December 1, 2024The Best Laid Plans
‘Stick or quit’ is not my usual conversation with myself. It’s on my mind now, and I’m not sure if it’s my psyche playing with me, introducing the ‘quit’ word to get me going again. Or is it that time? It’s been some year or two. After a challenging 2023 that threw up significant life changes, I decided to throw down a misogi challenge to myself. To run a marathon. Something I’m not built for, something that would tax every atom of my ageing body.
But life got in the way again this year, with a serious cycling accident in April. Being a combination of stubborn and optimistic, I thought I could still run my marathon in November. But unfortunately, a side effect of my head injury was vertigo, which seriously curtailed my training. I started, genuinely intending to train for the marathon, even running while wearing a sling after my collarbone operation. The vertigo couldn’t be overcome. When out running, the road would sharply drop away to my left side as though a gentle jog was morphing into a big dipper ride. It’s not ideal base training.
While the vertigo eventually cleared, weeks of training time vanished. The grown-up thing to do was to postpone my marathon until 2025. My logic was that I had plenty of time to train correctly. It’s still annoyingly complex, however. I struggle to keep up with the volume of training. My knee problem from many weeks ago has now resurfaced. I spend much of my time feeling sore in one part or another, as my five to six days a week in the gym or on the treadmill and road taxes my reserves. Taking 400mg of Ibufrofen before bed on run days doesn’t seem like a healthy long-term practice.
Father Time Is Undefeated
It’s led to a lot of reflection for me. Is this it? Stick or quit time? Since I was 67 in late May, have I reached the point where severe physical decline starts? After a lifetime of cycling, I still grieve for the exercise I loved so much. But after two trips to the ICU, suddenly making a mockery of my 50 accident-free years, it’s not fair of me to put my wife and family and friends through more anxiety.
My inner voice said this wasn’t a problem, and I could get my dopamine and serotonin hits from running as my endurance exercise drug. While my inner voice, egged on by my brain, said this was the perfect solution, the body called a time-out and said, “screw you.”
I’ve read many studies on how exercise is the key to a strong healthspan. No shuffling around for me. I’ll hit the gym and road hard and be physically vital as I enter my seventies. Father Time is undefeated, as the boxing fraternity tends to say. I’m wondering if it’s my turn.
The fitness bros, the scientists, and all the other cognitive bias sources I study say that I can turn the tide. But my body is tending to side with Father Time, and I’m leaning back on the ropes like a heavyweight boxer who has suddenly found his legs have betrayed him.
The Social Element Of Training
Stick or quit? I’ve gone around the alternatives. I may retreat to the gym and stay in shape with weights, stationary bikes, upper body erg machines, and rowing machines. That sounds like a sensible way to stay fit and minimise the battering I’m doling out to my body. I can make a case for it, and in a year, I will be in top form, awash with functional muscle, decent cardio, and flexibility.
This gym-based option also scares the crap out of me. I’ve turned my back on the sport that allowed me to experience nature and an enriching social environment while slamming out 60, 70 and 80-mile cycling adventures in the UK and Europe. But no worries, running gets me outdoors and offers major challenges such as half and full-marathon events. And some of my former cycling friends also like to mix in some running, so the social aspect remains.
Am I Being Unrealistic?
Nagging injuries and permanent soreness are flagging worrying realities for me. Should a 67-year-old, 195cm tall, 110kg lump be putting himself through pounding runs? A wave of gloom engulfs me as the prospect of no running presents itself. Is this it? My sporting opportunities are plucked from me one by one. I get driven indoors to the gym. Then, that option starts to drift away from me. It is a metaphor for a shrinking life, eventually shrinking to a hospital bed and then a final destination. Perhaps it’s not a ‘stick or quit’ decision, more of a gradual decline.
It’s not my style to think this way. In my darkest moments, I have always pushed forward. That’s been the pattern of my life, even from my early days. Recent years have seen me struggle through long periods of mental health challenges, with the last two years offering up 27 fractures, a brain injury, a haemothorax, and a punctured pelvic artery. But in all those cases, it has never occurred to me to stop moving forward. In reflective moments, I have realised that I can’t cope with drawing back from this relentless forward movement. I know that if I stop, that will dismantle my spirit.
So what do I do about it? Do I accept Father Time as the Jake Paul to my Mike Tyson and go and sit on the stool? Do I set aside any thoughts of a misogi, take to the gym, and spare my joints and powers of recovery any more insults?
So, Do I Stick Or Quit?
Stick or quit? I guess I sound like an old man whining or a lion in winter raging against the loss of his powers. Whatever. It’s my reality, and it challenges my core drivers. It’s existential to some extent. My lizard brain tells me this is a threat and must be faced up to or run away from. Father Time is dancing on his toes in the neutral corner while I take a standing eight count from the referee. (How many fingers is he holding up as an aside?)
That being the case, I must press on. I fear an accelerated unravelling of fitness and health if I back down. Perhaps aches and pains are just the price of the game in one’s sixties. I’m going to approach things from several angles and see if there’s a route through this—a path to decent physical fitness and all the mood and mental health benefits it brings.
I’ve got a decent running coach already in Coach Parry, and I have agreed with the team there to back off training until the first week of January 2025 to give me time to recover and, where needed, heal. Then I’m coming back with a lower running load. I aim to run twice a week and do one aerobic session on the Wattbike at the gym. I’ve got a seriously good coaching resource and don’t use it enough. It’s time to change that.
I strength train twice a week, and for runners over the age of 50, this is key. Injury becomes inevitable without dealing with the natural loss of muscle mass older adults face. But I need to adjust here, too. I’m prone to getting myself into some pretty full-on lifting sessions at the gym – for example; I bench-pressed more than I have in this decade of my life only this week. How an allegedly intelligent man thinks he can train for a marathon and set personal bests in the gym is a winning strategy is beyond me. I will do a decent weekly workout with weights and a second session with body weight and resistance bands.
Recovery And Maintenance
Recovery hasn’t been taken seriously enough. I’m training five and sometimes six times a week. Rest days are quite often forced because I’m dog tired, rather than them being planned. Again, the scientific research on the importance of rest stretches from here to Mars. It’s time for me not simply to read this stuff but also act on it. Yes, the facts apply to me too.
One area I have made good progress in is mobility. I’ve followed a simple programme that focuses on hip region mobility, and I’m a lot better for it. I intend to continue with this.
The recovery from both my accidents was massively helped by working with a top-class physiotherapist, Stephen Davies. I intend to have a few sessions with him in December to see if I can get ahead of the game and improve my knee health. I’ve twice torn the meniscus in my right knee in the last three years, and I have moderate osteoarthritis in both knees. I’m convinced – so, thankfully, is my physio – that surgical intervention and steroid injections are not the answer. I will be ok if I can focus on and succeed with better knee health. I don’t have any other obvious injury problems. Just the zillions of aches and pains that being old delivers free of charge.
What’s It To Be?
So what, you say. Some old guy is banging on because his training is going badly. Why doesn’t he go and sit down and get old, like other old guys? Physically, I see what happens to people my age and younger if exercise isn’t a priority. I don’t have to look far beyond my own family to see the risks of doing next to no exercise. That’s a significant consideration in my stick or quit dilemma. The niggling physical injuries are probably a better option than drowning in an increasing number of age-related health problems.
I want to live on my terms for as long as possible. Having read this screed, I know you will think I tend to be a fool. But not as badly as some of my exercise excesses would lead you to think. I will not willingly let all my choices be taken away from me one by one. That way lies a deterioration of mental health to go with the physical decline.
That’s not why I’ve struggled and fought to get this far. Nanakorobi yaoki has been my principle. And that will continue for as long as possible. I have no wish to live forever. I will take the years allotted to me by God, fate, chance or genetics. It’s the quality of the years gifted to me that I’m concerned about.
Will I run the New York Marathon next year? It’s going to be tough. I have physical challenges now, and by November next year, I’ll be 68. But without a big challenge, I can see even more challenges ahead of me. But sometimes, executing the plan is the prize. The benefits of continuing to train may be more valuable than the endorphin-laden achievement of crossing the finish line. Watch this space. [...]