I turned 40 this week. It was actually no big deal being that I dealt with the panic attacks brought on by a fear of mortality when I was 38. So I was free to glide right in on the runway without a single bump.
I had my first race as a 40 year old today. It was a local 5 mile run. And it didn't feel any different from any other race - I ran the distance a little faster than the last time. In fact, when I think back to my first 5K, which I guess was about 8 years ago, I remember finishing with no fuel in the tank and being sore for days. Today, I'm getting ready to mow the lawn and still have a swim to get in. So, what does another birthday really mean?
I'm asked occasionally if I wished I'd had my son a few years earlier, so I would be younger when he was a teen, etc. I used to think maybe so, but now it doesn't make any sense. Mary and I had Ian at the right time, it's pretty clear.
So all is quiet today. And I'm feeling OK. I'll keep this post short.