At the risk of taking a number too seriously, I was pondering this monumental birthday on my morning run. I won’t lie, the number is a bit daunting to me. I’ve been dreading it for an entire year. In fact, I’ve been saying I’m 40 ever since I turned 39, just trying to get used to the idea.
I know, it’s just a number. But I am vain. I will admit it. I don’t want to get old. I don’t want the wrinkles and flab and aches and pains that accompany old age.
But I realized something this morning while I was jogging along the road, sweat beading on my upper lip and dripping down my back (it was HOT!) I have spent the whole last year dreading 40 and trying to get used to the idea that I barely enjoyed the last year of being in my 30s. What kind of existence is that??
I look around at the women I know who are in there 40s, 50s, 60s and beyond. I see beautiful, confident, inspiring women. I want to be one of those women.
40 is just a number. It’s up to you whether or not you get old.
I had all these goals for my 40th birthday. I would be at a certain weight, I would run a certain amount of miles, I would . . . the list goes on.
But this morning? I decided to ignore the number and celebrate the day.
I didn’t get on the scale. I didn’t time my run or count my miles.
I decided to count my blessings instead.
So far, it’s been a LOVELY day. And I don’t feel a day over . . . 40. HA!