Thirty

There are certain birthdays that signal milestones. At eighteen, you're an adult. Twenty one, you're allowed to drink alcohol. Twenty-five, you can rent a car. Apparently, thirty is another milestone. All through my twenty-ninth year, people jokingly asked if I was twenty-nine for the first time, since this is the age women supposedly say they are if they don't want to admit their age.

The last run of my 20s was spent, where else? with the Redwoods.

I don't think I'll ever be one of those people to lie about their age. My twenty-first birthday was spent shrouded in uncertainty of whether or not the next one would come. To be "29 again" is to diminish the importance of the fact that I'm still alive almost ten years later. After nearly losing my life, I can no longer take the days and years for granted. As my age advances, I know that I've been here one more year. My plan is to be that eighty year old runner complaining about how slow she is.

To celebrate my thirtieth birthday, Matt and I took a long weekend to southern Oregon. We spent a couple nights in a yurt on Lake Selmac and in the Rogue Valley, two of my favorite places.

 Armed with all the board games we own, we created a tournament. Nightly winners were announced and an overall champion was crowned (me!! with a last minute tie breaker round). What I love most about our weekends away is that we have each other's undivided attention.

 

We wandered the quaint downtown shops of Grants Pass, watched the sunset over Lake Selmac, spent an entire evening trying to make the biggest splash in the swimming pool, and cheered each other on at half marathon race day.

Gifts from my sister: kitty pot holder and a new hand mixer. My most recent batch of danishes finally killed the last one.

I'm looking forward to another decade of life lessons, adventures, and love. Bring on old age, haha ;)