This year, on the morning of my 39th birthday, I woke up with a feeling of dread.
There I was, in the last gasps of Thirtysomething. And there it sat: 4-0. But not just 40. The next part of life.
There were good things about being in my forties: I wouldn’t be bouncing a baby on an exercise ball at 2am or chasing a toddler around Target. There were also bad things: I wouldn’t be bouncing a baby on an exercise ball at 2am or chasing a toddler around Target.
In my forties, both kids would be at school all day. In my forties, I wouldn’t be at the playground on an Tuesday morning in October. At some point in my forties, I wouldn’t need to wipe anyone’s nose but my own.
I can already sense my boys needing me less. That’s both a slight relief and a terrible heartbreak.
But this much is true about the next chapter: I will no longer have an excuse for wearing mismatched shoes to the supermarket (yes, it has happened). More importantly, I won’t have an excuse for not taking care of myself.
Ideally, I’d like to wake up on the morning of my 40th birthday knowing that I’m doing all I can for my health. Dare I say, I’d like to look and feel better on my 40th birthday than I did on my 30th.
Right now, I’m in okay shape, but not great. I’m at a healthy weight, but parts are pooching and bulging in ways they didn’t before. Lately, I’ve been blowing off exercise to work (read: watch TiVoed episodes of “What Not To Wear”) and eating cereal for lunch because I’m feeling lazy. In short, it’s possible that I’ve let myself go a bit.
I turn 40 in six months. So in these next six months, I’m turning it up a notch. I’m recommitting to regular exercise and refining my eating habits. I’ll be posting my fitness plan and explaining how I’m changing my diet.
Who’s with me? If you would like to start your own Project 40 (or Project 34 or 52 or 29 or whatever age you choose) leave a comment and let me know. I’d be thrilled to have some company.