Hailey Bieber is sharing her honest thoughts on having the work done before hitting 30s.

During her recent appearance on In Your Dreams with Owen Thiele podcast, the model dished on the one rule she made for herself related to cosmetic procedures.

“I made a commitment to myself that I wasn’t going to do any Botox until I was in my 30s,” the Rhode founder revealed.

“When I get there I’ll see if I even want to do it,” she added.

However to treat her smilelines and under eye area, Hailey has done treatments like Platelet-Rich Fibrin and Platelet-Rich Plasma, which uses one’s own blood plasma to promote healing.

“I like to do things that I can trust from [my] own body,” she noted.

Hailey shared that she was “insanely diligent” with her skincare.

“I could be wasted to the point to seeing double and still will [wash her face]. I will never pass out with makeup on, no matter how drunk I was,” she revealed.

Back in 2020, Hailey back fired a social media post accusing her of plastic surgery.

She clapped back under the post writing, “Stop using pics that are edited by makeup artists! This photo on the right is NOT what I look like…”

“I’ve never touched my face,” she insisted. “So if you’re gonna sit around and compare me at 13, and then me at 23, at least use a natural photo that wasn’t edited so crazy.”

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In his new book, “The Running Ground: A Father, a Son, and the Simplest of Sports” (to be published Oct. 28 by Random House), tech journalist and CEO of The Atlantic Nicholas Thompson explores his passion for running, the simplicity of the sport, and how it has changed his sense of self.

Read an excerpt below, and don’t miss Tony Dokoupil’s interview with Nicholas Thompson on “CBS Sunday Morning” October 26!

“The Running Ground” by Nicholas Thompson

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Running is the simplest of sports: right foot, left foot, right foot. There’s no ball to focus on, no mat to land on, no one charging toward you with their shoulder down. But the simplicity opens up complexity. As you run, your attention shifts inward. You’re just you — right foot, left foot, and whatever goes on in your mind.

Running strips you down. The less clothing you wear, the faster you go. The lighter your shoes, the faster you go. As you go faster, your head empties too. At a certain point, all you can register is the sensation of each foot striking the pavement. Mind and matter briefly become one.

You may have to worry about wind and rain and heat, but you rarely have to worry about anyone else. You do it by yourself, which gives you control. You don’t need to travel to a gym or a field; you just need to open your front door. The sport’s simplicity means your successes are your own, and also that there’s no one else to blame when you fail. And no sport shows the relentless decline of the aging body more clearly than running. If you can’t do what you did a year or a month ago, the evidence is right there on your watch.

Sometimes, I use running as a form of meditation. I put on my shoes and go out. I connect my watch to satellites and then try to disconnect my mind from the swirl inside. Eventually, I’m alone in my head. Sometimes, I’ll focus on a musical mantra: “one-two-three, one-two-three,” tracking my steps and making sure I keep my left and right feet alternating symmetrically on the downbeat. Other times, I focus on my breath or on the sounds and motion around me, whether the blue jays in the Catskills or the trucks rumbling by on Broadway. Sometimes, as with all meditation, my attention wanders, like a stream flowing haphazardly through my mind, collecting sticks and carrying them until they wash to the side.

When I run a workout, though, everything changes. I’m not trying to open my mind; I’m trying to close it. I shut out the blue jays and the trucks. I have to focus. If I’m with a training partner, I lock my attention on their shoulder if I’m behind or on their breath if I’m ahead. Usually, though, I’m on my own. I look for runners up the road and set imaginary races against them: Can I catch the lady in the purple sweatshirt before the second oak tree? Can I stay an even twenty meters behind the cyclist playing John Coltrane on a boom box? I check my watch and try not to let my pace deviate from the goal. I try to identify the parts of my body that hurt and then I push the pain away from them. I remind myself that I have run this fast before. Self-doubt is a smoldering fire. In a workout, the embers often flash. I don’t want to give them any air. Every action we take helps to build our habits. Quit once and it’ll be easier to quit the second time too.

I don’t listen to music while I run. Every workout is a physical challenge — I’m trying to strengthen the muscles in my legs and my heart — but it’s also a mental challenge. I’m trying to teach my body how to move quickly and with good coordination through space. Running is a process of learning about your body and developing habits deep inside it. Music can confuse the signals. I want to deepen my understanding of the relationship between my stride, my pace, my breath. I don’t want a bassline, or the adrenaline that can flow with it, to get in the way.

When I race in a marathon, my goal early on is to spend as little energy as possible thinking about anything extraneous. I think about posture and form and balance. I try not to think about the people cheering. I try not to think about past fail­ures or successes. I try to glance as infrequently as possible at my watch. It takes energy, after all, to turn your head, and it takes energy to think. When people in my pack ask questions, or offer commentary, I respond in grunts. On easy runs with friends in the park, I’m a chatterbox. When I race, I’m a vault.

Over the years, the sport has shifted my imagination and my sense of self. When I travel by train, I find myself looking out the window and noting spots to run by the creeks and forests nearby. When I arrive in a new city, I like to circle it with a run. I’ve seen more of the world while running than I have while walking. I have recurring dreams of mountains I’ve run up. But I spend much of the day at a desk, mind-wired to my to-do list. Running is my one connection to na­ture and to a younger, adventurous self who only and always wanted to be outside.

      
Excerpted from “The Running Ground” by Nicholas Thompson. Copyright © 2025 by Nicholas Thompson. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Get the book here:

“The Running Ground” by Nicholas Thompson

Buy locally from Bookshop.org

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Over the past three decades, Kenny Chesney has been one of the most celebrated singers in music. In his first book, “Heart Life Music” (written with journalist Holly Gleason, to be published Tuesday by William Morrow), Chesney recounts his life’s journey, from East Tennessee, to No Shoes Nation and beyond. 

Read an excerpt below, in which he writes about a soulful collaboration with singer-songwriter Grace Potter – and don’t miss Lee Cowan’s interview with Kenny Chesney on “CBS Sunday Morning” October 26!

“Heart Life Music” by Kenny Chesney with Holly Gleason

Prefer to listen? Audible has a 30-day free trial available right now.

Grace

There was a show on tv called “Let’s Make A Deal.” People would be contestants, hoping host Monty Hall would pick them to compete for prizes. New cars, new kitchens with all the appliances, expensive watches. You had to pick.

One of two things: color tvs and washer/dryer sets, or what was behind Door No. 3, knowing it could be a wheelbarrow with some grass seed, or a new car.

I’ve always been attracted to what’s behind Door No. 3. That idea of the big unknown you can’t see always appealed to me. The seeker inside has chased the unknown all my life.

When you’re a dreamer, you can’t not take Door No. 3. That mentality fuels you. Seeking inspiration, wanting to find out has risk involved. Some Door No. 3s don’t work out. But Grace Potter? She’s the epitome of why Door No. 3 is always better than playing it safe.

“You & Tequila” showed up in my email in the middle of the night.

I remember listening, thinking, “Damn…,”

That idea of a person you can’t quit, because they’re so addictive is real. You can’t resist, only overdo it to the point of poisoning yourself hit me. I called Matraca Berg, asked if there was a demo with a man singing it; she had one. Hearing Tim Krekel sing it hit me even harder.

We cut it really simple. That pull between what you want and knowing you shouldn’t made “You & Tequila” burn into people.

We were about done with Hemingway’s Whiskey. I wanted something to make it shine. Buddy Cannon and I were talking about who might sound good; Clint Higham, my co-manager, even reached out to Irving Azoff about the Eagles, since this sounded like a classic Laurel Canyon song. 

Then the woman who sent me the demo asked, “Why don’t you get Grace Potter? She captures that haunted and haunting feeling.”

What makes Grace Potter, the ultimate Door No. 3, was the mystery. The hippie songwriter/rock girl.  

Once she was suggested, as much as it made no sense on paper, I knew she was the person we needed.

I listen to a lot of music at night in the Virgin Islands. No light pollution, you can drift in the sounds. I’d been given Grace’s live CD. “Apologies” poured out of the speakers.

Motionless on a chaise lounge, when I heard Grace’s voice – so soulful, but beautiful and real – I was floored. Nobody in my life had heard this voice except my friend. I felt blessed.

She wrote her own songs. She had a band, wasn’t overproduced. Really listening, it was how she played that B-3 organ, but especially how she sang those songs.

I looked up at the sky and exhaled. She sounded like coming home.

When we put her on “You & Tequila,” all she knew about me was “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” because the Eagle in Burlington, Vermont had played it to death.

Was it even possible? Grace had finished a European tour, traveled 24 hours with no sleep and was landing in America. We laugh now, but she listened to the demo on the rental car shuttle having cleared customs.

She was tired. She missed her family. And we needed her in Nashville within 48 hours to make the deadline for mastering – or we’d have to move the record. Her manager wasn’t optimistic. My friend insisted, “Give her the song.”

Thirty minutes later, we had a yes. Thirty hours later, Grace Potter landed in Nashville in a flowy leopard print dress, walked into Blackbird Recording Studios and changed both of our lives. Brash, smart and funny, she oozed music. She told wild stories, made some people blush and asked us what we were thinking.

Buddy suggested, “Get in the booth and put your headphones on. See how it feels to you.”

Probably warming up, she was humming. Then that “ooooohOOOOOHohhhh” she does on the record rolled out.

“Do some more of that.”

Two or three takes later, we were done. We’d talked longer than she was in the vocal booth. Even before it was mixed, we knew it was something. That’s the thing: you know.

It was my birthday. I asked her and her boyfriend if they’d like to have dinner. We went to Sunset Grille, sat outside on the patio and laughed. We came from musically different places; her country music was Willie, Townes Van Zandt and Lucinda Williams. But we were of the same heart, same small town, family-oriented life.

She was tired, so we didn’t hang long. When I got up to leave, she followed me, jumped in the passenger seat of my car, and announced, “I don’t know what the future holds, but we’re going to be friends for life.”

Grace Potter knew things. I’ve always believed there are things in our lives that were pre-determined; set into motion by some larger power. Grace was absolutely one.

      
From “Heart Life Music” by Kenny Chesney with Holly Gleason. Copyright © 2025 by Kenny Chesney. Reprinted by permission of William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

To hear Kenny Chesney and Grace Potter perform “You and Tequila,” click on the video player below:

Get the book here:

“Heart Life Music” by Kenny Chesney with Holly Gleason

Buy locally from Bookshop.org

For more info:

• “Heart Life Music” by Kenny Chesney with Holly Gleason (‎William Morrow), in Hardcover, Large Print Trade Paperback, eBook and Audio formats, available Nov. 4
• kennychesney.com