39.

Nine years ago, with a deployment date postponed and no birthday plans, I signed up for a North Face 50 miler at Bear Mountain, grabbed a last-minute ticket from RDU to JFK, and spent my 30th birthday running my first 50. I celebrated after an incredibly long day with a beer in an ice bath before I passed out in the Suffern Marriott around 9pm.

Hard to believe it's been that long, or how much life has changed in less than a decade. I ran a slower, less painful, and way more fun 50 on the same (crazy tough) course Saturday with Tommy Ryan, a 260 pound friend of Seth's whose finish was nothing short of a mind-over-matter miracle. Other than the Hogeye Marathon a few weeks ago, I myself haven't run more than 6 miles in over a year, and I haven't done an ultra in four. It was good to get one under my belt, although the ol' joints are a tad rusty. It was awesome, though, to run across the finish line with kids yelling "Go Mom!" (Or, in the case of Mikayla the jerk, "I can run faster than you!")

I definitely passed out at 9pm after one beer again, though.

Seth was an absolute trooper and brought F+F out to the course twice (this is the Nieman + Ryan kids terrorizing the aid station at mile 41)

and I was so grateful I took them off his hands so he could get papers graded Sunday. Which meant that the post-race pedicure I had promised myself had to be shared. F+F had such a good time I'm probably never going to be able to sneak a solo foot massage again.

We've spent all week celebrating (and I've spent it limping about and feeling those nine years), mostly because Finley loves any occasion for a party.

Seth ordered every dessert imaginable for my birthday/ post-run blowout, and who can blame the kid for enjoying chocolate covered strawberries for breakfast?

We cruised the aisles in style

and hit up Chili's, a family fave for the table games and 2 for 1 wine.

And when the ever-thoughtful Seth planned a date night and hired a babysitter on the big day, I cancelled and we took the kids, their friends, and said babysitter to the Captain's Table (biker bar with a giant sandbox) instead. It was an absolutely perfect celebration of another trip around the sun with the fun, funny, sand-and-chocolate covered people I love.

I wouldn't trade a second of the last nine years; and if being fatter, slower, more sleep-deprived, and way less glamorous is the price one pays for waking up to these little bed-stealing faces... well, cheers.