Woman lost 6st bodybuilding after 'hating' final photo with late dad
A woman who gained five stone whilst caring for her terminally ill father has shed the weight to become a bodybuilder after being unable to look at her final photo with him. Ellie Crabtree, 22, turned to food 'for comfort' after her dad Geoff's, 59, terminal bone cancer diagnosis in July 2022. With 'no structure' to her diet, Ellie would gorge on foods Chinese takeaways and ballooned to 15st 5lb. After her dad passed away in October 2022, Ellie began her weight loss journey after struggling to look at the final photo she had with him. She lost four stone naturally before enquiring about bodybuilding training at her local gym, where she lost a further two stone to become a svelte 9st 3lb. She went on to place second in the British finals at NABBA bodybuilding competition in Bradford, in May 2024. Since then, Ellie has been dealing with 'unresolved trauma' and has learnt how to maintain her weight healthily. Diet before: Breakfast - Nothing Lunch - A sandwich Dinner - Takeaway like Chinese Snacks - Chocolate Diet now: Breakfast - Oats with fruit and Greek yoghurt or bacon, egg and avocado Lunch - Chicken or prawn salad with cottage cheese Dinner - Chicken fajita salads with wraps or homemade burgers Snacks - Greek yoghurt bowls with nut butters and fruit, baked oats, chocolate rice cakes
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Yahoo
an hour ago
- Yahoo
The Serpentine Pavilion 2025 Is a Poetic, 'Breathing' Installation That Calls for Unity in Challenging Times — Here's Our First Look
When you buy through links on our articles, Future and its syndication partners may earn a commission. It's not every day that I get to start my day with a morning stroll through the ornamental, teeming-with-wildlife mosaic of colors, textures, and water games that are London's Kensington Gardens, the Grade II-listed green lung situated west of the sprawling Hyde Park. Today, though, the press preview of the Serpentine Pavilion 2025, which will grace the lush grounds of the namesake institution's southern gallery in one of the best design exhibitions in the British capital between June 6 and October 26, makes for an exception — and one well worth the 8:30 AM showtime, too. The brainchild of award-winning Bangladeshi architect Marina Tabassum, whose practice strives to develop spaces that unfold in harmony with, and contribute positively to, the environment around them, investigating the impact of our presence on Earth, and her firm, Marina Tabassum Architects (MTA), the Serpentine Pavilion 2025 is, as hinted by its title, a physical as much as a metaphorical Capsule in Time. Now in its 25th edition, the Serpentine Gallery's initiative, kick-started by a cinematic steel and glass structure signed by legendary Iraqi-British architect Zaha Hadid in 2000, lends its outdoor stage to the preoccupations of our era in a poetic exploration of presence and absence, light and darkness, balance and transformation. For Tabassum, A Capsule in Time, her first-ever project realized outside of Bangladesh and her debut at working with wood, is an opportunity to manifest the function that architecture fullfils in our lives, she tells me over an email exchange ahead of its reveal, which is welcomed with speeches by Serpentine's CEO, Bettina Korek, Artistic Director Hans Ulrich Obrist, and the architect herself. Image 1 of 2 Image 2 of 2 "The relationship between time and architecture, between permanence and impermanence, of birth, age, and ruin, is intriguing," she says of the antithesis that characterizes the commission. "Architecture aspires to outlive time — it is a tool to live beyond legacies, fulfilling the inherent human desire for continuity after life." But time isn't the only thing this discipline escapes. Through our experience of it, Tabassum appears to suggest, we can transcend other boundaries, too, whether cultural or geographical, and find new ways of being together in an in-between place charged with the most remote, disparate histories and, therefore, more universally resonant. She is already putting this concept into practice. The community-gathering power of Shamiyanas, the uplifting bamboo and cloth tents that, "convening hundreds of guests on any occasion", serve as a staple of Bengali weddings and beyond, for example, was deep on her mind while working on the Serpentine Pavilion. Its half-capsule structure, composed of two vaulted canopies and two semi-domes separated by pathways and a courtyard, leans into the ritual and blissfulness of days spent out in the sun, whether in Bangladesh or England. "8,000 kilometers from London, the Ganges delta is a fluid landscape that tells the tales of movement and impermanence," Tabassum says. "Two-thirds of Bangladesh is a product of progradation, an active delta hydrology formed by the rivers Padma, Meghna, and Jamuna." There, dwellings change locations as the rivers shift courses. Despite the apparent migration, "memories of those lived spaces continue through stories and parables," she adds. Like the rest of the architect's experimentation, A Capsule of Time speaks to that state of ever-becoming, of transience and mutability, by letting the natural elements take control of its plan. It is a lesson I learn at my very expense while waiting for the pavilion's inauguration to start, as a cold breeze begins to weave its way into the project's open structure — an omen of the smoke-thin drizzle that's about to follow. And a reminder of the unpredictability that rules all kinds of life. "In Bangladesh, we don't build a lot with wood because it's not one of our materials," Tabassum explains. Still, the medium's functionality was instrumental to the Serpentine Pavilion 2025, as it might be to its afterlife. "We are hoping to bring the construction to a different venue, and using wood meant that we could create a structure that could be easily dismantled, taken away, and reassembled." Image 1 of 4 Image 2 of 4 Image 3 of 4 Image 4 of 4 Obtained from locally sourced, glued laminated timber, the zigzag sections of A Capsule in Time are complete with translucent polycarbonate panels that brighten up, dim, and coruscate in response to light. It is only when sunshine passes through them, casting dramatic geometrical shadows and amber tones onto the floor, that Tabassum's airy structure feels complete. Only when people probe its perimeter, occasionally stopping to look up at the slices of sky caught between its iridescent arches, pick up one of the books stored in its shelves, or sit down at its benches to scribble into their diaries, chat with a friend, or read one of their own, that the installation feels most alive. There is no separation between the inside and the outdoors in the architect's Serpentine Pavilion, her fluid design simultaneously aiming to embrace both. Just like there is no distinction between the humankind and the rest of the natural world when it comes to taking turns to interact with its softly undulating surfaces. That, Tabassum explains, is the intention behind the Ginkgo tree that sits at the project's heart — to redirect viewers' attention to the primordial source. To open our eyes to our shared origins, our roots. And show that, in dialogue, people, too, can thrive. "2024 has been a year marked by intolerance, wars, countless deaths, protests, and suppressions. Differences of opinion and respect for cultural diversity and societal norms are at an all-time low in many parts of the world. But how can we transcend our differences and connect as humans?", asks Tabassum. The answer comes, again, from the breathing core of the Serpentine Pavilion 2025, its Ginkgo tree. Chosen by the architect for its demonstrated ability to resist and continuously re-adapt to the threats posed by the environmental crisis, it is a beacon of hope that proves that, even from hardships, stems positive growth, so long as we find room to confront them, reconcile, and evolve. Marina Tabassum's Serpentine Pavilion 2025, A Capsule in Time, is free to access at Serpentine Gallery through October 26. Plan your visit.
Atlantic
an hour ago
- Atlantic
History Is Repeating Itself in the World of Controversial Sports Records
It was a travesty—two travesties, actually, separate but inextricably linked. In May 1953, Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay became the first people to reach the summit of Mount Everest, a challenge that had killed more than a dozen people in the preceding decades and that scientists had once declared impossible. The catch: They breathed canisters of pure oxygen, an aid that the Everest pioneer George Mallory—one of those who died on the mountain—had once dismissed as 'a damnable heresy.' A month later, a young British medical trainee named Roger Bannister just missed running the first sub-four-minute mile, another long-standing barrier sometimes dubbed 'Everest on the track.' But he did it in a race where his training partner let himself be lapped in order to pace Bannister all the way to the finish line, violating rules about fair play due to the advantages of pacing. Bannister's American rival, Wes Santee, was unimpressed. 'Maybe I could run a four-minute mile behind one of my father's ranch horses,' he said, 'if that's what you want.' Funny how history repeats itself. Fast-forward to a couple of weeks ago: A controversy erupted in the world of mountaineering, when four British climbers summited Everest just five days after jetting to Nepal from the United Kingdom. To skip the usual weeks or months spent gradually adjusting to high altitude, they paid a reported $153,000 each for a bespoke protocol that included inhaling xenon gas to help them adjust more rapidly. Meanwhile, on the track, Kenya's three-time Olympic champion, Faith Kipyegon, is preparing for a carefully choreographed, Nike-sponsored attempt to become the first woman to run a mile in under four minutes. It's slated for June 26 in Paris and will almost certainly violate the same pacing rules that Bannister's run did. Both initiatives are, by any measure, remarkable feats of human ingenuity and endurance. They're also making people very angry. The xenon-fueled expedition was organized by an Austrian guide named Lukas Furtenbach, who is known for his tech-focused approach to expeditions. He has previously had clients sleep in altitude tents at home for weeks to pre-acclimatize them to the thin mountain air. What made the new ascent different is that, in addition to sleeping in altitude tents, the four British climbers visited a clinic in Germany where they inhaled xenon gas, whose oxygen-boosting potential has been rumored for years. The World Anti-Doping Agency banned xenon in 2014 after allegations that Russian athletes used it for that year's Winter Olympics. But subsequent studies on its athletic effects have produced mixed results. Other research in animals has hinted at the possibility that it could offer protection from potentially fatal forms of altitude illness, which can occur when climbers ascend too rapidly. For now, the strongest evidence that it helps high-altitude mountaineers comes from Furtenbach's own self-experimentation over the past few years. When news of Furtenbach's plans emerged earlier this year, the International Climbing and Mountaineering Federation's medical commission put out a statement arguing that xenon probably doesn't work and could be dangerous because of its sedative effects. Other critics have pointed out that shorter expeditions mean less paying work for the Sherpa guides in the region. But these criticisms can feel like post hoc justifications for the fact that many mountaineers simply have a gut-level aversion to what seems like a shortcut to the summit. Their objection isn't to xenon itself but to the idea of making Everest easier. That's the same problem many runners have with Kipyegon's sub-four-minute-mile attempt. Women have made extraordinary progress in the event since Diane Leather notched the first sub-five in 1954, but under conventional racing conditions, no one expects a sub-four anytime soon. Kipyegon is the fastest female miler in history: Her current world record, set in 2023, is 4:07.64, which leaves her more than 50 yards behind four-minute pace—an enormous deficit to overcome in a sport where, at the professional level, progress is measured in fractions of a second. Nike has promised 'a holistic system of support that optimizes every aspect of her attempt,' including 'footwear, apparel, aerodynamics, physiology and mind science,' but hasn't revealed any details of what that support might look like. That means critics—and there are many —don't yet have any specific innovation to object to; they just have the tautological sense that any intervention capable of instantly making a miler 7.7 seconds faster must by definition be unfair. (I reached out to Nike for further specifics about the attempt, but the company declined to comment.) It's a safe bet that new shoes will be involved. Kipyegon's effort, dubbed Breaking4 by Nike, is a sequel to the company's Breaking2 marathon in 2017, in which Kipyegon's fellow Kenyan Eliud Kipchoge came within 25 seconds of breaking two hours at a time when the official world record was 2:02:57. Kipchoge's feat was made possible in part by a new type of running shoe featuring a stiff carbon-fiber plate embedded in a thick and bouncy foam midsole, an innovation that has since revolutionized the sport. But the reason his time didn't count as a world record was that, like Bannister, he had a squad of pacers who rotated in and out to block the wind for him all the way to the finish line. That's also likely to be a key for Kipyegon. In fact, scientists published an analysis earlier this year suggesting that a similar drafting approach would be enough to take Kipyegon all the way from 4:07 to 3:59 without any other aids. Bannister's paced-time trial in 1953 was ruled ineligible for records because, per the British Amateur Athletic Board, it wasn't 'a bona fide competition according to the rules.' Still, the effort had served its purpose. 'Only two painful seconds now separated me from the four-minute mile,' Bannister later wrote, 'and I was certain that I could cut down the time.' Sure enough, less than a year later, Bannister entered the history books with a record-legal 3:59.4. Similarly, Kipchoge went on to break two hours in another exhibition race in 2019, and Nike's official line is that it hopes that feat will pave the way for a record-legal sub-two in the future. (It's certainly getting closer: The world record now stands at 2:00:35.) In 1978, a quarter century after Hillary and Norgay's historic ascent, Reinhold Messner and Peter Habeler climbed Everest without supplemental oxygen. One view of innovation in sports, advanced by the bioethicist Thomas Murray, is that people's perceptions are shaped by how new ideas and techniques are introduced. The status quo always seems reasonable: Of course we play tennis with graphite rackets rather than wooden ones, use the head-first Fosbury flop to clear high-jump bars, and climb mountains with the slightly stretchable kernmantle ropes developed in the 1950s. But many of these same innovations seem more troublesome during the transition periods, especially if only some people have access to them. When Bannister finally broke the four-minute barrier, he was once again paced by his training partners, but only for about the first three-quarters of the race. This form of pacing remained highly controversial, but because none of the pacemakers had deliberately allowed himself to be lapped, the record was allowed to stand. These days, such pacing is so routine that there are runners who make a living doing nothing but pacing races for others, always dropping out before the finish. The full-race pacing that Kipyegon will likely use in Breaking4 remains verboten; the slightly different pacing that leads runners almost all the way through the race but forces them to run the last lap alone is simply business as usual. Oxygen in a can is good; xenon in a can is bad. These are subtle distinctions. Sports are, in at least some respects, a zero-sum game: When one person wins a race or sets a record, it unavoidably means that someone else doesn't. Even at the recreational level, if everyone decides to run marathons in carbon-plated shoes that make them five minutes faster, the standards needed to qualify for the Boston Marathon get five minutes faster. 'Once an effective technology gets adopted in a sport, it becomes tyrannical,' Murray told me several years ago, when I was writing about athletes experimenting with electric brain stimulation. 'You have to use it.' In the '50s, a version of that rationale seemed to help the British expedition that included Hillary and Norgay overcome the long-standing objections of British climbers to using oxygen—the French had an Everest expedition planned for 1954 and the Swiss for 1955, and both were expected to use oxygen. Less clear, though, is why this rationale should apply to the modern world of recreational mountaineering in which Furtenbach operates. What does anyone—other than perhaps the climbers themselves, if you think journeys trump destinations—lose when people huff xenon in order to check Everest off their list with maximal efficiency? Maybe they're making the mountain more crowded, but you could also argue that they're making it less crowded by getting up and down more quickly. And it's hard to imagine that Furtenbach's critics are truly lying awake at night worrying about the long-term health of his clients. Something else is going on here, and I'd venture that it has to do with human psychology. A Dutch economist named Adriaan Kalwij has a theory that much of modern life is shaped by people's somewhat pathological tendency to view everything as a competition. 'Both by nature and through institutional design, competitions are an integral part of human lives,' Kalwij writes, 'from college entrance exams and scholarship applications to jobs, promotions, contracts, and awards.' The same ethos seems to color the way we see dating, leisure travel, hobbies, and so on: There's no escape from the zero-sum dichotomy of winners and losers. Kalwij's smoking gun is a phenomenon that sociologists call the 'SES-health gradient,' which refers to the disparities in health between people of high and low socioeconomic status. Despite the rise of welfare supports such as pensions and health care, the SES-health gradient has been widening around the world—even, Kalwij has found, among Olympic athletes. There used to be no difference in longevity among Dutch Olympians based on their occupation. But among the most recent cohort, born between 1920 and 1947, athletes in high-SES jobs, such as lawyers, tend to outlive athletes in low-SES jobs by an average of 11 years. As Kalwij interprets it, making an Olympic team is a life-defining win, but getting stuck in a poorly paying dead-end job is a loss that begets an endless series of other losses: driving a beater, living in a lousy apartment, flying economy. These losses have cumulative psychological and physiological consequences. Some things in life really are competitions, of course. Track and field is one of them, and so we should police attempts to bend its rules with vigilance. Other things, such as being guided up Everest, are not—or at least they shouldn't be. The people who seem most upset about the idea of rich bros crushing Everest in a week are those who have climbed it in six or eight or 12 weeks, whose place in the cosmic pecking order has been downgraded by an infinitesimal notch. But I, too, was annoyed when I read about it, despite the fact that I've never strapped on a crampon. Their win, in some convoluted way, felt like my loss. Another detail in Kalwij's research sticks in my mind. Among American Olympians, silver medalists tend to die a few years earlier than either gold or bronze medalists. Kalwij theorizes that these results, too, are related to people's outlook. Gold medalists are thrilled to win, and bronze medalists are thrilled to make the podium; silver medalists see themselves as 'the No. 1 loser,' as Jerry Seinfeld once put it. With that in mind, I've tried to reframe my attitude about the xenon controversy. Let the annual Everest frenzy continue, with or without xenon, and let its allure continue to draw the most hard-edged and deep-pocketed summit baggers. Meanwhile, leave the other, lesser-known mountains for the rest of us to enjoy in tranquility. I'd call that a win.
an hour ago
Chinese nationals charged with smuggling dangerous fungus pathogen into US, DOJ says
Two Chinese researchers are accused of smuggling a dangerous fungus, known to cause billions of dollars in crop damage worldwide each year, into the U.S.
