Dump Your Remote and Go Remote: You're Too Old to Sit Out the Rest of Your Life

You're Too Old to Spend the Rest of Your Life on the Couch: Let's Adventure!

Photo by Bruno Nascimento on Unsplash

“Oh. You’re the stair lady! You’re cool!”

Cool means, in this context, I wasn’t about to be tossed out of the building.

The security guard waved me on as I headed to the basement of the eighteen-story building here in Eugene. I was on lap three, two-and-a-half to go. Sixteen stairs per landing, eighteen flights, times five-and-a-half laps. Just under 1600 steps, not counting the down.

My walking buddy was sick, but doing his laundry on the second floor. I need him to get into the protected building. It’s an HUD facility for low-income folks sixty and above.

I’m here for the stairs. My walking buddy John is also here for the stairs, and we’re both here for the company. And the outcome.

Apparently I now have a rep for my twice-weekly stair climbs. Better the stair lady than the bag lady, right?

When I returned to stair climbing a few months ago it was part of a busted hip rehab program. John is my access, and he joins me most days. When I asked him how the increased stairs (possibly two laps more than he used to do) was working, he smiled broadly.

“I have a lot more energy,” he grinned.

Precisely.

Yet every single time we have run into one of the residents, the first words out of their mouths are

“OH I COULDN’T DO THAT.”

Can we please talk?

Halfway through my 58th year, I had knee surgery. My surgeon told me to be happy with 80%. I’ve lifted forever, always jogged, but I am no serious athlete. But….God, I love a gauntlet.

Photo by Marc Pineda on Unsplash

At the time I lived very close to Red Rocks Amphitheater in Denver. Thousands of folks go out there all the time, rain or shine, to train on the stairs and the bleachers.

Back then I couldn’t do that either. I could barely make it around the block once. When I could do that a few times, I thought about Red Rocks.

How the hell, I thought?

But I started.

I slogged up one side for a few measely flights and bonked. It hurt. Red Rocks is at 6200 feet. While I’d lived in Denver a long time, that’s still a big ask. With a bum knee.

Went back again. Again. Again.

I loaded up the sound track from the movie Rudy and motivated my aging butt up those stairs, Rocky-style.

A year-and-a-half later I was standing on top of Mt. Kilimanjaro, under the iconic sign, ten years ago this past November. I took a photo, sent it to the surgeon and wrote,

This is what 80% looks like.

More notes came after that: Everest Base Camp, Macchu Picchu, Mt. Kenya.

We all too often conflate the results of long effort with what we think we can do right now. For example, the 2400-3600 stairs I ran or walked several times a week in training for Kilimanjaro. That took weeks, months for me to work up to.

Do I expect anyone to do that right now if they’ve not trained for it?

WTF?

Really now. You see how silly that is, and how handy an excuse it is to never even begin.

Every single person I know, especially of an age, who begins a brand-new physical journey can feel utterly overwhelmed. My buddy

Penny Nelson

headed to the gym for the very first time at 73 a few years back, not having the slightest idea what to expect. Eighty-five pounds to lose.

These days Penny has not only kept up with it for years, but she also has either gotten certified or is working on becoming certified as a personal fitness trainer. She’s dropped a bunch, increased her strength, to say nothing of her body agency and confidence.

Her motto? Finish strong.

Yeah, she can do that.

My remotes are places like Kazakhstan. Penny’s remote was just getting to a gym for the first time, then sticking with it no matter what, having a sense of humor about the inevitable setbacks and staying the course over time.

What she gets to do with that healthier, much stronger body is her story to be told. Is being told right now.

Yeah you can do that.

You and I are Way Too Old to spend the rest of our days watching other people live interesting lives.

Your “remote” may look nothing at all like mine. It might be an easy raft trip in Idaho, combined with a lodge and great food. It could be getting off the couch and walking around the block, just once.

For some people that short walk would be huge. My mother was like that. Her weak body imprisoned her for the last ten years of her life. It also cost her the love of her life. This man in his late-eighties loved my mother but he wanted, as he told me, “a spicy old gal who can hike with me.”

My remote isn’t your remote. I am all in for waking up on a cold, windy pass in Mongolia, temperatures below zero, gusts to 40 mph. Did, too. It’s not for everyone. Sure is for me.

I’m happy with a fine tent and a banana in most places, especially if I have a little Justin’s cashew butter with it.

There is no better, best or more badass.

There is only and always what is badass for you, and going after it.

Yeah, you can do that.

The author, 70, at Tanque Verde, Tucson

I’m back riding. Working on getting back on the mountain. I’ve had setbacks- they are inevitable. But I can do that: get better, get strong, get going.

For all my peeps who are facing down fifty or more with a heavy heart, this is for you. It’s an invitation. The world is chock-full of soft adventures and new experiences which will put you in touch with your possibilities. Maybe for the first time in a long time.

You and I can find a Big Hairy Ass Goal, give ourselves time, and work to achieve it. My friend Melissa did Kilimanjaro and quit short of the summit. That was her summit, and it was enough. That’s also a gift. That kind of wisdom comes with age.

But giving up isn’t wise. It’s just giving up and ending up a pool of soft flesh in your recliner, eventually barely able to stand up. If that’s fine by you, that’s great.

But if you have more adventures to chase, more experiences to enjoy, more stories to write,

Yeah. You can do that.

Let’s play.

Photo by Peter Burdon on Unsplash

Thank you so much for hanging out with me to explore what’s possible. I hope you got value. I really hope you are inspired to ask where you want to go next? What part of you deserves discovering?

If this kind of material works for you please consider:

If someone you know is in a fifties funk because of their just-arrived AARP card, this might be for them. Please also consider

Either way, I hope you are filling your 2024 calendar with dreams that are now goals with dates on them.