I have spent a lot of time lately thinking about getting old. That sounds much worse than it actually is.
I am not sitting around pondering death or shopping for a Rascal scooter. Quite the opposite. I am thinking about all the things I still want to do and, more importantly, what I need to do now to make sure I can keep doing them for as long as possible.
There are still a lot of mountains I want to climb. We have a ridiculous number of places we want to see. I want to hike, backpack, kayak, ride bikes, travel, train, teach, and generally continue getting myself into adventures that will probably make me question my judgment somewhere along the way.
I also want to be able to carry my own damn suitcase.
That is where Peter Attia got my attention.
Attia is a physician who spends a great deal of his time studying longevity and the difference between simply living longer and actually living well longer. One of the concepts he talks about is something he calls the Centenarian Decathlon. The name makes it sound considerably more complicated than it is.
Basically, imagine that you make it to 100 years old. What would you still like to be able to physically do? Not what would you like to look like. Not how much would you like to bench press. What would you like to do?
Maybe you want to pick up a grandchild. Carry groceries into the house. Walk up a couple flights of stairs. Get yourself off the floor. Put a suitcase in an overhead compartment. Hike a mile or two. Get in and out of a bathtub without it becoming an adventure worthy of its own after-action report.
Your list is your list.
Once you figure that out, you work backward.
That part really clicked with me.
If I want to be able to carry thirty pounds when I am 80, then I probably need to be capable of carrying considerably more than thirty pounds today. I know I am going to lose some strength as I age. Father Time is undefeated. The answer isn't pretending that won't happen. The answer is building enough capacity now that I have something to lose.
I immediately started thinking about this through the lens of Sentinel Combatives. What does an 80-year-old citizen defender look like? That is a much more interesting question than it seems. I am certainly not expecting 80-year-old Jerry to fight like 30-year-old Jerry. Hell, 56-year-old Jerry has a few complaints about that arrangement already.
But what do I want him to still be capable of doing? I want him to be able to get off the ground. I want him to have enough balance that a shove doesn't automatically put him there. I want him to be able to move quickly if moving quickly is the smartest solution. I want him to be able to carry something heavy. I want him to be able to help Penny up if she falls. Better yet, I want Penny strong enough to help me up when I do something stupid.
I want enough gas in the tank that thirty seconds of really hard physical work doesn't completely shut me down.
And yes, I want to retain the ability to defend myself. This is where fitness and combatives start running into each other.
We tend to separate the two. We have martial arts training over here and fitness training over there. One night you learn how to defend yourself and the next morning you go to the gym because the doctor says you need more exercise.
I don't think they are separate at all. Think about what personal protection may actually require. Maybe the smartest answer to a bad situation is to run across a parking lot. Can you?
Maybe someone knocks you down. Can you get back up quickly? Maybe you need to help someone who is hurt get out of a dangerous area. Can you move them?
Maybe someone grabs you and tries to drag you somewhere you really don't want to go. Are you strong enough to fight for your balance, control an arm, create some space and get away?
None of that requires a six-pack or a 400-pound bench press.
It does require a reasonably capable human body.
That seems painfully obvious when you write it down, but we have managed to create an entire culture where people will spend thousands of dollars on guns, knives, optics, holsters, tactical gear, training classes and every other conceivable piece of equipment while being unable to jog to the end of the street.
That math doesn't work for me.
Neither does the opposite extreme.
I have spent a good chunk of my life around endurance sports and fitness. I have raced Ironman-distance triathlons, ultramarathons and done enough other foolish things to learn that being very fit does not magically make someone capable of handling violence.
Running fifty miles does not teach you what to do when somebody punches you in the face.
Ask me how I know.
Physical capacity and fighting skill are two different things, but they support one another. Strength gives good technique more horsepower. Conditioning gives you the ability to continue working when the first attempt doesn't go according to plan. Balance helps keep you upright. Mobility allows you to move into and out of positions. Power gives you the ability to create a violent change in the situation when that becomes necessary.
Most importantly, fitness gives you options. That may be the connection I like most. Self-defense isn't about winning fights. If you can avoid the fight entirely, that is a pretty spectacular win. If you can run away, run away. If you can move somebody you love to safety, move them. If you can stay upright instead of having to fight from the ground, stay upright. If you can physically endure a bad thirty seconds long enough to create an opportunity to escape, that matters. Every physical capacity we allow to disappear potentially removes an option. That gets more important as we get older, not less.
At some point we all begin losing capability. There isn't a workout program on earth that changes that. Eventually I am going to slow down. I won't be as strong. Recovery will take longer. Some of the stuff I do today will probably become a pretty bad idea.
Fine.
The question is how much capability am I willing to give away before I actually have to?
That is what I like about Attia's Centenarian Decathlon.
It isn't really an exercise program. It is a way of thinking about your future.
Start with the life you want to live and work backward from there.
For me that future doesn't involve sitting safely in my house trying to avoid getting hurt. I want to be outside. I want to travel with my wife. I want to hike trails and climb mountains. I want to continue teaching. I want to train with my students. I want to be the grandfather who actually does things with them rather than sitting in a chair watching them do things.
And I want to remain responsible for myself for as long as I possibly can. That last part matters. There will hopefully come a day when Penny and I are two old people wandering around somewhere we probably shouldn't be.That sounds like a pretty good outcome to me.When that day comes, I would like to still be strong enough to carry the bags, fit enough to climb the hill, mobile enough to get myself off the ground and capable enough to deal with a problem if one finds us.
Maybe that is the Sentinel version of the Centenarian Decathlon.
The Centenarian Defender. Not someone desperately trying to remain young. Not an old guy pretending he is still a twenty-year-old commando. Just a capable human being who has worked for decades to preserve as many options as possible. There is something else I really like about thinking this way. It gives training a purpose. I don't want to exercise simply because exercise is good for me. That has never been terribly motivating.
I want to train because there are things I still want to do.
That suitcase needs to go into the overhead bin.
That trail still needs to be walked.
That mountain still needs to be climbed.
And the people I love still need me to be useful.
Now we have a reason to train.
Peace Through Chaos.