Old Athletes Never Die They Simply Fade Away: Actually, Not So Much

I have been thinking about this topic quite a bit of late, especially while out for my little runs, which these days I refer to more as “shuffles.”  For most of my life, or at least the first four and a half decades of my life, I was a consistent runner.  I use the term loosely, partly because I am aware what true “runners” do with 5ks, 10ks, half-marathons, and marathons, and partly because of one of the idiot adults that was around for my upbringing who would give me crap because he insisted what I did was “jogging” not running because of my pace, or what he perceived as a lack thereof.  Once I was done as an athlete, having played football and lacrosse in high school and college, and having boxed for a few years in high school as a way to increase my fitness in between the two seasons, I took to running 5ks.  My best time in a 5k was just over twenty-two minutes, not blazing, but not bad.  My best-ever mile time when running a time trial at the end of fall workouts for lacrosse, was 5:48.  I remember it because for me that was pretty quick.

In addition to doing 5ks, a very few 10ks, and one half-marathon by mistake [ funny story my buddy Jaime was doing the Chicago Marathon and he asked a few of us to meet him at certain mile markers and jump in to run with him for a couple of miles each.  I was supposed to meet him at mile marker 14, which I did, and then his brother at mile marker 16, and so on.  Well, you can probably guess by my saying I ran a half-marathon by mistake that no one else joined us and so I just kept going.  I was in definitely in running shape at that point in my life, and his pace was well below what I ran at that time, so we just kept going.  I still have a GREAT photo from the finish line in my very 80s running attire, one of my best memories.  I definitely miss the days of being that fit, but more on that in a minute], I also started doing century rides for cancer research the summer I turned twenty-three, I think, maybe twenty-four.  Once I decided to do the century I got myself a trainer and a nutritionist and would do my runs in the dark in the wee hours of the morning and then hop on my bike as soon as I got home from work to crank out thirty or forty miles.  It was a bit crazy, but at that time in my life, I lived for it and loved it.  Being fit was simply who I was.

As kids, we grew up on skis as a family.  I sailed in the summers up through college.  I even bought myself a bag full of hockey equipment upon graduating college and getting my first paycheck so I could start playing adult league hockey, having grown up watching my cousin Clark play for Boston University and two Olympic teams.  Being an athlete and being around athletes was not just a part of who I was, it was who I was, and I don’t think I fully realized that until very recently.  I had friends and relatives who played professionally in multiple sports, my dad was my first football coach, and about the only thing he and I could consistently connect on was athletics.  When I did my first century ride, I decided to jump in headfirst and joined eleven other crazy people in doing a “double” that day.  This means we did the hundred-mile loop twice in one day.  As you can imagine the early part of the second loop is the hardest part and then somewhere around mile 70 the second time through, so 170 miles in, the cycling equivalent of the “runners high” kicks in and you start to feel as though you are almost done so you get a second, or third, or fourth wind.  My father decided to take my little Toyota pick-up truck, had his wife drive it so he could jump in the bed of the truck as they came out and found me on the route somewhere around mile 75 or 80 of the second loop, he was screaming “fourth quarter, fourth quarter” like a lunatic out the back of the truck at me as I tried to survive.

In addition to participating, I also began coaching along the way.  It was a hobby at first then I would go back into the “real world,” and I’d get a real job for a while then back to coaching for a bit.  I wound up as a head coach at a couple of universities where I was still somewhat active and still running.  Not as much or as fast, but not bad.  Somewhere along the way, first because of a torn meniscus and no insurance, and then because I had gotten out of the habit, the running stopped.  Then I stopped being good about what I put in my body and eventually, with the help of some of the wrong prescribed meds I had ballooned to two hundred and twenty-eight pounds.  For context, the heaviest I ever was when playing was one hundred and eighty-four pounds my junior year in college and it took a great deal of effort in the weight room to get to that weight.  When I was cycling a lot I would settle in at around one hundred seventy-eight, and all of five foot ten and a half inches.  One of the things I promised myself after growing up watching this exact thing happen to my father was that I was not going to ever let that happen to me.  Oops.  I did eventually get the knee fixed, and I did eventually get back to jogging.  Walking first, then a little hiking, and eventually I started trying to jog slowly, “shuffle.”  Once I had a base under me I even had a buddy convince me to try and ski a bit and I discovered I could still do that, albeit with a brace on my knee.

Unfortunately, what I have found, both good and bad, is that “shuffling” around the block does help!!  I think it actually helps my psyche more than my physical conditioning, although experts would tell you it helps both.  There is quite a bit of good evidence that even just ten minutes a day of a slow jog benefits us as we get older with things such as heart disease, diabetes, and so on.  There is also quite a bit of proof that the same amount of jogging can help elevate our brain chemistry and aid with management of anxiety and depression.  I can tell you firsthand that it is true, but therein lies the rub.  I know that my little shuffles each day help my mental health, even if only slightly, and the mental boost I get only lasts for a few hours after I run, but it definitely helps!!  The anxiety and depression I invariably feel in the mornings as I attempt to force myself to get out of bed and go drive for a bit, or write for a bit, or even just go meet a friend for coffee to get out of the house and out of my head, fades after I run and shower and get cleaned up.  The difference is very noticeable, but mentally I have to work REALLY hard at showing myself grace, a word I really did not even know until recently, as my mind is constantly comparing my shuffles to what I used to be able to do as a “runner.”

I have written before about not knowing how much of which thing has contributed the most to my recent struggles with depression and anxiety.  I am confident it is some combination of a number of things including but not limited to (sorry about sounding like a consultant/lawyer there, but even old occupational habits die hard) medication changes/issues, post-COVID issues, yet another concussion a couple of summers ago and so on, but I am writing this article to point out that I am also aware that some, if not a great deal, has to do with hitting sixty this past summer and having to deal with/accept that not only am I not the athlete that I once was, but that I am not an athlete at all!!  This may not seem like a big deal to some, but for those of us, anyone who was athletic, played multiple sports, skied fast, ran fast, and identified with being that guy, the guy was picked first, or close to it, more often than not, it is very difficult when you suddenly realize that ALL of that is gone.

The running that I make myself do almost every day of the week because I know it is good for me in a number of ways, but especially in that it gives me two or three hours of feeling significantly less anxiety and depression for that day, has gone from what was once three to five miles a day at seven-plus minute miles, to one mile, or at best a mile and a half, at what is now thankfully eleven plus minute miles.  I say thankfully because until very recently that was more like twelve plus or thirteen plus minute miles, but trying to acknowledge improvement to eleven plus from twelve plus is really difficult for me to accept given what I know I used to be able to do, what feels like I should be able to do.  In my mind, I am still the athlete I always was, and then I hit the road, and reality sets in.  Yesterday, because God has a sense of humor and because this article was on my mind, I ran about a mile and a quarter, and at a pace of ten minutes forty-eight seconds per mile, or FIVE minutes longer per mile than my best ever mile.  Crazy!!

I am not sure how to truly explain it except to say think of anything you have done most of your life and are even somewhat good at and then imagine waking up tomorrow and going out to do that very same thing and finding out you can’t.  For many people, one of those things will be driving.  I saw it happen to my grandmother, then my father, then my mother.  I know that it will eventually happen for me with my painting and my writing and I am sure eventually driving, but being fit, being able to just run down the street, or hop on a bike and go, or even just grab the rake and rake up the yard in the fall, this is who I was.  When I first moved into the house I live in I would go out and shovel the sidewalks and driveway and then go around the neighborhood and do the same for my neighbors.  I did it because I liked it, it is good exercise, I love the snow, and I like helping out my neighbors.  This winter I had to do my own driveway and sidewalk in stages, taking several breaks to catch my breath.  Really??  I attempted to mow my yards earlier in the week, something that used to take me about fifteen or twenty minutes, and I again had to stop to take a break before I was done with the front yard.  Really??

Ultimately, what I guess I am saying is that it is not fun getting old, and what I have realized just in the past several months is that it is far less fun realizing who I was as an athlete, and as an athletic human being for all those years, is not who I am now and that is very difficult to accept or to deal with, and although I cannot put a percentage on how much of the anxiety and depression that I have been dealing with is a result of this realization, this change in me, I do know that it plays a significant role.  I also know that this is true for a great number of people as they grow older and related to a number of different possible changes as we age.  And, as with all of what I have written of late regarding depression and anxiety, I believe it is important to say these things out loud, share them, and hope that sharing these experiences and stories can help someone else in some small way.

Thank you for listening and please don’t suffer in silence, or let others suffer in silence, ask questions, share your stories, and stick around for the answers, and the conversation…and go ahead and head outside for some fresh air and exercise, whatever type you enjoy.