Yesterday was my birthday. And I got really excited when I realized my age is the title of a Dave Matthews Band song, so naturally I had to use a line for the title of this post. And I'll give you a hint...it's NOT #41!!! Not that there's anything wrong with being 41. I'm just not. Yet.
36. That's 18 x 2. Thing is, I'll take me at 36 over me at 18 any day of the week. At 18, I was timid. I was insecure. I was lacking confidence in a big way. I hated my body. I hated my skin. I'm pretty sure I even hated my haircut. I always felt like the ugly duckling in my group of beautiful friends. How on earth did I survive? No no, I would never go back to 18...unless maybe it was to slap my 18 year old self around a little.
At 18, 36 seemed oooooold. And on paper, I look the part...I have a husband of 9 years, a mortgage, a sensible car, and I'm an active volunteer at my children's elementary school. I have other 30-something year old friends and we talk about 30-something year old stuff...husbands, kids, wrinkles, gray hair.
Despite all that, I often hesitate when people ask me how old I am. It's not a memory issue. It's an age issue...as in I don't feel my age, so I have an issue remembering it. I mean, I can still do this:
Without a doubt, I have running to thank for feeling as good as I do. I haven't always loved running - I started about 7 years ago to try to lose some baby weight after Brynn was born - but it has done so much for me in the short time it has been a part of my life. Running keeps me sane (although some might say this is questionable). Running keeps me honest. If I don't work at it, it shows. If I don't eat well at least 90% of the time, my runs are miserable. If I drink too much the night before a run, I pay for it dearly. The truth is, running is hard, and living anything other than a healthy lifestyle when I'm not running is going to make it that much harder. And signing up for races fulfills the competitive spirit that has hung on inside me since my days as a competitive gymnast. Will I ever win a race? Doubtful. But I can always strive to be better than I was, and the atmosphere of friendly competition found at these races is so much fun. I've loved climbing the ranks over the years, and I've also loved high-fiving the ladies who edge me out to place higher than me, as they push me to work harder as well. 35 was a year full of PRs for me - I earned one at every distance minus the 8k (because I didn't run one) - and it's exciting to think with enough hard work, I can still get better despite getting older.
I was so happy to be healthy enough to start my birthday with a run. Back in April, when I was in that dark place of "injured runner" status, I desperately asked the magic 8 ball if I would be running quality miles by my birthday, which seemed ages away. It's reply:
As silly as it was, I clung on to this "certainty" to help get me through the rehab process. And by June 28th, there I was on the boardwalk at 5:30am, ready to get in some miles. Finishing a pain-free run with a view like this (and a quick chat with a new friend) was icing on the birthday cake:
The rest of the day was spent on the beach with my guy Ry and my girls, Mama Fancy included:
Mom calls that her Gary Busey hair. Incredibly accurate comparison.
Brynn partied a little too hard at her cousin's sleepover the night before, because she asked to cuddle with me and fell asleep on my lap shortly thereafter.
Happy Birthday to me, indeed!
This huge crab was reeking havoc on us, scurrying at our feet and hiding under our beach chairs and cart...with my horoscope sign being cancer, I thought his presence was entirely appropriate.
From the beach, Mom took the girls back to her house to spend the night, giving me and Ryan a little time to be off duty from the parenting thing. We rode our bikes with our neighbors out to our favorite Mexican place...I couldn't resist putting my new basket to the test:
In case you're wondering, that there in the Surf n Santa insulated cup is a jalapeno infused margarita, courtesy of the Smiths. Ice cold, yet spicy and delicious!
The dinner was delish:
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As was the company:
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After dinner, we stopped off at home to grab some long sleeve shirts and cruised down to the oceanfront to hear one of our favorite local bands play at one of our favorite spots. I probably annoyed Ryan by stopping by the aquarium to snap this shot, but he got over it:
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The band sounded great, and the old guys tearing up the dance floor provided endless entertainment:Despite all that, I often hesitate when people ask me how old I am. It's not a memory issue. It's an age issue...as in I don't feel my age, so I have an issue remembering it. I mean, I can still do this:
Without a doubt, I have running to thank for feeling as good as I do. I haven't always loved running - I started about 7 years ago to try to lose some baby weight after Brynn was born - but it has done so much for me in the short time it has been a part of my life. Running keeps me sane (although some might say this is questionable). Running keeps me honest. If I don't work at it, it shows. If I don't eat well at least 90% of the time, my runs are miserable. If I drink too much the night before a run, I pay for it dearly. The truth is, running is hard, and living anything other than a healthy lifestyle when I'm not running is going to make it that much harder. And signing up for races fulfills the competitive spirit that has hung on inside me since my days as a competitive gymnast. Will I ever win a race? Doubtful. But I can always strive to be better than I was, and the atmosphere of friendly competition found at these races is so much fun. I've loved climbing the ranks over the years, and I've also loved high-fiving the ladies who edge me out to place higher than me, as they push me to work harder as well. 35 was a year full of PRs for me - I earned one at every distance minus the 8k (because I didn't run one) - and it's exciting to think with enough hard work, I can still get better despite getting older.
I was so happy to be healthy enough to start my birthday with a run. Back in April, when I was in that dark place of "injured runner" status, I desperately asked the magic 8 ball if I would be running quality miles by my birthday, which seemed ages away. It's reply:
As silly as it was, I clung on to this "certainty" to help get me through the rehab process. And by June 28th, there I was on the boardwalk at 5:30am, ready to get in some miles. Finishing a pain-free run with a view like this (and a quick chat with a new friend) was icing on the birthday cake:
Brynn partied a little too hard at her cousin's sleepover the night before, because she asked to cuddle with me and fell asleep on my lap shortly thereafter.
This huge crab was reeking havoc on us, scurrying at our feet and hiding under our beach chairs and cart...with my horoscope sign being cancer, I thought his presence was entirely appropriate.
From the beach, Mom took the girls back to her house to spend the night, giving me and Ryan a little time to be off duty from the parenting thing. We rode our bikes with our neighbors out to our favorite Mexican place...I couldn't resist putting my new basket to the test:
In case you're wondering, that there in the Surf n Santa insulated cup is a jalapeno infused margarita, courtesy of the Smiths. Ice cold, yet spicy and delicious!
The dinner was delish:
As was the company:
And the view:
One last shot of a potential geriatric love connection and we were back on our bikes and heading home.
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It was kinda neat ending my birthday fun at the oceanfront, right where it started 18 hours earlier. It was such a great day, and I'm thrilled that it began with a run, just like the 8 ball told me it would.
What a wild ride 35 was for me. Forget the curveball...I think life threw me some high heat, and the best I could do was foul it off. I think 35 was a solid at bat, but now I'm ready to step up to the plate and knock 36 out of the park...but not without a little help from my friends.
Jeffrey Maier, helping Derek Jeter's ball get over the fence 18 years ago. Photo from USA Today.
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