started.

The socket rubbed wrong.

Each step sent a jolt up his leg, just enough to make him grit his teeth. He tried to adjust, to shift his weight. Tried to focus on her messy ponytail bouncing ahead of him instead of the slow, growing burn.

Until she stopped.

“Okay, you’re either dramatically sulking back there or in actual pain,” she said, turning around mid-jog.

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly.

She walked back to him, hands on hips. “That’s the least convincing ‘I’m fine’ I’ve heard since I tried to use dry shampoo as actual shampoo.”

Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just the socket. It’s… a little off today.”

Her expression softened immediately. “Why didn’t you say something?”

He looked away. “Didn’t want to slow you down.”

Y/N blinked, then snorted. “Jack. My guy. You literally survived a war. And you think I’m going to be disappointed because you needed to walk instead of run?”

He glanced at her. “You’re not disappointed?”

“Only that you didn’t let me beat you fairly. I was pacing myself to smoke you on the last block.”

He laughed, chest loosening. “You’re ridiculous.”

She stepped closer, cupping his cheek. “And you’re stubborn. I like us this way.”

He leaned into her touch. “You’re sure you’re not dating me out of pity?”

“Pity? Please. I’m dating you because you look unfairly attractive in a hoodie and make excellent scrambled eggs.”

“That’s a very shallow reason.”

“I contain multitudes.”

He grinned, kissed her quickly. “Alright, multitudes. Let’s head back.”

They started walking side by side, hands brushing, breath steadying.

“I’m serious though,” she said. “Next time, we walk. Or I do a loop and meet you back here. Or we just lie on the grass and pretend we exercised.”

“Now that sounds like a fitness plan I can get behind.”

She bumped his shoulder. “You’re my favorite gym partner, peg leg and all.”

He smirked. “Keep calling it that and I’m making us t-shirts.”

“Deal.”

And as they strolled back through the sleepy neighborhood, Jack realized something.

Love wasn’t about matching strides.

It was about walking beside someone—even when things hurt a little.

And with Y/N, every step was worth it.