Just Call Me Coach

August 10, 2011

I've been meaning to tell you guys, the 5k group that I've been leading has (surprisingly) turned out to be a smashing success. I have thirty-nine registrants, and as far as I can tell, two injuries and only one drop out.

So do you know what that means? It means I'm getting my coaching certification on October 1st, I'm offering a few more classes in the fall, and I even have my very own website (that gets half a hit a day). Big time stuff.

I'm working everything out of Jared's office, and yesterday someone showed up to let him know that I'm being honored at a celebration for new business owners on Main Street. Rumor has it I'm getting a plaque. Um, HELLO! You all know how I feel about trophies/medals/plaques. As far as I'm concerned, I'm straight up there with Warren Buffet.

I'll probably put my plaque up in, no on, my office:

That's my office.

I asked Jared if I could have a real office--one of the little rooms in the back of his office. He said he'd think about it and he gave me this box. Everybody's gotta start somewhere I suppose.

So guys, I need your help. What are some good ideas for marketing running groups and a local coaching business? So far I've got the website, I have a facebook page, I'm on active.com, I have people wearing their shirts all over town, I've hung a few flyers, I wear my shirt to races, and I'm hoping to get the newspaper to cover our final 5k 'race.'

What am I missing? Because I'm hoping to clear my first million by next month.

Happy Anniversay?

August 3, 2011

Welp, today's our nine -year anniversary. Apparently, the traditional gift for nine years is pottery. But you know us, are we ever traditional? Of course we aren't.

So, in lieu of pottery, we opted for a bonding experience, and we buried our greyhound behind a big shady tree in the back yard. Thankfully Jared didn't have any early morning patients, so he dug a ginormous hole for Gracie's 65 pound body, wrapped her in a sheet, and covered her over all before he drove in for the morning.

The one on the left says:

GRACIE

A GOOD GIRL

11 Years Old. Almost 12.

DIED

Six year old James was the creative genius behind that catchy little inscription. The one on the right says:

GRACE CARLA LAWSON

'SHEEZA CORSAIR'

11/15/99 - 8/2/11

Carla was her kennel name when we adopted her, and Sheeza Corsair was her racing name. Awesomely enough, you can see her pedigree by clicking here, and her race results by clicking here. It's pretty cool if you're farting around on the internet trying to waste some time. Who knows, maybe someday my grand kids will look up my race results online and say something like, "Whoa. Gram sure was average."

It's funny, Jared and I have been married for nine years, and that feels like a pretty short time--but if you think about it, the first dog we got together (she was four when we took her home), is already gone. I guess that means we've been married for a while--we're legit.

It was arguably the most beautiful day of the year here in Maine, and honestly, I spent most of the day moping around inside. I cried a little, I walked out to Gracie's grave a few times, and I kid you not, I let James watch the second Star Wars movie three times in a row--he's on his fourth go 'round as I type this sentence. I ordered a few prints of Gracie from the Walgreen's website, and talked to Jared a lot--he kept calling. He's pretty upset.

Basically we're both convinced that we accidentally killed her doing totally innocent things--like coming home from work to take her out at three o'clock instead of one, and moving her around on her pillow when her breathing started to get labored.  We're just being stupid.

Jared got home from work with a Target bag in his hand. He bought me a new pair of sweatpants (best anniversary gift on the planet as far as I'm concerned), and this card:

He accidentally bought me a card for a husband, crossed it out and wrote wife.

No ladies, you can't have him. He's taken.

Just so you guys know, Gracie's death was totally unexpected and weird. She was getting old, but she wasn't elderly or sick by any stretch of the imagination. She was her normal old self when she woke up in the morning, and she was great when I came home from work. Went out to pee and I didn't notice anything strange--she even had some pep in her step.

She didn't want her dinner at 5:30, which I thought was kind of strange, but nothing that made me think, "Huh, this dog's probably about to die." I headed to my neighbor's house around 7:15 to do P90x, and a few minutes later, Jared showed up at the door and said, "You need to come home. I think Gracie just died."

He was right.

He took her out for a quick walk, but she couldn't make it past the end of the driveway. He carried her back inside and put her on her pillow in the dining room. He tried to give her a little bit of food, but she wasn't interested, so he gave her some water from a sports bottle, and she liked that. Her breathing started to get pretty labored. He moved her around to try to help her get comfortable, but she just gasped a few times and that was it. Her heart was still beating when he came to get me, but by the time I got there, it was stopped.

In the grand scheme of things, it's a wonderful, graceful exit for a dog. She never had to have a bad day due to old age and we never had to make the final call. But I'll tell you, there's absolutely nothing to be relieved about, no at least she's not suffering any more. Just a good old fashioned head scratcher, I guess.

Today, the thought bubble above my head reads: WTF?

Tomorrow's thought bubble will probably be more like: Seriously. WTF?

I'm fine. We're all fine. It's just weird to have a house without my greyhound. I keep slipping though the screen door so Gracie won't run out, and I've called her name to take her for a walk twice today. I might get another one someday, but for now, I'm more than happy as a one-dog family.

So yeah. That was our shitastic ending to a ridiculously stressful year. Um, Happy Anniversary? I'm holding out hope for year ten.

And by the way...thanks for all the nice comments. I'm glad you guys like Gracie so much!

Gracie

August 2, 2011

Gracie died tonight. It was really unexpected. She seemed fine when I came home from work today. She was never energetic, never a tail wagger, never an excited jumper. But still, I was her owner, and I always knew if she was fine or not. And she was fine. Just old.

I went to do P90x at my neighbor's house, and about forty minutes into it, Jared showed up at the door and said, "I think Gracie just died."

She didn't want her dinner tonight. Then he tried to take her out and she couldn't stand up. She got to the end of the driveway, so Jared carried her back inside, layed her down on her pillow and she died.

She was almost twelve and I always loved having her around the house. She didn't do much, but she was a calming presence. I always let her on the furniture when I was around--don't tell Jared. And I never really called her Gracie--Grace, or beautiful, or pretty girl. I know, I know, totally crazy, but I always wanted a greyhound.

When we took the dogs to watch the Boston Marathon this year, everyone wanted to pet/talk about/take pictures of Gracie. Not a lot of attention on Coach. Gracie was more striking. She was a really pretty dog.

I'm glad she went on her own. Really glad for the nonchalant way that she made her exit. Kind of fitting for the laziest dog in the world.

Oh Gracie. I'm really glad I got to have her. Greyhounds are just different.

Mysterious Ways

July 26, 2011

This blog post (as well as a huge fart and a rousing rendition of 'What it Takes' by Aerosmith) is brought to you by 20 ice cold ounces of Coca Cola Classic after 9 pm.

For real, this is good. Because I haven't been the mood to funny blog in a long freaking time, and I really think I miss it. I really do.

And on that note, I don't think I'll end up pulling the private plug. I just can't. Because God told me not to. This is not a joke. It happened through an extended version of the transitive property of equality--you know, if A=B and B=C, then A=C....mine was more like A=G--but it totally counts. God told me to read a very powerful scripture in Acts, and somehow, through a moderately tricky math equation, he told me to keep my blog open to the masses.

What? Doesn't God talk to you through 7th grade math that you didn't ever know in the first place? If not, you should probably listen harder at church.

Speaking of church, my husband is now the Second Counselor in the Bishopric. Considering the fact that his foremost personal goal is to forsake his family to live under a mushroom in the woods, and our biggest goal as a couple is to simultaneously experience sexual climax during that killer guitar solo in 'Sweet Child of Mine' by Guns n' Roses, this Bishopric thing is straight up confusion-inducing.

Now for those of you non-Mormons out there, please, put down your glass of happiness/wine, and allow me to explain. If you're a Protestant or an Evangelical, Second Counselor in the Bishopric is roughly equivalent to an Associate Pastor. If you're a Catholic, it's pretty much on par with a Deacon. And if you're a normal sleeper-inner on a Sunday, I'd say it equals a crazy waste of time and energy.

This is a non-paid gig that takes up about two hundred hours a week. But I think it comes with fringe benefits like pixie dust and unicorn flavored lollipops, so I'm getting cool with it. Totally working to embrace this new space in my life.

Oh and as a point of clarity, in case you don't remember... Mormons don't volunteer to do anything--we're called to do various jobs at church. Which essentially means that someone tells you I don't care if you're tone deaf, you're the new choir director, and you say Okay while you're busy thinking Damn I hate that singing crap.

So yes, Jared now wears a suit on Sundays, and sits up near the pulpit. I now wear a lacy black bra under a white shirt on Sundays, and sit directly in his line of sight to try and distract him from his seriousness. When that fails, I mouth things to him like Monkey Intercourse and Flactuation Station. Honestly, I really don't care if the Bishop sees what I'm saying, he needs to be aware of these things, too--it's called knowing your congregation.

Lots of people are congratulating us on this craziness and asking us how we feel. Truthfully, you know how I feel? I feel like I want to know what's in the attic of that church building, and now that there's a key in my house, you can bet yer bottoms that I'll find out soon.

But I'm also feeling like Jared's already changing--in a not so good way. For example, this past Saturday he wanted to go to the church picnic. I'm sorry...hold the phone...is this the same man who used the Big F on me and gave me an extended silent treatment when I decided to go to Stake Conference this past spring? This very same man is all the sudden opting to go make butter pioneer-style with his church family on a Saturday afternoon?

Yup. Same guy.

But wait, I haven't even gotten to the worst of it.

He made me change out of my spandex workout suit before we left the house. And people, the fact that I look like a total ass-kicker in spandex, well, that's my spiritual gift.

He said, No Amy, it's not appropriate.

So I said, My ass looks like a couple of candle pin bowling balls in these pants, Jared.

And he said, Watch your mouth.

And I said, I SWEAR I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU ANY MORE. UGH!

So he said, Go get some pants on. They're churning without us.

I did it. I put on some jeans, went to the church, and played pioneer games just like the rest of the congregation. But (there's always a but), I also took a Costco-sized barrel of cheese balls and planted them on top of the fridge in the church kitchen. Generally speaking, there's a strict rule against putting things on top of kitchen fridge, but Jared used his authority to overturn that policy--because sometimes his wife works up a lion of an appetite during the really long prayers.

Which makes me think Huh, maybe he's the same old Jared after all.

I guess we won't know until Sunday--when I show up to church in my hooker heels.

I'll keep you posted.

Privatization

July 23, 2011

This blog is temporarily going private in a day or two or four. Instead of continuing to post here, you'll be able to find me at http://amygoesunderground.blogspot.com/ -- that one will stay wide open to everyone.

I haven't gotten the new site up and running yet, but it'll be ready to go soon. Just don't expect bells and birds and whistles and crap. It's temporary. Like an extended stay hotel.