THE PROBLEM

Greetings,

You may be wondering what prompted me to decide to run a marathon. So, I'll try to explain over the next few entries, starting with this one...

As I stated in MY VERY FIRST BLOG, it seems that there is a consensus among the late-twenty-something cohort that turning thirty is the onset of some type of terminal illness. Turning thirty is a guaranteed panic attack just waiting to happen. Turning thirty is the official end of youthfulness. And if you're a woman (like me), and you're still single (like me), with no children (like me), you're a prime candidate to be taken behind the stables and put out of your misery.

For some reason, we have been conditioned to feel this way. I've seen it time and time again: women, and men for that matter, get depressed and sulk as this milestone birthday approaches.

Although I am very aware of this sentiment, I can't help but to think that I may have been subconsciously programmed to feel the same way. I don't know when it's triggered, this feeling of utter hopelessness and doom that creeps up from below and tries to pull us down. But I won't wait for it in fear. I plan to face the beast head on, with a weapon I call active denial. What's active denial? Stay tuned...


Off to bed now,

Almost Thirty