As I stood there quietly sipping my coffee and watching this tiny person with my wife’s good looks and my father’s eyes grow angry at water’s refusal to do as it’s told I realized what a different man I am than the one I still see myself as. It wasn’t that long ago that a rainy day like this meant soaked boots and chafing. It wasn’t that long ago that I was putting extra socks in zip lock bags to keep them dry. It wasn’t that long ago that I’d be grateful to the rain for keeping me cool and for not being snow.

We all lose a step or two as we get older, but lots of us work to keep that number from growing. We spend time in the gym and at the range. We read articles, talk to others with similar interests, push ourselves to improve but as I stood there holding my daughter under the protection of my porch roof, looking out at the falling rain, I knew that I’m not the same man that led Marines through terrain more treacherous than my steep backyard I lament mowing. I knew that I now lack that “whatever will be, will be” attitude about my environment. Now, I have comfort on my side.

The title of a column I write here on SOFREP called “Old Man Fitness” was born back when I was coaching high school football. I was a young kid in my early twenties, but already far stronger and more physically dominant that the students just a few years my junior on the field – something they attributed to “old man strength.” I laughed it off, but as I got older, I also got stronger (through a great deal of work) and I began to recognize the truth in their jokes: old man strength is real, or at least, it seems like it is. But if that’s true, why do I feel so soft from my vantage point on my back porch on rainy days like today?

Well, to be honest, i think it may be because old man strength isn’t real but something better is.

During my years playing football for the Marine Corps, playing rugby in college, fighting in bars and in cages, I was young, proud, and studious. I prided myself on the effort I put in to learning the proper form, the right execution of my steps, my shooting, my striking… always sure I’d eventually face some adversary that was larger, stronger, and more capable than I was. I always felt like the underdog, even when I was the clear favorite, and I credit that mentality for my undefeated (but short lived) career as a fighter, the stack of football trophies on my mantle, and the scrapbook full of newspaper clippings I keep tucked away in my office closet.

Now, with age on my side but much of my youthful vitality stripped away by injury and time, I feel like I could still probably kick that guy’s ass. Why? Well, because he was an idiot.

Twenty-something me relied on his training and form in all things he could; he was a good student and a pretty decent athlete too… but when the going got tough, he was all about one thing: just f*cking smashing his problems until they stopped moving. It worked most of the time, and when it didn’t, young Alex healed fast.

I don’t heal like that anymore, but what I lack in recovery I make up for in experience. I know how to fight that younger, stronger opponent because I felt him lose, I watched him adjust and change, shifting styles, techniques over the years to become more capable, more efficient while exposing himself to less risk. I got soft because I got better at not getting hurt.

Now, I know that young buck from a decade and a half ago could out-run me. He might even be able to out-lift me, but he sure as hell couldn’t out-smart me.

And, if that didn’t work, I haven’t forgotten how to just f*ckin’ smash stuff.

We all get soft eventually… but as far as I’m concerned, I earned it.

Images courtesy of the author