Vicky said this morning, “I’d like to tell my [future] kid or something that the year I turned 30, I ran a marathon and climbed Mount Whitney.”

Doesn’t that sound cool?! It immediately attracted me to the prospect. Maybe if I had ambitious physical goals like that, I wouldn’t be so scared of turning 30 because that would mean 30 isn’t over-the-hill, it isn’t official-boring-grownup-status, it doesn’t mean my life will be a decline from that point on.

The other thing I’m holding on to with my fingers crossed is something my ex and his friend William had said before, that women are at the peaks of their beauty in their early 30s. Something about still having the glow of youth with the sophistication and confidence that comes with wisdom gained through experience. (Not their words, I’m assuming and hoping that’s what it is, as opposed to, say, they just have a fetish for older women. GAACK, look, I still think of 30 as “older”!)

I’m gonna go up to San Jose to visit the Northern Cal buddies the weekend before my birthday. I already emailed them to clear their social calendars. They’re great wholesome people whom I know would not want to just sit at a bar and get me drunk. At that time, I would’ve known some of them just over a year. Wow, I can’t believe I haven’t even known them a year right now. They’re such a big part of my life. Well, my online life, anyway.