I am signing up for my second Tough Mudder, which comes only 4 days after my 31st birthday. Anyone that knows me and has discussed “age” with me knows that I think that age don’t mean a thang, unless you’re 31. 31 is my “scary age”. Everyone has one and most of the times, they are unjustifiable and ridiculous. For me, it’s no exception. My mother had me when she was 31 and I always thought of her as an “old” parent. I mean, she was. Back in the dinosaur days when I was a kid, women had babies at 18, 20, whatever. 31 was practically the entry age for AARP. So the thought that here I am, single, renting an apartment with a roommate, skipping from job to job with no real desire to settle down here in San Francisco, and now approaching the big 3-1 can be a bit daunting. So I have decided to do something scarier, to distract me from what could be the scariest thing ever…aging.
Tough Mudder here I come, Sept 8, Maryland. Be there in person or in spirit as I usher myself into a new chapter of my life. Mall-walkers, you can suck it.
Chicks Like Sports Too 