At 40, chasing my 3- and 5-year-old around the backyard gave me a wake-up call: fatherhood isn’t slowing down, and I need a body that can keep going with it.
The other day I was running around the backyard chasing my boys when I realized something: I was completely out of breath.
And let’s be clear—it’s not like I’m chasing All-Star athletes here. They’re 5 and 3. Yet there I was, bent over trying to recover while they looked like they could keep going for another six hours.
I’m 40 years old, overweight, and suffering from way too many years since my last push-up. Eventually, I sat down. While I was sitting there catching my breath, I started thinking about something that scared me a little more than being out of shape.
This journey with my boys is just beginning.
What Happens in 10 Years?
Right now they’re little. Keeping up means chasing them around the backyard, hiking a trail, swimming, climbing around a playground, or getting down on the floor to wrestle.
But they’re only going to get bigger. What happens when they’re 10 and 12? What about 13 and 15? What happens when they want Dad to go on a harder hike, ride bikes all day, throw a football around, or head out on some adventure we haven’t even thought of yet?
And if I’m lucky enough to get far enough down this road, maybe someday this whole thing becomes Let’s Go, Grandpa.
Which is funny to think about now, but it also made me realize something. I don’t just want to live long enough to see those days. I want to be able to participate in them.
I’ve Tried Getting in Shape Before
Naturally, I did what everyone does when they decide they’re finally going to get healthy. I took to the web.
Workout plans are everywhere. Thirty-day challenges. Strength programs. Walking plans. Couch-to-5Ks. Fitness apps. YouTube workouts. I could probably spend six months researching how to work out without ever actually doing a workout.
But eventually I realized that finding the perfect workout plan wasn’t my problem. Starting has never been my problem.
I’ve started plenty of times. My problem is how I start.
I get motivated and go all in. Suddenly I’m going to work out constantly, eat perfectly, lose a bunch of weight, drink gallons of water, sleep eight hours a night, and apparently become an entirely different human being by next Tuesday.
Then the motivation wears off. My ADHD brain moves on to the next interesting thing. I miss a workout, then another, and eventually the entire plan disappears.
I’ve done that enough times to know that another hardcore fitness plan probably isn’t the answer.
This Time, I’m Starting Differently
So I started looking for something that took me into account. I’m 40. I’m overweight. I’m out of shape. I have ADHD. And most importantly, I’m a dad who wants enough energy to actually enjoy being a dad.
I don’t need a workout designed around becoming a bodybuilder. I need one designed around showing up again tomorrow.
That means starting smaller than my motivation wants me to. Building habits before chasing results. Making workouts simple enough that I don’t need an hour of preparation just to begin. And accepting that some days I’m going to do less than I planned.
Because I’m starting to realize something: a small workout I keep doing beats an incredible workout plan I quit after three weeks.
I’m Training for Fatherhood
That’s when my reason for doing this changed.
I’m not training for a six-pack. I’m training for the backyard. I’m training for hiking trails, playgrounds, swimming pools, bikes, vacations, and whatever ridiculous adventure my boys convince me to try next.
I’m training so when one of them says, “Dad, let’s go!” my first thought isn’t, Do I have enough energy for this?
I want to be able to get up and go.
The Dad Fitness Test
So I’m giving myself a different way to measure progress. Yes, I’ll probably watch the scale. I’ll pay attention to how much stronger I get. Maybe someday I’ll even discover whether I can still do a respectable number of push-ups.
But those aren’t the measurements that matter most.
Can I do more with my boys than I could when I started?
Can I chase them longer? Can I hike farther? Can I get off the floor easier? Can I carry one of them when they’re tired? Do I have more energy at the end of the day? Am I saying yes more often?
That’s the fitness test I actually care about.
Give Me One Year
I don’t know exactly where this journey will take me, but I’m giving myself a year. Not a 30-day transformation. Not three weeks of going as hard as possible. One year of becoming a little stronger, healthier, and more capable than I was before.
There will probably be weeks when I crush it. There will definitely be weeks when I don’t. But this time, the goal isn’t perfection. The goal is to keep coming back.
Because my boys aren’t going to stay 3 and 5. They’re going to get bigger, faster, and stronger. And unfortunately, Dad isn’t getting any younger.
So maybe a year from now I’ll find myself running around that same backyard. Maybe I’ll still be breathing hard, but hopefully I’ll last a little longer. Then a little longer after that.
Because I’m not trying to become the fittest dad in the world.
I’m trying to build a body that lets me keep saying yes to the life happening right in front of me.
And someday, hopefully a long time from now, when I hear “Let’s go, Grandpa!” I want to still be able to answer: “Let’s go.”
Dads, let’s go.
