I benched 335 pounds at 60. I ran a marathon at 50. I've ridden a Harley through 48 states. None of that is the point of this post.
The point is what I'm training for now — and it has almost nothing to do with records or peak performance. It has everything to do with a question I started asking myself a few years ago: What kind of body will I need to live the life I want at 70, 75, and beyond?
That question changed everything about how I approach physical training. And I think it's the question most men my age are not asking — at least not early enough.
The Myth of Maintenance
There's a trap I see a lot of men fall into around their late 50s. They've been reasonably active — maybe they played softball on weekends, hiked occasionally, did some light lifting — and they figure that if they just "maintain" what they have, they'll be fine. They'll coast into their later years on whatever fitness capital they've already built.
The research says otherwise. After 50, we lose muscle mass at roughly 1–2% per year if we're not actively working against it. Bone density follows a similar curve. Balance and coordination decline. The cardiovascular system becomes less efficient. None of this is inevitable, but none of it is optional either — it's the default setting. And the default setting, left unchallenged, compounds.
What looks like "maintenance" is often quiet decline.
"The body is a sacred trust. We didn't create it. We won't preserve it forever. But we are responsible for how well we steward it in the time we have." — Dallas Willard
I didn't start thinking about this the right way until I read Peter Attia's work on what he calls the "Centenarian Decathlon" — the idea that you should identify the ten physical tasks you want to be able to perform at the end of your life and work backward from those benchmarks to design your training today. It's not about being impressive. It's about being functional, capable, and present for the people and experiences that matter most.
What I'm Actually Training For
I want to get down on the floor and wrestle with my grandchildren when I'm 75. I want to hike meaningful trails without my knees becoming the story. I want to carry my own bags, lift heavy things when asked, and not be a burden to my wife or my kids because my body can no longer handle ordinary demands.
I want to preach and coach and speak from a place of physical vitality — because I've noticed that energy is contagious, and fatigue is too. The men and women I want to serve deserve a version of me that shows up awake.
These goals completely reshape what I prioritize in training. Strength matters — not for bragging rights, but because muscle mass is one of the strongest predictors of longevity and functional independence. Balance and mobility matter — because falls are one of the leading causes of decline in older adults, and most falls are preventable. Cardiovascular health matters — not sprints, but the kind of sustained aerobic capacity that protects the heart and brain over decades.
The framework I've landed on is simple: lift heavy two to three times a week, walk a lot, and do one hard cardio session that reminds my heart it still needs to work. That's it. I'm not trying to add muscle at this point in my life the way I was at 40. I'm trying to retain what I have and stay capable far longer than the average trajectory would predict.
"Strength is not built for its own sake. It is built for service — for the people and work your body is meant to carry." — Dave Barry
The Theology of the Body
Here's the part most fitness content skips: there is a spiritual dimension to physical stewardship that I don't think we talk about honestly enough.
The Apostle Paul told the Corinthians that their bodies were temples of the Holy Spirit — not their property alone, but dwelling places for something sacred. That's not a metaphor designed to make you feel guilty about missing a workout. It's a framework for understanding why physical care is not vanity. It is stewardship.
I spent thirty years in education watching what happens to leaders who neglect their bodies. They grow tired. They grow irritable. Their capacity for patience, creativity, and generosity quietly shrinks as their physical reserves deplete. The connection between physical vitality and spiritual and emotional capacity is not incidental — it is biological. Sleep, exercise, and nutrition are not lifestyle extras. They are part of the infrastructure that makes everything else possible.
I've had to repent of years of treating my body like a machine I could run hard and service later. The later always comes. And it tends to arrive with interest.
The Permission Most Men Need
If you're in your 50s or 60s and you've let things slide — and most of us have, in one way or another — I want to say something clearly: it is not too late. The research on this is remarkably encouraging. Muscle responds to training at 60, 70, even 80. The body is more adaptable than we give it credit for. The window doesn't close as early as our culture implies.
But the window does close. And the time to start is not when your doctor gives you a warning or your body gives you an ultimatum. The time to start is now, while you still have the margin to build something rather than just slow the decline.
You don't have to become an athlete. You don't have to join a CrossFit gym or run a 5K. You have to make a decision about what you want to be capable of in twenty years — and work backward from that vision with honesty and consistency.
The body you'll have at 70 is being built right now. By what you do, and by what you don't do. That's not a threat. It's an invitation.
What's one physical capability you want to preserve — or build — for the next decade? And what would it take to start training for that today?