I wake up most mornings with a sore knee and a tight shoulder. It’s become part of the ritual. Before I even consider lacing up my shoes or heading out for a ride, I need a solid 10 minutes of mobility work just to feel like I’m moving properly.
This never used to be the case. Back in my 40s, I’d spring out of bed, throw on some kit, and crack on. Or at least, that’s how I remember it. Maybe I’ve just forgotten the creaks and groans that were there even then — conveniently edited out by the passing of time.
Either way, I don’t dwell on it. These niggles aren’t a source of frustration. They’re reminders. Markers of a life lived fully, with movement, purpose, and the occasional crash landing. That sore knee? Courtesy of a ruptured ACL while skiing. The shoulder tightness? A lasting gift from a broken collarbone after parting ways with my bike mid-ride. They’re not setbacks. They’re battle scars — and I wear them with pride.
The Medicine I Choose
I’ve got mates my age — late 50s, early 60s — who are managing things like Type 2 diabetes or taking daily meds for cholesterol. It’s just part of the picture for many of us as we get older — shaped by a mix of life’s circumstances, personal choices, and a fair bit of luck along the way.
I know which form of medicine I prefer.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not anti-medication. Sometimes it’s necessary. But if I can manage my body with movement — if I can reduce pain, maintain function, and feel in control through a few intentional minutes each morning — then that’s a route I’ll choose every time.
What Did You Expect?
Let’s be honest: who makes it to 60 without a few issues? If you’ve spent decades pushing your body, training, racing, falling off bikes, getting back on them, skiing down mountains (and sometimes crashing into them), you’re bound to accumulate a few dents.
But here’s the trade-off: I could have spent the last few decades being careful. Skipping the races. Avoiding the climbs. Swapping the cycling holidays for coach tours. And maybe then I’d have no dodgy knee, no aching shoulder. But what would my health be like? More importantly, what would my life have been like?
I’d rather have a shoulder that groans when I do Turkish get-ups than a sedentary body that creaks just from getting off the sofa. I’d rather have knees that need coaxing into action than a heart that’s struggling because I haven’t asked it to work in years.
Proud, Not Frustrated
I think a lot of people hit this stage of life and start to panic. They look at what they can’t do anymore. They compare their current self to their younger self and get frustrated. But what if we flipped the script?
I’m not frustrated. I’m proud. Proud that I’m still showing up. Still training. Still chasing progress in some form. Still willing to invest time every day in maintaining what I’ve got — and maybe even improving it.
That doesn’t mean ignoring pain or pretending I’m 25. It means working with my body, not against it. It means acknowledging that the price of an active life is occasional wear and tear — and paying that price gladly.
This is What Longevity Looks Like
For anyone reading this and thinking, “Yeah, but what’s the point? Aren’t we all just fighting gravity?” — maybe. But it’s a fight worth having.
Longevity isn’t just about adding years to your life. It’s about adding life to your years. Being able to carry your own shopping. Climb the stairs without puffing. Get up off the floor without assistance. Ride your bike for the sheer joy of it, not because your doctor told you to “get more steps in.”
And that starts with small, consistent habits. Like mobility work. Like showing up when it’s cold and your knee’s stiff. Like choosing to move rather than sit.
The Takeaway
So if you’re reading this and nodding along — maybe you’ve got your own battle scars — know that you’re not broken. You’re not past it. You’re experienced. Weathered. Durable. You’ve earned those scars.
You don’t need to train like you did in your 30s. You don’t need to be faster or stronger than you were a decade ago. You just need to keep moving. To keep showing up. To keep choosing the kind of medicine that works for you.
Me? I’ll keep taking mine in the form of daily mobility, strength work, long walks, and the occasional hard ride. And if that means I wake up each day with a few aches, so be it. I’ve got no regrets.
I’d rather feel a little stiff and know I’ve lived, than be pain-free from a life that was never truly active.
Want support staying active and healthy into your 50s, 60s and beyond?
That’s exactly what I help people do in the SWAT Inner Circle. Join a group of like-minded men who are building strength, resilience, and longevity — one smart habit at a time.
Find out more here
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Thanks for being part of the tribe — I’m here to help you stay healthy, strong, and performing at your best.
Simon
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Please check out these podcasts and articles
PODCAST: Tim Ashelford on longevity, consistency & enjoying the process
This week, I’m joined by my old friend and lifelong triathlete, Tim Ashelford. With over 35 years in the sport, Tim has built a life around consistency, staying injury-free, and prioritising health over hype. We reminisce about the early days of UK triathlon clubs (and the dodgy kit!), chat about why Tim didn’t pursue Ironman, and dig into the enduring value of shorter races. If you’re wondering how to stay motivated, energised, and healthy into your 60s and beyond, Tim shares the smart training and lifestyle tweaks that keep him performing and enjoying the sport, decades after first starting out.
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ARTICLE: The Blocked Path Becomes the Way
It wasn’t supposed to be there.
In fact, there should have been a path leading down to the gate about 100 metres in front of us. Instead, the way was completely blocked—fallen trees, thick shrubs, and what looked like half the hillside had collapsed onto the track.
We’d just descended a steep hill, about 1km from the last turn-off, so heading back wasn’t really an option. Climbing above or below the blockage wasn’t possible either. And we were on gravel bikes—so wherever we went, the bikes had to come too.
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