In two months, I’ll turn 47.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about aging, about my body, my muscles, my strength, and perhaps more importantly, my mind.
After nearly three decades of climbing, I find myself in an interesting place. I’m still strong. Still building muscle. Still pushing myself physically and discovering what my body is capable of. In some ways, I’m stronger and more capable than I’ve ever been.
But aging is an interesting thing. There’s the physical reality of it, the subtle changes in recovery, the aches and pains that seem to appear out of nowhere, the hormonal shifts, and the realization that maintaining strength requires a little more intention than it once did.

And then there’s the mental side.

The stories we tell ourselves about getting older. The expectations society places on women, particularly as we move through our 40s and beyond. The temptation to measure ourselves against a younger version of who we once were.
I’m learning that one of the greatest challenges of aging isn’t necessarily physical. It’s learning to let go of the idea that youth is the standard by which we should measure ourselves.

I don’t want to spend the second half of my life chasing the first.

I want to keep building strength, not out of fear of losing it, but because I love what this body allows me to experience. I want to remain curious, capable, resilient, and willing to try hard. I want to appreciate the muscles I’ve spent decades developing, the wisdom gained through experience, and the mental fortitude that comes from years of showing up.

Aging isn’t always graceful. Sometimes it’s frustrating, humbling, and uncomfortable. But it’s also a privilege.

At almost 47, I’m not interested in proving that age is just a number. Age is real. It changes us.
I’m interested in discovering just how much is still possible, while learning to embrace the person I’m becoming.