Put Your Rock Shoes in the Oven—You’ll Thank Us
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I grew up in a gym. I learned my first curse words on a chalky, sweat-stained gym mat. I got my first tattoo with the friends I did four-by-fours with. First boyfriend, even.
If there’s one thing that has held true over my years of cramming my feet into tiny, downturned rock shoes for the sake of performance, it’s that breaking in shoes sucks. Every time, no getting around it, a horrible experience. During one gym session, a friend said she’d pay to have someone break in her shoes for her. We w
If there’s one thing that has held true over my years of cramming my feet into tiny, downturned rock shoes for the sake of performance, it’s that breaking in shoes sucks. Every time, no getting around it, a horrible experience. During one gym session, a friend said she’d pay to have someone break in her shoes for her. We w
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