Thanks to Walt Murphy's reminder, today is the 54 anniversary of Billy Mills' victory in Tokyo. Who of us will ever forget?
Tokyo 1964 Billy Mills
A few days ago I stumbled on this article in the New York Times by a guest writer Robert W. Goldfarb. He is 88 years old and described as a 'competitive' runner. He talks about attitude with aging and the view of the inevitable. Since the overwhelming number of our readers are approaching or have already arrived at that state, I thought this piece might offer all of us an introspective moment. We are indeed fortunate that our sport affords us the opportunity to remain competitive as long as we can shuffle down the road, trail, or treadmill. We can be competitive with or without stepping to the line with 5000 younger runners. It's just us and the front door and the weather outside and a clock that never stops ticking. In tennis you have to search out someone as slow as you to play. In team sports we run out of options relatively quickly or have to greatly modify the game ie. slow pitch softball. We do have a few old polevaulters and throwers in our entourage, and they for the most part are still actively practicing their craft.
I checked Mr. Goldfarb's credentials as a runner on the website athlinks.com and confirmed his competitiveness in recent years.
In 2006 at the age of 76 Mr. Goldfarb ran a 5Km in 34.:21, a pace of 11:04 per mile, and on October 8, 2016 he ran a half marathon at age 86 in 2 hr. 58 min. or 13:38 per mile. I think this qualifies him as a competitive runner. P.S. Thanks to Richard Mach for correcting me on his 5km pace
Words of wisdom below from a 90+ year old friend (Richard Trace) who introduced me to road running about 1960 when I was a hot shot high school miler. It was a brutal lesson.
He is also , I like to think, the last living American to speak to General Tojo. He was an army prison guard in Tokyo after the war.
"..one leaves old age at 90. then one becomes ancient. as an ancient i look back on old age with fondness. up to age 47 I was either running or thinking about running. At that time a heel spur ended the running and I walked and thought about running. 6+ years ago i went lame and can now only shuffle so I shuffle and think about running. I think mother nature is gradually subtracting abilities as a way of preparing us to be more accepting of the eternal void. A tip for those concerned about such things - Go sit in an eye doctor's waiting room. They deal mostly with the elderly. Look around and you'll see that most are worse off than you. You leave thinking things aren't so bad after all.
Richard Trace (for more on Richard clik on his name.
Richard Trace (for more on Richard clik on his name.
Here is Mr. Goldfarb's piece
At 88, I remain a competitive runner, always sprinting the last hundred yards of a race to cross the finish line with nothing left to give. The finish line of my life is drawing close, and I hope to reach it having given the best of myself along the way. I’ve been training my body to meet the demands of this final stretch. But, I wonder, should I have asked more of my mind?
I have no trouble taking my body to a gym or starting line. I’ve done a good job convincing myself that if I didn’t exercise, I would unleash the many predators that seek their elderly prey on couches, but not on treadmills. The more I sweated, the more likely it was my internist would continue to exclaim, “Keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll see you next year.” It was my way of keeping at bay the dreaded: “Mr. Goldfarb, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
My mind, on the other hand, seems less willing to yield to discipline, behaving as though it has a mind of its own. I have dabbled in internet “brain games,” solving algebraic problems flashing past and rerouting virtual trains to avoid crashes. I’ve audited classes at a university, and participated in a neurofeedback assessment of my brain’s electrical impulses. But these are only occasional diversions, never approaching my determination to remain physically fit as I move deeper into old age.
Despite having many friends in their 70s, 80s and 90s, I’ve been far too slow to realize that how we respond to aging is a choice made in the mind, not in the gym.
Despite having many friends in their 70s, 80s and 90s, I’ve been far too slow to realize that how we respond to aging is a choice made in the mind, not in the gym.
Some of my healthiest friends carry themselves as victims abused by time. They see life as a parade of disappointments: aches and ailments, confusing technology, children who don’t visit, hurried doctors.
Other friends, many whose aching knees and hips are the least of their physical problems, find comfort in their ability to accept old age as just another stage of life to deal with. I would use the word “heroic” to describe the way they cope with aging as it drains strength from their minds and bodies, though they would quickly dismiss such a term as overstatement.
One such friend recently called from a hospital to tell me a sudden brain seizure had rendered him legally blind. He interrupted me as I began telling him how terribly sorry I was: “Bob, it could have been worse. I could have become deaf instead of blind.”
Despite all the time I spend lifting weights and exercising, I realized I lack the strength to have said those words. It suddenly struck me I’ve paid a price for being a “gym rat.”
If there is one characteristic common to friends who are aging with a graceful acceptance of life’s assaults, it is contentment. Some with life-altering disabilities — my blind friend, another with two prosthetic legs — are more serene and complain less than those with minor ailments. They accept the uncertainties of old age without surrendering to them. A few have told me that the wisdom they’ve acquired over the years has made aging easier to navigate than the chaos of adolescence.
I continued talking with my friend, challenging myself to hear the noise, but to hold it at a distance. The discipline so familiar to me in the gym — this time applied to my mind — proved equally effective in the restaurant. It was as though I had taken my brain to a mental fitness center.
Learning to ignore a leaf blower’s roar hardly equips me to find contentment during my passage into ever-deeper old age. But I left the lunch feeling I had at least taken a small first step in changing behavior that stood in the way of that contentment.
Could I employ that same discipline to accept with dignity the inevitable decline awaiting me: frailty, memory lapses, dimming sound and sight, the passing of friends and the looming finish line? Churning legs and a pounding heart had taken me part of the way. But now the challenge was to find that contentment within me. Hoping that contentment will guide me as I make my way along the path yet to be traveled.
Robert W. Goldfarb is a management consultant and the author of “What’s Stopping Me From Getting Ahead?”
A version of this article appears in print on , on Page D4 of the New York edition with the headline: To Age Well, Train for Contentment.
P.S. over 200 people commented on this article to the Times not to us.
Here is the link to the Times and the comments which you can scroll down to and click on Comments to see them. The cover a wide latitude of beliefs and non beliefs, assisted dying, and other things.NYT Goldfarb clik here
Here is the link to the Times and the comments which you can scroll down to and click on Comments to see them. The cover a wide latitude of beliefs and non beliefs, assisted dying, and other things.NYT Goldfarb clik here
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