Why The Hell Would I Want To Be A World-Class Athlete at 55?

Great question.

I actually used to be a pretty good athlete a thousand years ago.

Played sports. Was good at football. Was an all-state baseball player. Got drafted by the pros in that sport. Lasted about three seconds.

Always loved basketball, but I sucked at it. Hey, sometimes you’ve got to embrace that you’re 5’9″ and white. No, white men can’t jump.

So why the hell would I want to be a world-class athlete at 55?

Because it FUCKING MATTERS.

Sure, I could go back to golf. A perfect way to fuck up a nice walk, if you asked me.

I could play Pickleball. Gotta admit, that looks kinda fun… until your doubles partner whacks you in the back of your head with her racket.

I could do a lot of things to get in shape: Lift. Run. Swim. Walk. And I practice all those disciplines.

But I chose to be a world-class athlete.

Why?

Because I’ve learned over the years, that if I’m going to make any progress working toward a goal, I’ve got to shoot for the stars.

Because there’s a long fucking distance between sitting my fat ass on the couch and running a fucking triathlon.

Because this kind of goal, this kind of Big, Hairy, Audacious Goal (BHAG) makes me go, “Oh Shit!” inside. It makes me work that much harder.

Because somewhere up there in my cerebral cortex, I actually fucking think that I can do it.

And if you’re going to shoot for something, why not shoot for the stars?

Or, as my dad taught me a million years ago, “Son, if you’re gonna steal, don’t steal anything small.”

In other words, GO FOR IT.

So, when I swim, I swim. Shooting for 2.4 miles at one time.

When I bike, I bike. What’s wrong with being able to bike 112 miles without stopping?

When I run, I run. If you can’t do a marathon then why the fuck run at all?

And then I want to wrap all those exercises up in a bow, swim, bike, run, and be able to look back at it and say, “Fuck yeah. I did that Ironman shit when I was an old man.”

And then I want to get good at it. Be the best fucking 55-year-old Ironman athlete in the whole fucking world.

Kick some ass.

At 55… or 56… or 57… or 70 if it takes that long.

Because it FUCKING MATTERS.

To anyone else?

No.

But it does to me.

And that’s why I do it.

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