That 38 is greater than 35 is mathematically indisputable. But when you are dealing with age rather than numbers, it's debatable. Most of us stopped looking forward to birthdays somewhere around 21. There aren't a whole lot of age-related perks beyond that. At 25 we can become congressman and our car insurance premiums go down. At 30 we can become senators, and at 35 we can run for President of the United States. But let's face it, most of us abandoned our political aspirations shortly after turning 21 (sometimes for related reasons).

So, for those of us in the large window between 21 and 64 (when I suppose we start looking forward to finally enjoying some return on those FICA withholdings) birthdays are mostly an amplified reminder of our mortality. I recently "celebrated" my 38^th birthday. I use the scornful quotation marks because the last time I felt like I actually celebrated a birthday was 1977 when I unwrapped an X-Wing Fighter and Luke Skywalker action figure before I went to school. Come to think of it, that was an awesome birthday, but I digress.

As I seek to understand what drives me out of bed at 5:00 a.m. several mornings a week, in hot weather and cold, to run, spin or swim before I begin the trek to work there are some obvious answers. I want to look good, I want to be healthy, I want to feel better, it improves my energy level. At core, though, there's something about exercise that makes me feel more alive. And as we march inexorably toward the opposite of alive, I guess we start seeking more and more ways to enjoy and expand the span that we have left.

At some point along the way, I began to realize that exercise was more fun for me if I was preparing for something. I like to feel like I am running toward something good instead of away from something bad. So I signed up for some 10k's, and eventually a sprint triathlon. I detailed my first tri experience in an essay that I linked to my first blog post. I had hoped to follow-up with an essay the following year after competing in the same race, but I ended up missing the race due to an outpatient procedure (talk about your reminders of mortality, but that's another story), and so had to wait until a couple of weeks ago when I again ventured south of Atlanta for the Peachtree City Sprint Triathlon.

Two years ago I went to the race with my friend Matt. This time we had a couple of other friends meet us there, including one I had recruited/encouraged to the sport. For most races in the area, I wake up at 0 dark thirty and drive to the race venue, but for this race I wanted to travel the night before so I could stretch the time I'd get to spend with my friends.

I like to do as well as I can in these races, but I am by no means intense in my race preparation, and ultimately my friendships are more important to me than race results. Consequently, Matt and I enjoyed a heavy Italian meal, a few beers, and watched a hilarious movie until late into the night. My friend Mark stayed with us briefly before joining the more serious guys already asleep in another room. We finally slept, and the alarm rang early.

Matt brewed some really bad coffee while I took stock of my gear, checking and re-checking my race bag. I also started praying that I would be able to take care of business before the race started. I can train all I want, practice my transitions, and visualize my finish - but the bane of my racing existence is having to go to the bathroom during a race. Fully 80% of my pre-race anxiety revolves around that issue, and that Saturday morning was no exception.

I'll leave off most of the details, but suffice it to say that I took care of things as best as I was able at the hotel, mounted my bike and Matt and I rode to the transition area. Mark and my other friend, Jason, were already there. Mark has been my friend for longer than either of us cares to admit. We went to college together, were post-college roommates, met our wives almost simultaneously, and had our first kids and bought our first houses all within weeks of each other. In many ways our lives have been strangely parallel, yet during all of that time I have beaten him in virtually every athletic endeavor we've attempted, until recently.

Mark took up biking just a few months ago, and demonstrated an immediate aptitude for it. Our families vacationed together at the beach this summer, and we went on a couple of rides. It was humbling. He's in another league. I knew that if I had any hopes of beating Mark (it was his first tri) I had to perform impeccably in both transitions and the other disciplines, because he was going to crush me on the bike.

I knew Jason would beat me, even though I don't think he'd competed in anything like this since college. Jason has the build of an endurance athlete and was a Division I college swimmer. He'd made the effort to travel to Peachtree City for a trial run in the weeks leading up to the race. I never had any illusions of matching him.

I'd known all of these guys for more than 10 years, and Mark more than 20. I'd been to all their weddings, known their wives before they were girlfriends, and seen their children grow from infants. We'd helped each other through job losses, faith crises, critically ill kids and provided each other welcome respite from the relentless drum of stresses that assail husbands and fathers. You reach a stage in life where time with friends is harder to come by, but perhaps more important. I've run plenty of races alone, but I remember the ones I ran with friends.

As I found my spot in transition and set up, I began to note some benefits of age. What had seemed alien and complicated two years before seemed comfortable and familiar that morning. Mark, Matt and I gathered in a cluster of similarly-numbered swimmers (Jason was near the front) and waited for the race to start. As we waited, we all commented that the most attractive subset of women at the race were the ones in their early 40's (a benefit of triathlons is that everyone's age is written on their calf). It dawned on me that maybe women in their early 40's have more time to train because they no longer have kids in diapers, but whatever the cause, they were an attractive bunch. I told this story to my wife, and it's the one time she's ever described my noticing other women as "encouraging."

I am quite sure that no one took notice of me in that crowd of flat stomachs and chiseled pectorals, but in the two years since my first tri I had shed 15 pounds and hardened some muscles of my own. I was ready to race, my adrenaline pulsed, the gun sounded... and I had to go to the bathroom.

It was disheartening that my first thought as I entered the water was "I wonder if I can pee?" I couldn't. Better men than I might be able to struggle through the water at their best pace while absorbing blows to the face and still manage to pee, but I am not one of those men. After a modestly successful swim I emerged from the water with a full bladder.

While the bike is by no means my strength, I'd been working on it. Mark had given me some technical tips, and I had greatly enhanced my strength and endurance through some "extreme spin" classes at the YMCA. For the first time in a tri, I felt like I was racing rather than riding through the course. I was passing folks nearly as much as I was passed. But I still had to pee, and I couldn't seem to get it off my mind. On a few of the downhill stretches I stood up and coasted while I tried to take care of it (gross, I know, but I had PR's to consider). At one point about three miles in I was coasting through a long stretch when I found myself nearly alone, and I was just about to take care of it, but Mark suddenly passed me like a rocket, and exhorted me to keep pedaling. I did, but I never caught him. And I still had to pee.

Since the last time I'd run the race, the race coordinators had extended the bike course by about 2 miles. Consequently, it was going to be difficult to compare my times. In my first tri I'd completed the shorter course in 1:33:18. I'd trained more since then, and participated in a couple of other triathlons, so my goal in this longer course was 1:25. But my bladder was starting to cause a real problem.

As I transitioned to the run I finally relented, left the course and ran to the port-a-john against the helpful advice of race volunteers directing me back to the course. I timed my stop at 1:30. Ninety precious seconds in a race where I had goals and pride at stake. I determined to make up some time in the run.

As I ran, I passed several who had passed me on the bike. Halfway in I felt strong enough to pick up the pace, and my watch was telling me I was on track to make my goal. I remembered my first race two years ago - how it had been so hard to simply keep running, fighting the temptation to stop and walk. I was in demonstrably better shape this time, and it was gratifying. Still, it bothered me that I'd given up ninety precious seconds.

I approached the finish at a solid clip, cheered on by familiar voices - Mark and Jason among them. I received my medal, grabbed a bottle of water, and walked toward my friends with a smile. They'd finished stronger (Jason, in fact, finished 3^rd in our age group), but I had finished strong, and it felt pretty good.

We posed for pictures, noshed on the free food, and told stories about our race experiences. We were all smiling, all healthy, all glad to be together.

We're all gaining on 40, and have 12 kids between us. A couple of us have thinning patches on the top of our head. It wasn't on our minds then, but if you catch any of us at the right time, I imagine we could list things we'd hoped to accomplish by now and haven't, adventures we hoped to experience and fear have passed us by. But in the moment captured here, we are young, happy and very alive. There's something enduring in this image, something about brotherhood. Something that will remain.

(Picture courtesy of Matt's wife.  I'm the good looking one)

I've turned 38 in the brief time since that race, and I'm trying to view my 38th birthday as a mile marker on a long journey to a welcome destination rather than another turn of the odometer on an aging car. There's something more comfortable, something more familiar about this aging skin, and I've learned a few things along the way - among them that this journey is a lot easier, and a lot richer, with friends.

Oh, my goal? 1:24:57 is less than 1:25, and a lot less than 1:33:18, so maybe 38 really is greater than 35, but next year I'm breaking 1:20.