Almost 30.

Holy shit. I'm 28. How the hell did that happen? Where did the time go?

Am I happy to be getting older? Meh. I'm looking forward to my 30s but I worry. I mean, you guys, I thought I'd have a six-pack by now. My core is still soft and my ass is still cellulite-ridden. When will I have time to devote to CrossFit? Am I going to be physically average forever? What the hell am I doing with my life?

It makes me worry about accomplishments. Then I give myself a mental bitch-slap and get it together. I am proud of the life I have even though its not necessarily the life I wanted. Sure, I thought I'd be married with three kids by now. I thought I'd be a homeowner. I thought I'd own a shop. What I have instead is an amazing family, amazing friends, a job I love (when it's not making me crazy) a lot of stamps on my passport and the hard to come by IDM (i'mma do me) attitude . I don't believe in planning anymore. I don't believe in making myself miserable to please others. I do believe in being open to the possibilities of a path I've never walked before. I have no idea what the next year is going to be like and while I'm far from being ecstatic about the uncertainty of it all, I've learned to accept it and embrace it.

So yeah, I still have the athleticism of a stuffed animal. I'm working on it. I'm working on all of it. That counts for something, right?