The Elder Athlete

I bought the domain name so I guess it’s official. I have a book, a blog and a website in the works. I got 1200 hits in 2 hours off of a recent phytness blog. I don’t know who they are and I don’t usually care, because I get paid in catharsis.

So I have decided to write “The Elder Athlete.” It’s not some puffy idea to possibly bring your blood pressure down, or knock a few points off your LDL, it’s about sparing yourself a life of abject misery and doctor bills.

It’s about being relevant, on the scene, in the moment and still be able to put food on the table if your Social Security runs out.

I am the product of good habits, determination and the will to live. I speak with authority because I have made all the gaffes, belly flops and suffered through all the pregnant moments. I went in and I came out. Alive..and more.

Two years ago, I was in a locked down unit at the VA hospital using a walker, heavily medicated, sans belt and shoelaces. I was shuffling around the ward trying to figure out how I got there. Hard lessons.

I was weighing in at 230 pounds with a palpable blood pressure number. I’ve been there.  I came back stronger, fitter, sleeker and wiser.

I’m talking about fitness when it really counts, these so-called declining years. Your seventies and eighties can be a hell of unimaginable proportion.

You will be joining the orange bottle club and be trying to get family members to give you a ride to your weekly, daily, monthly doctor visits.

You’ll be grousing about the cost of insulin and co-pays. Insurance companies will forget to call you back. You want some of that?

You need to be the steward of your vessel. It’s about relieving that pain in your pump.

The good news: we’re living longer. But you want to live, not exist. You don’t want to be part of your parlor furniture. A potted plant. Irrelevant. You want to stay? Then you surely want to play.

Your later years can be the best of times or the worst of times. You can reside in Malfunction Junction…or not. You can sit around Starbuck’s and trade doctor visit stories with your golf buddies…or not.

My bona fides: I am a 72 year old certified personal trainer, a nutrition specialist, a chef, a showman and a loser. But I still have rubber on the end of my pencil.

I will share mistakes, anecdotes, wrong turns, how to feed yourself, how to train effectively, (read: injury free) and get your mind right. I’ll share what’s bullshit and what’s not in personal fitness.

Most importantly…and wonderfully, it’s never too late. I know how to do this. Because I have.

Ready for your finest challenges? Good. They’re up ahead.

See you in the funnies.

Please note: I welcome comments that are offensive, illogical or off-topic from readers in all states of consciousness.

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