What could 80 feel like? I'm looking to my Dad for answers — and have 5 clues.

His habits already saved his life once. Plus, he's still having fun.

Warmup

Spoiler Alert: Dad, if you’re starting to read this, maybe wait until after your birthday.

The man in this photo above, leaping over a fire with me after a punishing 5K obstacle course race together, is my father. At the time, he was 76-years-old.

The full story of what transpired that day is told in my book NOT TOO LATE. But let’s just say it involves him carrying very heavy things, scaling walls and climbing 1,158 feet of elevation gain on a hot summer day in North Carolina. (And not telling my Mom until after we were done.)

One note: he hadn’t trained at all. He was simply fit from life.

I think of this day as “The Perfect Race.” No other competition can touch it for me, and I’ve run 52 of them. When I think about the title of my book, I think of my father.

Which is why as his 80th birthday approaches next month, I’m unpacking the everyday habits I believe made him able to cross the finish line. (Heads up Mom: you’re in the mix!)

Post

The age of 80 looms like its own Fantasy Island in my mind. Something I’m swimming toward, but not sure what I’ll find if I actually get there.

Getting there is a feat in itself: The average life expectancy in the United States is actually a little less than 80, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

If we reach 80, what will it look and feel like? Will we be alive, but unable to do the things we love? Or will we possess enough mobility, strength, respiratory fitness and mental acuity to actually engage in at least some of what we feel makes us, well, us.

Part of the trick is avoiding a serious injury. Or, being able to recover from one.

A year after my father ran that Spartan Race, he slipped off their metal roof while he was power-washing it and fell almost 10 feet before landing on the concrete driveway.

Their dog, Jack, started barking — which alerted my Mom. She found Dad sitting on the carport wall, dazed, a bloody imprint from his head on the ground.

He was rushed to the trauma center at Camp Lejeune. Doctors told my mother he should have died. Instead, he walked out the same day with both his pelvis and C2 neck vertebra sustaining two fractures each.

He fully healed in one year. The Harvard-trained orthopedic surgeon he saw at UNC School of Medicine couldn’t believe the X-ray and remarked that my Dad’s bone density, muscle strength and mobility saved both his life — and his ability to keep doing what he loves.

Here are 5 habits that likely helped — and which I’m trying to learn from:

1. Not a lot of sitting

My father was a veterinarian. Dogs and cats are wiggly, high-touch creatures. You can’t examine them on a computer screen. So my Dad stood all day in his white coat diagnosing the aches and ailments of those who can’t speak human language.

There was only one part of his job he hated: sitting at a desk and managing the bills. Even when he came home at night, he didn’t sit. Which brings us to #2…

2. He performs his own yard work

I don’t remember my father ever coming home from work and collapsing in an armchair. Instead, I remember him kissing me hello and then going out to mow the lawn or perform other outdoor projects. Our yard was his gym.

Now that he’s officially retired, he’s outside in the morning for three hours almost every day, weed-whacking, splitting wood, moving shrubs, plowing the ground, repairing their pier, checking the crab pots, mowing … and just moving moving moving.

In other words, not sitting.

3. His passions required grip strength and muscle

My strongest childhood memories of my father are of him pulling, gripping or lifting things. When I think of his hands, I imagine strength and capability, even now as arthritis makes certain tasks trickier.

• Pulling the dog and me on a sled in the snow.

• Pulling lines to hoist a sail.

• Gripping and carrying heavy motors to and from his fishing boat.

• Gripping a fishing pole on that boat.

• Lifting me on his shoulders to ride waves at the ocean.

• Lifting heavy wheelbarrows of soil, mulch or rocks to spread around our property.

• Lifting animals onto his exam room tables.

When we completed that Spartan Race together, he crushed a difficult obstacle called the Hercules Hoist where he pulled a very heavy sand bag (estimated 90 lbs.) far up into the air via a rope and pulley.

Unintentionally, he’d been training for that moment his whole life.

4. His routines include mental and physical challenges — plus fun

He’s up at dawn every day and walks their Goldendoodle Jack for 30 minutes at the local park; sometimes my Mom comes. Weather permitting, this walk is non-negotiable (unless they go fishing instead). Jack likes to occasionally sleep in. No luck.

Dad comes home and does The New York Times puzzles and games with my mother (in the same order; Wordle is last).

He eats a healthy breakfast. He works in the yard for three hours. He eats a healthy lunch. Sometimes he’ll have ice cream or a cookie. He takes a nap. He reads or he watches some TV. It’s generally bad episodic TV that makes my mother and I roll our eyes. Or sports.

At 5 pm, he sits with my mother in the two red chairs by the water. They talk. Every other day, he has a beer. If the fish are jumping, they might grab their rods and see if they can catch the next day’s meal off their pier. They eat a healthy dinner. Sometimes there’s dessert (though not if they had ice cream at lunch.) They watch TV (better TV) together. They are asleep by 9 pm. So is Jack.

5. He still loves my Mom (whom he met at 16)

I probably should have put this as #1.

No, I definitely should have put this as #1.

To have been with my mother 64 years is the foundation of my father’s health. He’d tell you that himself. My mother is a force in her own right, and she’ll get her own newsletter down the road (if she agrees)! No marriage is perfect, but the beams and joists of their union are firm: a shared sense of right and wrong, love of water and animals, a do-it-yourself mindset, avoidance of boredom, grit and a sincere enjoyment of each other’s company.

Speaking of the latter, they now even work out together with a trainer. Which brings us to the Cooldown.

Cooldown

Since my parents are both now at the island of 80, and fortunately can still do many of the things they love, my contribution to this milestone are gestures to keep them that way.

For Christmas, I gift them an annual gym membership. Recently, I programmed a twice weekly strength and respiratory fitness regimen they practice.

They’ve also been working out with a kick-ass personal trainer named Necole (see above ^^) who hones in on their mobility, core strength and generally every muscle they AREN’T using regularly.

That’s what Dad is getting again for his 80th — more sessions with Necole. (If you ignored my spoiler alert - Surprise! Happy Birthday. I love you.)

Keeping ourselves fit for life matters. But so does helping people we love do the same.

Thanks for reading. Think about what 80 might feel like. As always, find something you love. Dig in. Stick with it when things get hard.

Wendy