I believe that dynamic aging means challenging myself and my assumptions, changing and growing. The alternative is passively accepting a story of decline and disempowerment.

I moved from passively accepting my decline to changing and growing at the age of 53.

In late 2013:
– It was a struggle to get up off the floor.
– I was disgusted with myself for not having pursued a high-level career.
– My body was in the obesity zone after being overweight for decades.
– My work, family and volunteer tasks felt like duties tinged with resentment.
– I wore baggy thrift-store clothes because I was ashamed of my body.
– I enjoyed swimming but went just once or twice a week.

But two sparks blew into my life that helped ignite my journey toward dynamic aging.

One was the book Younger Next Year, which emphasized whole foods from nature and exercising an hour a day (walking counts). It sounded convincing, but the message had to filter slowly through my subconscious before I felt ready to try these recommendations.

The other spark was my friend Jack Lundin. In his late 70s when I met him in 2002, Jack was the oldest, wittiest and most participative class member of the adult education German class I was teaching.

I remember thinking “what a cute old guy.” Jack taught me about ageism and dynamic aging, just by being himself and holding up a mirror to my patronizing assumptions.

Jack’s health and lifestyle weren’t perfect. He had type 2 diabetes. His back was stooped.

But boy, was he dynamic.

Jack mentored over 800 Eagle Scouts over a period of 47 years. He did his own yard work well into his 90s, cleaning gutters and cutting down trees.

When my middle schooler needed an older person to interview for an assignment, Jack told him about World War II missions with Chinese soldiers, picking out the bugs from Army food (and eventually just eating them too, he claimed), and how he was recruited by the CIA.

Yes, this “adorable” white-haired gentleman spent decades assessing Soviet nuclear capacities from satellite photos.

And who was I? Once I attended a small business fair where a life coach demonstrated a coaching wheel to self-assess career, relationships, health, finances and spirituality. My wheel was shrunken and jagged, bumping along painfully toward my next obligation.

My non-dynamic aging process was really not working. Eventually I became willing to try something else, following the advice in Younger Next Year.

I started a simple food journal in a notebook. Whole foods from a farm, not a factory, were all “on my list,” while breads, pasta and baked goods were not. When I ate something not on my list, I logged it but put a star next to it.

A new gym opened nearby with Aqua Zumba classes. The group was fun and friendly, and the chest-high water took the pressure off my joints as I thrashed vigorously with webbed aqua fitness gloves. Nobody could see how “coordinated” I was. Or wasn’t.

I had never played sports as a kid and was picked near-to-last for teams in gym class. Even at the bowling alley, my parents and little brothers pitied my poor form and bombarded me with advice.

Now here I was, jumping in the pool and feeling something new. What was it? Success in a fitness class? Empowerment? Enjoyment of my own body? The satisfying feeling I have now come to love of having worked my muscles hard? All of those.

The water students encouraged me to try “land Zumba,” but I declined for months, convinced I was too heavy, too uncoordinated, too embarrassed.

Finally I ventured in, wearing knee braces, hiding in the back, moving in all the wrong directions. Nobody seemed to mind. Or notice. Gradually I learned the songs and typical movements. One day I was startled to see grace and coordination in my reflection in the giant wall mirror.

Emboldened, I joined more classes. Weightlifting. Kickboxing. Yoga. Sometimes I’d go to Bodypump and then dance out the muscle burn at a Zumba class right afterward.

During 2014, my body and my life transformed. I lost 42 pounds, including some muscle. I’d do it a little differently today knowing what I know now. I wondered if I’d become skinny and gaunt, but as I kept up the same habits, the weight loss gradually tapered off and stabilized.

At the age of 53 I gained abilities I’d never had before in my life, like running a mile without stopping. I washed windows and realized I could hold up my arms without fatiguing. I stared at them in admiration, age spots and all.

At my yearly physical, the doctor asked whether I could walk up stairs without feeling pain around my heart. I replied, “I can hop up stairs on one foot without feeling pain around my heart!”

Since weight loss and new habits tend not to stick, I wondered what would happen next. Fortunately, I loved everything about my new lifestyle, including putting spicy marinara sauce on vegetables instead of pasta, and yes, being told I was an “extra small” by a saleswoman at a J. Jill clothing shop.

Jack had shown me my ageism. Now my new body size was educating me on thin privilege and the pervasive, insidious ways we judge bodies and the people in them.

At first, I enjoyed it when people told me they “admired” me and how good I looked. But I soon recognized the poison in this. I found myself treated with respect I hadn’t gotten when I was larger. I hate this. Let’s stop it. I’m trying.

Now I also question my aim of feeling “younger” next year. I feel stronger and more energetic with more ease in my body than I did in my 40s. But this is simply what being 63 feels like for me. Let’s drop this idea too, that feeling better means feeling “younger.” We can get older and feel all kinds of ways.

After a few years of feeling empowered and healthy at exactly my age, I decided to see if I could support others seeking a similar journey.

I decided to become a health coach through the American Council on Exercise. But the first step was qualification as a personal trainer.

Me? A personal trainer? How ridiculous that would have sounded to me in my 30s or 40s.

But it turned out that I loved learning about muscles and how to strengthen them. Even more exciting was learning that we can change our bodies at any age. Strength training works even when we’re already frail? Posture can be improved in just six weeks? Balance is a trainable skill? Everyone needs to know this!!

When I started working with clients, Jack asked if I could help with his balance. As we embarked on a program, his balance improved and we moved on to strength training.

One day he confided that he was having trouble starting his chainsaw –– in his 90s! We set up a resistance band for pulling, and soon he was out cutting branches again. I was so happy for him and also astonished at my strange new identity. Was that really me, a personal trainer who helped 95-year-old Jack regain the physical ability to do something he cared about?

In 2020, our German classes shifted to Zoom and Jack joined every week. Wednesday morning was his grocery shopping day, and my husband and I often aimed to cross paths with him at Trader Joe’s. We saw him there on November 9, 2022, two days before he had a fall at home.

He was in good spirits, reading German magazines when we visited him in the hospital. We promised to see him again soon in rehab. But he died in his sleep a few days later.

Jack was my student, my teacher, my inspiration, my client, and my friend. I want to age as dynamically as he did.

I don’t mentor Boy Scouts or analyze satellite photos, but today I coach clients, lead classes and workshops, write a blog, make videos and write hopefully inspiring and funny parody songs.

I’ve lost a few of my new abilities, like running (my left knee complains), but I keep improving at some things too, like balance and core strength.

My coaching wheel has expanded in all areas, with my fun and active second career, deeper relationships, robust health, solid finances, and even a newfound spirituality.

Thanks to the new spirituality spoke in my wheel, I am learning to accept that none of this is guaranteed to last, and it is only very, very partially under my control. I plan to continue questioning and challenging myself and my assumptions, changing and growing. Hopefully until I’m 99 and die in my sleep after having driven myself to Trader Joe’s to shop for the week. Whatever happens, it’s been a dynamic and worthwhile journey.