There are many earth-friendly ways to make the beast with two backs, and we’re not even suggesting harnessing the power of your lovemaking to generate electricity for your toaster, but just some simple ways to save money, power and space in the landfill.

According to the Durex Global sex survey, 43 percent of us use sex toys – manual, automatic and everything in between. Some of these toys can contain chemicals called phthalates, which are used to soften hard plastic. And when these toys are used as they’re supposed to, they can release toxins and potentially cause long-term health issues. Because of these concerns, folks on the green side of the bedroom have been moving toward toys made from glass, metal, silicone and hard plastics. It ain’t easy being green, and comfort might be a necessary sacrifice if you want to go that extra mile for Mother Earth.

But if your toy buzzes and swirls with the aid of a AA Energizer bunny, then rechargeable vibrators are the way to go. Some suggestions include the Aphrodite Wand and Acuvibe Softtouch massager, which can be found on Amazon, along with hundreds of reviews of these products. And then there is funfactory.de, based in Germany, which is seemingly the online Wal-Mart of sex toys. Award-winning products are listed on its website, and there is an entire rechargeable section, plus all the products are German made so they’ll hopefully last longer than that North Korean assembled Jack Rabbit collecting dust in your bedside nightstand.
When your lovemaking involves two people but is made just for the fun of it, a condom might be the only thing that separates you and a future filled with dirty diapers and burp cloths. So make sure your love sheath works as advertised. Latex is the material of choice for most and is naturally derived from rubber trees. If you’re of the vegan persuasion, however, a normal condom might not do the trick, as there is a milk enzyme that’s added to the latex. Instead, check out Glyde condoms, the only vegan condom available.

Next stop on the green train are those sheets that you’re rolling around in with your spousal equivalent. The cutting-edge fiber these days is bamboo. It is nothing like the razor sharp reeds taking over your backyard, but instead is silky soft with natural antimicrobial qualities and moisture-wicking properties for when things get sweaty between the sheets. The experts say it’s one of the softest fibers in the world, softer than cotton with a drape like silk. Plus, it’s more mainstream than you might think; you can pick up a set from Bed Bath and Beyond these days. Bamboo isn’t just for the bed sheets either; it is making its way into your pants, literally. Bamboo skivvies and clothes are becoming popular, as well.

So whether you’re having a one-person party or entertaining that lovely lady in your love shack, there are many ways to make sure Mother Earth is protected while you get your rocks off.

~ Todd Trimakas

We get hundreds of press releases every day, with the vast majority lasting just long enough for a finger to hit the “Delete” key. But this release caught my attention. It was from someone named Khobi Brooklyn and announced that a “Pure Electric Super Car” was coming to Charlotte. When I saw it I thought it better be the Tesla or someone’s press release was going to get an extra forcefully executed “Delete.” It was, and Brooklyn offered a test drive of the only all-electric (read: no gas at all) high-performance sports car on the market, the Tesla Roadster. The Tesla team was going to be in Charlotte in the next couple of days and wanted to know whether I’d be interested in driving it. Hell yeah.

The typical manufacturer that comes through town offering rides in their cars carries with them a large production of multiple sales reps, factory reps and press agents. Rolls Royce flew through town and brought along eight cars, set up shop in front of the Bobcats stadium, and had an NFL football team-sized entourage. With Tesla I thought it would be similar, so through e-mail I asked multiple times where they were going to camp out, and where we could meet up. They were a bit hesitant about disclosing their location and talked about their schedule being in flux, so we could decide on a location when we spoke over the phone the following week. OK?

Five days later I get an e-mail from Dan and his traveling partner, Shaun, about scheduling a time to meet to drive the car. The day after that I give Shaun a call and it sounds like Shaun is standing in the street somewhere in uptown and I ask whether I can schedule a time to drive the car. “Well”, he says, “I think the weather is supposed to be bad tomorrow, and we’re headed up to Lexington over the weekend anyway, so how about now?” Without hanging up, I grab my stuff, head out the door of the office, and get the location of where they have the car displayed to the public. He mentions a cross street near the Carillon Building and explains they are parked on the street. On the street? Entourage, fireworks, press agents? Nope.
Walking past the Carillon, I see a guy sitting near the park texting. And lo and behold, parked on the street, along with everything else, surrounded by nothing but the curb, is a $157,000 all-electric Tesla Roadster. Wow.

I capture a couple pics of the car and ask to see the “engine.” The Tesla is a mid-engine roadster and all you can see when popping the back hood is the top of its lithium ion (read: laptop) batteries. And of course a week’s worth of dirty clothes for Dan and Shaun. They are literally just driving the car around the East Coast, stopping in cities to talk with potential customers and the occasionally lucky media rep. Just a week’s worth of T-shirts, underwear and shampoo. It’s more like a college road trip than a press junket, except instead of Mom’s sedan, they are driving a car that does 0-60 in under four seconds without a single drop of gasoline.

I sign something I didn’t read, absolving Tesla of all responsibility for my driving, and Dan hands me the keys. Luckily I whitewater kayak and am used to folding my 6-foot-1 frame into tight spaces because the driver’s side seat is similar in size to the cockpit of my whitewater boat. Tiny.

What follows is hard to describe: The engine cranks but there is no sound, no gasoline fumes, and no power steering. The wheel is tiny in my hands, and is similar in size to the go-karts at Victory Lane. I pull out into traffic and jerk into my lane. “Instant on” is the term I would use. The accelerator feels like it’s tied directly to the rear wheels, and there is no lag whatsoever.

At the on-ramp to Independence, we are stuck behind a carbon fuel-based pickup truck from the ‘80s. But after the on-ramp we quickly join the flow of traffic. And I floor it. There is no tachometer, but instead a dial that displays wattage use. I redline that, and with the engine quietly whining in the background we are thrown back in our seats. I think Dan is trying to tell me something but I’m laughing too hard to hear him. Amazing.

~ Todd Trimakas

See more at Chris’s Gym www.chris-frye.com

~ Todd Trimakas

I’ve added muscle, can recover more quickly, and don’t get winded as easily, but my workouts at Chris’ gym seem to be just as difficult as they were when we started. It’s almost hard to understand.

Let me explain. I’m used to working out by myself, at my comfy gym, reaching a point where I get stronger, am able to lift more weight or run farther, and then I stop. I stop progressing, and I stay there, sometimes for years, and everything gets stale. It becomes hard to go to the gym, and when I do get there it’s hard to stay motivated and not be captivated for 10 minutes at a time by the latest news pouring out of the talking heads on CNN. Maybe I’ll do one less set or a little less weight because I convince myself that I have to get back to what I was doing before my workout started.

The motivation at Frye’s gym is so different that I feel like it comes from a different part of my brain, a more primal region in my head that sparks to life about 45 minutes before my time to meet up with Chris. It starts with a nervous flutter in my stomach, which then kicks off a personal inventory of the current state of affairs with my body: Yes, my shoulder is sore but I can work around it, knees are a bit tender but I think they just need to be warmed up, wrists are beat but that’s nothing new. Then I determine that I feel pretty good, and that I’m about to kick the shit out of Chris’ workout. Nothing he can give me is going to wear me down today. I get in the car, head to the gym, and start to get ready.
By the time I’m at the gym, changed, and warmed up physically I’m ready to go mentally. It’s me against Chris’ workout and no way in hell am I backing down. The problem creeps in after the “warm-up” when my thighs are already betraying me; the burn I feel isn’t a warm-up burn, but a full-on lactic acid bubbling, muscle-tissue-tearing fire that’s been lit inside my legs. What the hell? What’s happening here? I’m super strong with oversized lungs and the ability to go on for days, but I’m 10 minutes into it and already looking at the clock. My mind inevitably moves forward and I start to think, what has Chris concocted for the next 50 minutes?

What’s next is an assortment of swinging kettleballs, climbing forearm thick ropes, and tossing 500-pound tires, and again by the end of my allotted 60 minutes I’m lying on the floor trying to catch my breath and once caught, wobble over on spent legs to put on some less sweaty clothes for the trip home.
This workout wasn’t any easier than the others, there was never any thought of doing less, just ensuring that I could do enough, and Frye has once again pushed me further than I would ever push myself.

See more at Chris’s Gym www.chris-frye.com

~ Todd Trimakas

As the father of 3-year-old and 7-month-old girls, I have become very aware of girls, especially ones just older than my own. What they wear, how they carry themselves, and what they talk about. I can’t help but try to imagine what my two will look like when they are 10, and wonder whether they would work out in a gym like Chris Frye’s. I would hope so.
The girls I saw were shadowboxing furiously, coached by Daniel, one of Chris’ instructors, in the art of the punch. They were amazingly focused in their workout of pounding air. Because I have yet to lose my inner 10-year old, I had to test their determination. Between my own sets on the Prowler, I mimicked their patterns of cross, jab and uppercut. And surprisingly my goofiness was met with no reaction. No giggles, smiles or even a smirk, for these girls this was a serious time to learn, get in shape and gain confidence in their athletic abilities.

That, or these girls had already learned to ignore 10-year old boys.

See more at Chris’s Gym www.chris-frye.com

~ Todd Trimakas

Matt and I were 30 minutes late. An honest 30 minutes, as we had a meeting with the city water folks, and got stuck at a treatment plant off of Billy Graham. It’s not like we were hanging out at the Krispy Kreme eating a dozen glazed. We were doing good work for the magazine, and we were late to our meeting with Chris Frye. Never again.

The workout started easily enough – dynamic stretching, kettleballs and we were already approaching the end of our hour. But because we were 30 minutes late we were assigned 30 laps with the Prowler loaded with 50 extra pounds. My brain immediately flashed with a thousand reasons why I could not push that nasty sled loaded with the weight of an average-sized woman (140 pounds) 30 times the length of the gym. But we had to start, and so we got behind the sled and started pushing.

Somehow, after an enormous effort and with Chris’ insistent encouragement/yelling, we pushed that ridiculous sled almost continuously for 45 minutes. We accomplished two things in the process: increased our heart rates to a point where most humans go into shock; and maybe more important, expanded our confidence by knowing that we can push ourselves mentally much further than we ever thought possible.

See more at Chris’s Gym www.chris-frye.com

~ Todd Trimakas