The world of triathlon is often associated with peak physical fitness, relentless training, and youthful energy. We see images of chiseled athletes in their prime, pushing their bodies to the absolute limit. It’s a sport that demands so much, and sometimes, it can feel like it has an expiration date. But recently, a couple of encounters have completely reshaped my perspective on aging and endurance.
At the Alpha Win Triathlon in Hudson Valley
A few months ago, I was at the Alpha Win triathlon, soaking in the pre-race buzz. Amidst the sea of athletes, I met a woman named Sybil. She was friendly, vibrant, and getting ready to race.
Sybil was 85 years old. The number alone was astonishing. Here was a woman who could be my mother, still embracing the challenge of a swim, bike, and run with a spirit that was nothing short of infectious.
Toughman Westchester Triathlon
Then, just the other day, I was at the Toughman Westchester Triathlon. I got to talking with a gentleman who had just completed the aquabike event—a grueling swim followed by a hilly bike course. He was 80.
When I asked him about the infamous hills on the bike course, a section that had younger athletes groaning and complaining, his response was simple and delivered with a calm smile: “It was easy.”
His words hung in the air for a moment. Easy? I had just heard from athletes in their 20s and 30s who described the course as brutal. Yet, this man, with eight decades of life experience, found it manageable. It was a powerful moment that got me thinking deeply about our perception of age, limits, and the incredible resilience of the human spirit.
A Question of Perspective
How could an 80-year-old find a tough bike course “easy” while athletes 50 years his junior struggled? I don’t think it was just about physical strength. I believe it comes down to perspective. When you have lived for 80 years, your definition of “hard” changes. You’ve navigated challenges far greater than a steep incline on a bike. You’ve weathered life’s storms, overcome personal and professional hurdles, and learned a thing or two about pacing yourself for the long haul.
For many younger athletes, a race is an all-out assault—a test of maximum output. For these seasoned veterans, it seems to be more of a celebration. It’s about the joy of movement, the gift of health, and the privilege of being able to participate.
They aren’t necessarily competing against the clock or the person next to them; they are competing against yesterday and proving to themselves that they still can. Their benchmark for success isn’t a podium finish, but simply crossing the finish line with a smile.
This mindset transforms a grueling physical test into a mindful experience. The hills aren’t obstacles to be conquered with brute force, but simply parts of the journey to be navigated with wisdom and steady effort.
Confronting My Own Feelings About Aging
These encounters have been particularly meaningful for me lately. I’ll be honest—there are times I feel like I’m aging out of the sport. I show up for an open water swim at Tobay Beach, look around, and feel like I’m the oldest one in the water by a decade. In a sport that often glorifies youth, it’s easy to feel like your best years are behind you. The aches and pains last a little longer, recovery takes more effort, and the idea of hitting a new personal best can feel like a distant dream.
Those moments can be discouraging. You start to wonder, “How much longer can I keep doing this?” The self-doubt creeps in, whispering that maybe it’s time to find a less demanding hobby. It’s a feeling I think many athletes experience as they move through different age groups.
Inspired to Keep Going
But then I think of Sybil, preparing for her race at 85. I think of the gentleman at Toughman, shrugging off hills at 80. Their presence sends a powerful message: triathlon doesn’t have an age limit unless you create one for yourself. They are living proof that endurance, passion, and participation are lifelong pursuits.
Meeting them has shifted my mindset. Instead of seeing the older faces as a rarity, I now see them as pioneers. They are redefining what it means to grow older. They remind me that the goal isn’t to be the fastest person in the race, but to be the person who is still in the race, year after year.
Their example has given me a new sense of freedom. I feel less pressure to compete and more inspired to simply participate. The joy of the sport doesn’t have to fade with age; it can evolve. It can become less about intensity and more about consistency. It can be less about proving something to others and more about celebrating what your body can do, right here, right now.
So, if you ever feel like you’re getting too old for this sport, or for any passion you hold dear, I encourage you to look for the Sybils of the world. They are out there on the course, in the gym, and on the trails. They are the quiet reminders that you can keep doing this until you decide you can’t. And as I’ve learned from them, that day can be a long, long way off.