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Every single day, I commute 3.1 miles one way, which adds up to 6.2 miles total. Honestly, the sweating isn't even the worst part—it's the constant piles of broken glass scattered all over these "bike paths." It’s a nightmare. My tires are getting punctured constantly because I’m forced to ride through sections of Broadway and Fifth Avenue that are absolutely littered with shards. Thank God there's a bike shop right next to my office building. As for the gear, I stick to a city bike strictly for my back; I couldn't imagine riding a mountain bike when I need maneuverability and a clear line of sight. I work in an office and usually wear a blazer. Sure, I get sweaty, but since I use deodorant, I don't think anyone notices. I'm not out here racing through traffic either; I just try to cruise casually. I use a basket where I cram my bag and a chocolate bar, but it's a mess. Since my U-lock weighs a ton, it puts way too much weight on the front frame, making tight turns a struggle. I'm planning to grab a rear rack soon so I can finally move my stuff to the back.
I'll answer your questions based on my own experience:
Not at all.
No. I stopped taking Logest—my cellulite stayed exactly the same.
Nope.
I work out regularly anyway, so it doesn't help.
As for creams? No.
The only thing that actually helped was a cream I ordered from the States, and of course, it costs an absolute fortune—but the second you stop applying it, you're right back where you started within a few days.
I don't even know if there are actual cellulite pills out there—I've never heard of them.
If any of this stuff worked for someone else—great, good for them—but nothing worked for me. Not even a tiny bit. Except for that one cream, which clearly just provides a temporary optical illusion.
I've been struggling with cellulite for years, and honestly, I finally just gave up.
I got sick of obsessing over every single bite I ate, avoiding juice (especially soda) at all costs, choking down green tea, massaging, wasting money on endless creams, massagers, rollers, ice rollers... and all that other junk.
Not to mention how I neglected my daily responsibilities because I was stubbornly forcing myself to exercise every single day.
For a long time, I was incredibly stubborn about trying to get rid of that disgusting cellulite—to the point where I would have rather starved to death than eat a single chip or take a sip of Coca-Cola.
I was a literal fanatic, and yet, zero results.
I still work out and watch what I eat, but I’ve stopped stressing about the cellulite. I don't even hope to reduce it anymore, let alone make it disappear.
But hey, that's just my experience—maybe someone else actually succeeded.
I guess it depends partially on your body type.
First off, welcome to the club 😉
I totally relate to this story. I'm your age (25) and I've also been battling cellulite—well, I was, until I realized all these attempts were completely useless. I used to starve myself and be insanely careful about food. There was no way I was eating carbs or starch with meat; I wouldn't touch pasta for months; I cut out all juice and only drank water. I started hiking, dragging myself out of bed at 5 AM to crush a trail run through the Rockies by 8 AM, and then rushing straight to work. After work, it was the same ritual. I literally went broke from all those weekend hiking trips across the US. I hit the gym, upped my protein intake, did Pilates, rode my bike... It's not that I didn't see results; sure, my skin got firmer and I felt better. Sometimes. Sometimes, during intense physical exertion, I’d catch myself wondering why I was doing all this. Then one day, it clicked: I'm just a human being like everyone else. So why the hell am I killing myself to be perfect? Why should I feel forced to wear skimpy outfits in the summer when long, boho-style dresses can look just as amazing? Honestly, thinking about my looks just became exhausting. Lately, I only work out a little bit at home. Just some squats and Pilates exercises, mostly for my health. The hardest part is just accepting yourself for who you are.