Read This if Your Weight Isn’t Perfect

 I hate even talking about it—mostly because it’s awkward for everyone in the room—but I gained weight during the pandemic. Probably 25 pounds. In 2019 I was a size 8 or 10, and almost always a medium. Now I’m a 12, and a large or an extra large. 

Clearly, this isn’t the end of the world. Weight gain happens to a lot of people, especially to women in their 40s. I’m about to be 43, so it all lines up. 

Pandemic stress + getting older + life in general = weight gain

Yeah, yeah, yeah Amy, take a number and get in line. This happens to lots of people, I know. BUT, just because it happens a lot, doesn’t mean it’s fun. Seriously, where’s the lying-on-my-back-staring-at-the-sky-asking-why emoji? Where is the pulling-out-my-hair emoji?

🥴 I think this is as close as I can get to that feeling. 

🫣But sometimes it’s a little more like this hiding one. 

Guys, my full time job is a fitness coach, and I also have a side hustle as a health teacher. Could the universe just do me a solid and make me magically thin forever? Does the universe not know that I wear spandex to work everyday? Doesn’t the universe know that I often have to record myself working out on camera? Seriously….WHERE IS THE WHY-ME-GOD emoji?

Anyway. Up until recently, I stepped away from a lot of the things I used to do, including running races. I figured I’d just wait til I was back to my regular old weight—the weight Id been at from age 21-40. And in the mean time, I’d be a great sport. 

At my new weight, I’ve been happy to show up at a race and cheer for the KVCers, or pace a KVCer, or even do a bike race. But the idea of entering a race and running my fastest with KVCers? Nope. Nadda happenin. I’d rather ride the bus naked.

Such big feelings. But why?

I think I thought it would expose me. I think I thought it could make my KVC people feel like I let them down. Or maybe someone would call me Coach in front of a bunch of runners that I didn’t know, and those runners would be like, “That’s the Coach? Her? No. She must be a size 12. She can’t be the coach.”

So I cheered, and I encouraged, and I helped other people be brave, and try hard things, and do their races. And I did all that, fully and truly believing that every person of every size, shape, and speed, totally deserved to be there exactly as they are.

Oh, you know, except me. I could be genuine happy and supportive of everyone there, except me. 

Since this summer, I’ve known in my gut that my attitude and my behavior has had to change. If I can’t show up, I can’t expect the KVCers to show up. I’ve known for a while that I was at a crossroads. Either get myself on a new career path, where I could feel proud and comfortable and at peace with being fully seen — or be fully seen where I already am, at KVC. 

I started by sending out resumes related to my old line of work, and got zero replies. Not even a nibble. This was good news and bad news, because I love KVC and don’t want to be done…but it also meant that it was time to be vulnerable, show up, and participate exactly as I am.

😬😰😳.

That is the Oh Hell Yikes emoji combination.

This Fall, I encouraged the runners at KVC to sign up for a 5 mile race in Portland, and I registered, too. But I didn’t just register. I registered, promising myself that I’d do my best on race day, whatever that meant. So I ran 75 miles in September, and 100 miles in October, fully committed to giving it my damndest on November 12th. 

Keep in mind, I’ve truly had no idea what my damndest equates to these days. Runs at a 10:30 pace have felt challenging lately, so I guessed 50 minutes for 5 miles. And even though 50 minutes is a far cry from the 37 minutes I would have run a few years back, I decided to do it with my head held high. 

I decided I’d treat myself the same exact way I treat the people I coach.  

If I was coaching someone with my same story—and I have many times over—OH MY GOSH I’D BE IN THEIR CORNER. Holy smokes, NOTHING would make me happier than seeing a runner like me show up for themselves. It’s exactly why KVC exists. 

Well, long story short, I ran 42:52 today, an 8:32 pace. It felt awesome. I started conservatively, and every mile was faster than the last—just the way I like to do it. I loved being out there, I loved passing people, and I loved racing with my teammates. I’m really, really, really proud of myself. 

If you’re scared to show up, I get it. If you think you’re the wrong size, or the wrong speed, I also get it. If you’re not showing up because you’re not who you used to be, I get it. I’ve always been able to empathize, but now, I’ve actually, literally been there.

So now that I showed up for me, I can say this with 100% sincerity: Show up. Don’t wait until you’re the weight you want to be or the weight you used to be. Show up now. 

Life is precious. Life is short. Show up, run the race, and be you. The world needs you, exactly as you are today.

Political Discourse

 Today at run group, up popped the subject of Donald Trump. Love the guy or hate the guy, I think we can all agree that The Donald is an excellent conversation igniter. Evvvvveryone has something to say.

Except me at run group.

I will say NOTHING political EVER in front of the people at run group. 

Truly, I would dive in front of a tractor just to switch the conversation topic away from politics at run group.  

So today, when people started volleying Trump around the room, I was like, “Think think think. Think, Amy. Change this, Amy. Think.”

And then it came. I heard myself say, “I wouldn’t make out with Trump OR Biden. But I would make out with Kamala. Also Obama. Definitely no to the Clintons. Strong yes to George W. Not George HW, because he died.”

No one chimed in, and just like that, the conversation transitioned to books and reading. 

Now that I’m not in the heat of the moment, I’m looking back this is list of who I’d get with, and I’m realizing that I was spot on. I wouldn’t change a thing. 

Big Question, Big Answer

What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail?

That right there is a great conversation starter. It’s not an ultra-deep question, but boy is it thought provoking.

When I asked this to Jared, he was walking out of our bathroom, and he stopped on his heel. He thought it was an excellent question, and he had an instant answer.

Jared would throw down some huge bets in Vegas. He says he’d bet the house, take cash advances on all of our credit cards, bet the truck, the kids, the dogs. He’d bet it all and win big.

I like it. Well done, Jared! (but please don’t actually do that)

Me? I would start The National Geographic Boob Hall of Fame, and it would be housed online, AND in my elementary school library.

That is definitely what I’d do. I can’t believe it doesn’t already exist.

Jared felt a little deflated that my idea was funny and his wasn’t. I get it. I’m sure it’s not easy to be married to someone who’s always hilarious, but I married him for his skiing ability, not his wit. He knows that. I don’t expect him to be me.

Actually, I’m not very funny in person. In real life, I tell light little laughing jokes and that’s it. But Jared loves to think that I think I’m hilarious. Got that? I let him think that I think I’m hilarious, because him thinking I think I’m funny gives him a feeling of satisfaction. Got that?

Marriage I tell ya, it’s a dance.

Jared and I are actually really different in lots of ways, especially our hobbies. He likes to fly fish and bird hunt, and I like to run and bike. He says that he likes to have hobbies that are enjoyable, and I like to have hobbies that hurt.

He’s not wrong.

Once upon a time, a million years ago, when we were living in Texas, my monthly copy of Runner’s World Magazine came in the mail. Jared brought it into our apartment, slapped it down on the table, looked me bang in the eye, and proclaimed: I will NEVER understand this. No one needs to talk ME into doing MY hobbies.

And there, on that fugly old kitchen table was my magazine with a headline that said something like:

15 Ways to Trick Yourself into Heading Out for a Run

Or maybe it was, Ten Tips to Tolerate Your Run

Either way, I was paying for advice on how to try to not hate my number one hobby, while Jared was dreaming about catching, kissing, and releasing a spotted trout.

The man had a point. Still does. Different strokes for different folks, just like my Grandma used to say. (I actually don’t know if she ever said that)

So I guess, maybe the best answer to the question — What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail? — might be something to do with finding the thing that makes you tick.

Since copyright laws exist, therefore making The National Geographic Boob Hall of Fame an infringement lawsuit waiting to happen, what doable thing would I do if I knew I couldn’t fail?

Either the Tour Divide Bike Race, or buy a and rehab an old Victorian house. Jared would probably drive to Labrador Canada and fish.

But you know? I’m also at this middle aged point in life, where I don’t expect, or need, or even want those things to happen anymore. Things are okay for me today, just as they are.

If you like fun music, listen to this song:

This song deserves The Cutest Song Award

Those band people are kind of right. If I’ve got air in my lungs and blood in my body, I’m okay.

Now that the collective shock is wearing down from the shooting in Lewiston on October 25th, I’m feeling like it’s an enormous privilege just to be alive. Let’s be real, some moments I’m terrified to be alive, and I feel so sad I can hardly breath, but these feelings are starting to coexist with gratitude for life. I also wish we could turn back time and save every person who was hurt or died that day, but we can’t. Feelings are hard, so I march forth, trying to have appreciation for this very moment.

So really, what would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail? Maybe it’s time to start working on it. Or maybe it’s time to just have fun imagining it. Or maybe you’d like to do a mini version of it. Or read about it. Or just think about the question. You can do it your way.

We’re all different, and Thank God for that. Some like running, some like to hate running, and some like to fish — but what is it that we all have in common? What do we share? It’s a love and appreciation for the boobs in National Geographic. Let’s work harder to remember that.

These children are reading National Geographic magazines in their school library.

Off Days and Cryruns (...it's a real word..)

These ducks are in a row.

The Level One Boston Marathon plan has Mondays as my off day from running. In the past, I would have been way more flexible about that. I would have maybe taken Monday off, except if I felt like bounding into the darkness and cryrunning after dinner time—a scenario which would nevvvver happen these days, because I’m too tired in the evenings, and I’ve matured.

My cryruns were almost always about an argument I’d had with Jared. Back in those days we’d been married for like 5 years, and I still thought marriage was all frilly. So when it wasn’t, I’d dramatically throw on my shoes, sob my way down the driveway, and be like, “I’m going to clear my head, don’t you dare follow me! Oh don’t you dare!”

Of course you all know that I wanted Jared to follow me, like they do in the Hallmark movies. Old truck bumping along next to the pretty girl, while the small town lawyer is like, “Wait! It’s all a misunderstanding! I’m the one who bought the cookie factory!”

Spoiler Alert (and if you know Jared, you know exactly what I’m about to type): Jared never followed me. Ever.

The idea that I even thought Jared Lawson would maybe follow me is actually making me laugh out loud. He’d get James into his pajamas, make a bowl of popcorn, and watch the Red Sox. I’d come home, barely sweating, after running 8 miles in 60 minutes, and agree to a peace treaty because I was 27 and adorable, and I wanted to eat the cake that was at home on the counter.

That was then, and this is now.

We’ve been married for 21 years, and we save all our fighting for the month(s) of September and/or October. It works out great for us. Fishing season is open in September, and bird hunting opens in October. That time of year, for whatever reason, I want that guy to freeze his nuts off in the woods, and accidentally fill his waders with ice water just for existing. He also wants those things for himself. So while he fishes and hunts, I watch all 7 seasons of the Gilmore Girls, and by the time Rory takes her job for the Obama campaign (IYKYK), Jared and I are fine again.

All that to say, since we now consolidate our marital fighting to the early fall, and I no longer impulsively cryrun, I can stick to a training plan with exactitude if I want to.

Here’s where you come in. When you’re training for a big, time consuming event like a marathon, it’s the best practice to use your off days from running to get your other life sh*t done. For example:

👉Pick up your dry cleaning (…does anyone actually have their things regularly dry cleaned? That’s the so damn fancy I can’t even relate…)

👉Do your laundry, especially your skanky toilet seat sheets.

👉Clean out your car you filthy animal.

👉Figure out what you’re gonna eat that week.

👉And so on and so forth.

If you think an off day from running means you should do a long swim, or go to hot yoga, change your mind right now. Those are things for your cross training days. An off day on your plan means a day off from all things fitnessy, except maybe a stretch and a dog walk.

Training for these events takes a lot of mental energy and even more general human energy. The whole experience will feel far more achievable, energizing, fun, and positive if your life ducks are in a row.

Eventually, the middle of the week runs will get to 7, 8 & 10 miles. I promise you that 10 miles on a Tuesday will feel much better if your ironing and driveway sweeping aren’t left undone.

Day off means day off. Period. Especially if you’re over 35. (If you’re not yet 35, you’re basically invincible, and can do anything you want anytime you want. You’re fine to run, cry, eat pie, mow the lawn, look great all in the same day, and I’m jealous.)

Today, if you need a kick in the pants to run or to take your off day to focus on your non-running chores, it’s right here in this 60 second video:

We GET to run, we GET to put our ducks in a row. Some people don’t. If you’d like to chip in for a great cause, the link is down below. The adjusted goal is $10,000.

Have a great day, friends ❤️💔🌲

https://www.givengain.com/project/amy-raising-funds-for-massachusetts-general-hospital-67889?title=Support+Massachusetts+General+Hospital%3A+Improving+Health+and+Saving+Lives&target=8000&fbclid=IwAR1HVS2JnceMNXrcyhb4zVaEJIB87k0sNSIP5BwktwXhMpHZbm9gL09G8RE_aem_AQTQm2sjqx3sGAfJFcjAkOwYCiX53BR9Eu4uOTJbsRNs8Cv_5IXNIm8ups9vFDYgRP4

On Being Level One

 Have you heard about The Big Six Marathons? They are: Boston, New York, Chicago, London, Berlin, and Tokyo.

I’m telling you right now that I’ll probably never do this circuit because 1) I’m not a professional runner, and 2) Hello Kitty makes me feel uneasy, so I don’t want to visit Japan. Get a mouth you weird, white cat.

Anyway, these are The World Marathon Majors, the Six most iconic races on the planet. I know this, I’ve been able to list them off since I was a teenager. So why, I ask, was I like whaaaaaaaaatttttt????, when I clicked the link for Official Boston Marathon Training Plans?

Here’s the link: https://www.baa.org/races/boston-marathon/boston-marathon-training

Okay, so first, I’m always so impressed by the graphic design styling of the Boston Marathon. We have the yellow and blue colorway, never any deviation. We have literally the same font choice that was used for The Declaration of Independence. And of course we have the unicorn mascot, who is actually a stallionicorn. This guy does not poop confetti—and on the off chance that he does, it’s yellow and blue.

This is all to say, things are high and tight at the Boston Marathon. If this race had a hairstyle, it would be a $60 crew cut.

Anyway, the training plans also prefer to wear a crew cut.

Level One is for people like me, who forgot what it takes to train for a marathon, but have run 10 or 12 of these in the past. It is the ‘beginner/novice’ plan which has you running 10 miles at a pop by week 2. By week 4 you are doing ‘marathon simulation runs.’

Um, okay? Simulate the marathon? You want me to vomit on the front of my shirt during training runs? I can do that. Would you also like me to circle back around and tell Jared I quit when I’m two thirds of the way through? I’m on it.

Level Two is for people who are ‘novice/intermediate,’ and has these unsuspecting friends running 13 miles by week 4. This is the link I initially clicked on, and quickly closed because if week 4 looks like that, CAN YOU IMAGINE WEEK 16? And guys, there are 20 weeks.

Right off the bat, my coach John said, “I think you’re a two.” Then, about 9 seconds later, he followed up with, “Never mind. No you ain’t.”

Level Three is for the men from the 80s and 90s who are 5’10” and weigh 122. They usually wear the shorts that aren’t sewn up on the sides (so the nylon can flutter against their glute medius), and almost always, they’re dentists. They will only ever wear one warmup suit in their life, because it’s still perfectly fine, and they have a regimented stretching routine.

Level Four is for people with anti-social personality disorder OR for people with anti-social personality disorder.

So I’m a one, and if there were fraction plans, I’d strongly consider those. But let me get serious for a second. Even the level one plan is a huge commitment that will take enormous amounts of discipline, time, and energy.

The world needs all kinds of people who are willing to dedicate enormous amounts of discipline, time, and energy to their craft. The most impressive of these people might just be the medical minds in Boston. These are the ones who are doing the research and writing the books. These are the ones who are developing and performing complex surgeries to save the legs and arms of my neighbors in Lewiston, Maine. These are the people working long hours, because they’re the smartest ones who know how to save the most people.

And God help us all, how does it work when 13 people are shot and critically injured at the same time? I can barely make words when I stop to think about this.

Really, we are who we are, and there’s not much I can do, except be a level one runner, and raise money for the people who are level four thinkers down in Boston.

So friends, you have my words that I will stick to that training plan, I will raise this money, and I’ll do it for Lewiston, Maine. Some of my neighbors will spend the winter waking up with empty beds in their house because they lost a loved one in the massacre—that is level four hard.

Please donate! We’re *so close* to the $8,000 goal. Soooooo close! Training starts on Monday!

Here is the long fundraising link that I don’t know how to shorten:

https://www.givengain.com/project/amy-raising-funds-for-massachusetts-general-hospital-67889?title=Support+Massachusetts+General+Hospital%3A+Improving+Health+and+Saving+Lives&target=8000&fbclid=IwAR3Ld7PH0P0bpnkUmsFDBmz_VFfK0C4W4gw0tb_vinx0fcAvKwa2b0jsel8_aem_AWGKmo8Y5pvbNGEPf8kI_Nh4bx_pnw4HOFNqqmPfjrSGn8BHdpMGUzYs1MgBybOW5Jw

Here is a photo of a level three runner 👇

He is thinking about dental procedures and retirement.

Oversharing is Caring

 Let’s start this marathon journey by admitting a secret from my ancient past:

A long, long time ago, mostly when James was a big fat baby, I had a blog. And lots of people read it.

We lived in Dallas when the blog was born, so naturally, it had to be called, “The Lawsons do Dallas.” Of course I knew this was a an edgy-sexy name, paying homage to Debbie. I never saw the movie, and I don’t know for sure what Debbie did in Dallas, but now that I’m older and wiser, I can imagine.

Good for you, Debbie. You do you.

I just googled the old blog, and sure enough, she’s still there. Creepily enough, the last post talks about my Boston Marathon finish line bombing experience…which is remarkably similar to how this new blog begins.

Now before we jump into the various tragedies of this fallen world (which is ultimately where we’re headed), let’s talk new blogs. You need to know that I’m an over-sharer from a long time back, and I’m surprisingly excited to have a reason to tell you all way too much about me. Again.

For example, I am typing this sentence while I sit on the toilet. I’m a phone pooper, just like you. The key difference being, I’m writing about it hoping people read about it, and you are not.

If you happen to be my child, or my clergyman, or my friend Hazel, chances are you’re thinking “Amy, no. Rethink this. You don’t need to overshare. We will support you even if you undershare.”

I cannot honor this. I’ve made up my mind, and the details will be yours.

But now, for like three minutes, I am going to do my least favorite thing, and be vulnerable. My therapist once told me that there’s a difference between oversharing and vulnerability. Um, okay therapist. I told her that I am very busy, and will have to choose one. Hint: it has never been vulnerability.

The truth is, I only share what I want to share. Don’t we all? In many ways, I’m a vault.

I’ve always known this about myself, but the vault was dropped straight on my head yesterday when my 14 year old daughter said, “You were at the Boston Marathon bombing? I had no idea! James was there? Does he remember it? Do you remember it?”

Baby girl, I remember it. I remember it often. And I remember it even more since a gunman killed 18 Mainers and injured 13 last Wednesday night. I hate the way the bombing made me feel, and I hate the way this shooting has made me feel.

So here I am, and here we are, with feelings that are too much to bear. I’ve never been a person who can fake how I feel, and I’m a total loser at denial, so the best option that remains, is to put something else in this feeling’s place.

Enter the Boston Marathon, and the goal of raising $8,000 for Mass General Hospital Emergency Response & Research. You can (and should!) read more about what brought me to the team (and also make a donation) here:

https://www.givengain.com/project/amy-raising-funds-for-massachusetts-general-hospital-67889?title=Support+Massachusetts+General+Hospital%3A+Improving+Health+and+Saving+Lives&target=8000&fbclid=IwAR3Ld7PH0P0bpnkUmsFDBmz_VFfK0C4W4gw0tb_vinx0fcAvKwa2b0jsel8_aem_AWGKmo8Y5pvbNGEPf8kI_Nh4bx_pnw4HOFNqqmPfjrSGn8BHdpMGUzYs1MgBybOW5Jw

Okay. Why is that link so long? And why has blogging become so futuristic?

Here’s where the blog comes in. I’d like to find a way to keep you all updated on fundraising, my training, the fact that I forgot what it takes to train for a marathon, the incredible KVC community, info about emergency response and research at Mass Gen, Lewiston updates, and my digestion. Also sometimes my marriage.

So, if you’d like to follow along, please do. I would like to tell you how, but I truly don’t know how one follows a blog in 2023. If you would not like to follow along, that makes a lot of sense to me. You can just leave a donation and swear to never visit this link again—just like with the Netflix link to Episode 1, Season 6 of Bridgerton.

Finally, I’ll leave you with the link to the ancient blog, that ended with the Boston bombing. I can’t lie, I just read the second post and it made me laugh:

http://granolasdodallas.blogspot.com/?m=1

God bless you all (that’s not a joke, I really want that to happen), I’m so happy to be able to share this adventure—older & slower—with my friends who could use a boost.

Every step, and every dollar is all for Lewiston, Maine ❤️ Thank you Mass General, for taking care of our Mainers in need ❤️

Important Information: The unicorn is the Boston Marathon mascot, and this unicorn is a doctor 👇