On turning 27

So I turned 27 yesterday. While birthdays often bring about days of introspection and contemplation about the direction of my life and oh how the time flies moments of amazement, I surprised myself by being pretty chill. In fact, I didn't give it much thought at all. Except for when I was tearing into the gifts my parents brought me because PRESENTS PRESENTS PRESENTS BIRTHDAYS ARE AWESOME.

My big treat to myself was working from home so I could do all those loads of laundry and finally clean the damn kitchen floor in between conference calls and emails. And yeah, it felt pretty good. After a home cooked meal with B and my parents I stayed up late drinking gallons of pinot and watching Bridesmaids for the fourth time this month. And that was awesome.

I've come a long way from waking up with birthday ring pops stuck in my hair and puking in trash cans in the cafeteria in front of my entire extended family and an ex-boyfriend amiright? Although if you were to proffer me with shots of Patron and ring pops ain't no way in hell I'd turn that shit down. Hell, it's only Friday SOMEBODY GET ME 12 SHOTS AND A SHIT TON OF CANDY.

On my way to work this morning though, I started thinking. Twenty seven, huh? Is that still considered mid-20s? Or have I crossed over the threshold into late-20s? Either way, I'm now a smidge too close to 30 for my comfort. I feel like I'm reaching that point at Thanksgiving dinner when you realize you should probably unbutton your pants because things are getting a little too tight. Thirty is big. Thirty is when you really need to have your shit together. You need to wear more clothes that are dry clean only when you're 30. And stop waking up in the bathtub. And you're probably not allowed to throw things very often. Thirty is kind of scary.

But 27 is a pretty good place to be if you ask me. I read a book this summer that said that runners are their fastest at 27. This is my year, mothaflippas! Yesterday was not only my birthday, but it also marked the one-month-to-go mark until the Philadelphia Marathon. BOOM! First race as a 27-year-old. I have a good feeling about this one, you guys. And not just because I've been training my ass of this year. But because I'll be 27. Science is on my side. My body is ready. Damn that last line sounded pretty creepy but I'm going to keep it in there. I'm 27. I do what I want. Plus, at 27, it's still socially acceptable for me to drink too much and get weird in public, as I am so apt to do. Run hard play hard.

This will be a good weekend. My parents are in town, I've got a nice long run planned and a bottle of Patron to eat. Yippie kay yay, see you on Monday. Most likely pale, shaky, and slightly confused.

Tweet