I’ve lost a lot of weight recently. It’s not all that new or different as I’ve yoyo-ed a lot over the past 20 years or so, but I’m approaching my lowest adult weight and it’s drawn a lot of attention from those around me. It feels good to have people notice my hard work and
I first discovered the magic of horses at five years old, and, as the saying goes, we were off and running. By age seven, I (literally) landed my first pony-related concussion and sutures. Undaunted, I climbed back into the saddle the moment a doctor gave the OK. My parents were initially in some form
…a funny thing happens as you get older (besides hangovers becoming more painful): you start to prioritize things differently.
I am a runner. I’m not a marathon runner. I’m not even a 5K runner. I don’t run every day and I may go a month (or more) without heading out for a jog. However, I am a runner. Four years ago this summer, my third (and last!) baby had just turned one. I was
October 8th is all about ME. On October 8th I run my very first half marathon. Over the last few months, my friend and I have spent many hours running. We ran together, and I have run alone. I have: Ran. Sweat. Cried. Complained. Supported. Listened. Bitched. Given up. Motivated. Been motivated. Gotten hurt. Self-doubted.
The timing of this series could not be better since I’ve promised to be my true self once we move to CT. I’ve never felt like I fully fit in living in MA and am taking this opportunity to just be who I am. So here it goes. This is me. I fluctuate between someone
