Katie BuckleitnerIt all started when a friend of mine told me her clubbing pregame secret: She’d insert a kegel trainer (two little weighted balls on a string) inside her vagina when she went out, explaining that the weight of the balls trained her PC muscles to contract and strengthen while she drank watered-down vodka cranberries and danced.Fucking great, I thought. Not only did this surface weird anxieties about my “loose” vagina that society has trained me to irrationally fear, but it pissed me off. At least prior to this info, I had assumed the strength of your vagina was Out of Your Control, like your first nose, or the birth year you pay someone to erase from your Wikipedia page when you get famous. Out of sight, out of mind right? Wrong, apparently.Fast-forward two years and my editor has assigned me to train my p-slur with a kegel toy, for journalism, of course! Attention Pulitzer committee: You must specify Cosmopolitan.com when you mail my award to me; otherwise I may not get it!More From Cosmopolitan play iconThe triangle icon that indicates to playCue panic! I can’t even stick to a regs workout routine, let alone one that requires lube and squatting over my bathmat precariously trying to shove plastic inside of me. LoveLife KrushThe technology of kegel weights has vastly improved in the past two years. There are now kegel exercisers, like the Lovelife Krush that I tried, that utilize bluetooth to send you real-time feedback while you clench, testing the strength of your PC muscles. Silicon Valley has not failed women! Stop saying that! While this is theoretically a great idea, the real-time feedback is lost on me, a person who often shakes my phone an extra few times to trick the health app into thinking I may have walked an extra block (if it’s dumb enough to count that as a step, it’s NOT EVEN MY FAULT!). What is cool however, is the ability for the kegel trainer to spring into little workout modes, vibrating at certain intervals to jolt your PC muscles into contracting and strengthening. The Krush is a wonky little pink silicone kegel trainer that looks like two rubber balls with a tail. There’s also an anchor involved — a rubber boat-looking thing with a deep groove running from the front to the back. The retrieval cord is thick hollow rubber, so it’s a bit more conspicuous than the average tampon string.I was basically the physical equivalent of someone who just gave birth, minus the miracle.I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to confirm what I had hoped was true all along: that I had the tightest vagina on earth, that I’d broken the app. That my PC muscles were so off-the-charts, that Guinness World Record officials would be stopping by in a week’s time to award me with a prize. “Oh, I had no idea!” I’d feign cluelessness when people asked me about my record-shatteringly strong birth canal, swatting fanboys away like flies while a team of shirtless hotties fanned me from the heat.No such luck! After my first “workout” with the app, I checked with bated breath to see my results, which … what the fuck?! I had scored the lowest of the low across the board in almost every category: initial pressure, control ability, and max strength. This stupid app told me I was basically the physical equivalent of someone who had just squeezed a tiny human out of their birth canal, minus the miracle. The only saving grace was that I had scored normal-good in endurance — not even cool considering I’ve been clenching my body since 2013. Well, if I wasn’t going to start out with a super-fit vagina already, I wasn’t super excited to commit myself to a Whole Regimen for something I wouldn’t visually be able to track progress of (unlike say, when I do three squats and swear my butt has swelled up at least two pant sizes). At the very least, I wanted to test out my old friend’s hot clubbing tip: Would going out in public with the trainer be a fun experience?It seemed daunting. For starters, I don’t think you’re supposed to wear this one while out and about, unlike the version my friend used. Secondly, this puppy vibrates — audibly. Nevertheless, I soldiered on. Since I don’t hit the clubs up very often, I decided to do the next best thing: go window-shopping on a Sunday afternoon. Wild! I recruited a friend who was willing to walk around Brooklyn together, listening for any rogue sounds emanating from my vagina (and also act as general support lest I sneeze and the whole thing clatters out on the floor of the Whole Foods in Williamsburg and I have to chase after it on my hands and knees past the LaCroix wall). But yeah, mostly to listen, sure. First up, we hit up a coffee shop. I turned the trainer to workout mode outside and almost immediately I had to lean on a nearby pole, I was so taken aback. Doing the workout when I’m in my pajamas in bed reading Gilmore Girl fan theories is one thing. Standing up is a whole ‘nother thing. I couldn’t concentrate on…