The Many Ways We Keep Moving
Several weeks ago, I found myself rereading nearly ten years of stories about senior triathletes that I had published. I wasn’t looking for another article.
I was updating several pages on training, nutrition, recovery, and performance after fifty. I’d had the privilege of talking with these remarkable people, and reread their stories because I knew they possessed a wealth of experience about triathlon.
Instead, I found myself asking different questions.
After reading the first few stories, I realized I was seeing patterns I hadn’t noticed when I originally wrote them. I opened a spreadsheet and began making notes. Beside each athlete’s name, I listed two questions.
Why did this person start doing triathlon?
Why did they continue?
It didn’t take long to be reminded how remarkably diverse people’s reasons for starting triathlon were.
Then I found myself asking a different question.
What are they doing now?
Many of these stories had been written years earlier. What had happened since then? More importantly, what had they learned as they grew older that might benefit the rest of us?
Over the years, several had become friends through our shared interest in triathlon, and I wondered how their thinking—and perhaps mine—had changed.
So I wrote to many of them. Each email began with the same questions but quickly became personal. These weren’t surveys. They were conversations that continued stories we had started years earlier.
Among several questions, I asked one that seemed almost too simple.
What keeps you active and motivated today?
The replies began arriving from England, Australia, Hong Kong, France, Finland, and across the United States.
I expected that some would reply, as they always had. What I didn’t expect was the depth of their responses.
Some answered in a few sentences, while others wrote several pages. Several turned into conversations that continued over multiple emails.
Individually, each response updated a story I had published years before.
Together, they became a new story that I had never intended to write.
We Rarely Begin for the Same Reason
Over the following weeks, as I reread stories, exchanged emails, and added notes to my spreadsheet, certain patterns began appearing again and again.
I discovered that the stories resisted neat categories. The same athlete often illustrated several different ideas at once. Rather than trying to fit people into boxes, I found it more helpful to let each story illuminate one part of a much larger picture.
Looking back over the complete set of stories, the diversity was even more striking.
Paul Zellner started because he wanted to quit smoking and become a better role model for his young daughter.
Howard Glass discovered endurance sports after realizing that cycling, and eventually triathlon, helped keep depression away.
Pat Hawks was inspired by a mother who refused to let polio define her life. Following a divorce at age 50, she decided it was time to begin a new chapter.
Mark Bartolomeo entered retirement carrying nearly sixty-five extra pounds accumulated during a successful business career. He was looking for something healthy and challenging to replace the structure that work had provided.
Dave Conover learned about triathlon from his son’s little league baseball coach and, through it, learned to run and also lost some weight.
Johny Dignam stood on the sidelines of Ironman Australia and decided he wanted to become one of the athletes rather than one of the spectators. Triathlon eventually helped him replace an unhealthy lifestyle with a much healthier one.
Sue Faulkner wanted to show her children and grandchildren that growing older didn’t mean becoming inactive. She discovered that the example she set was often more powerful than anything she could say. The accompanying photograph, taken after a triathlon with her son and grandson, captures that example better than words could.
Juha Makitalo admired Mark Allen and Finland’s Pauli Kiuru. Encouraged by a friend, he eventually pursued a goal that had once seemed beyond his reach—completing an Ironman.
Rick Burgess entered his seventies determined to find out what remained possible. Completing Ironman California at age seventy-three as the oldest finisher in the race wasn’t the end of his story—it became the beginning of another question.
The stories began in different places because people arrived at triathlon carrying different experiences, different hopes, and different reasons for saying yes.
That wasn’t a big surprise. What surprised me was what happened next.
Why Do We Continue?
That was the question I thought I was trying to answer.
As I reread the stories and the follow-up emails, I expected the reasons people continued in triathlon to be just as diverse as the reasons they had started. They were. Some athletes were still pursuing ambitious goals. Others had become content simply to participate without worrying about finishing times.
A few had moved beyond triathlon altogether. At first, I thought those stories belonged in a different category. I would eventually discover they were some of the most important stories of all.
Despite those differences, I kept finding the same ideas appearing again and again. I noticed that my spreadsheet was no longer filling with training tips. Instead, I found myself highlighting many of the same ideas again and again. Health appeared frequently, but so did family, curiosity, social connections, learning, and the desire to remain fully engaged with life.
I hadn’t gone looking for those themes. The athletes kept bringing me back to them.
One reply, from Joe Simonetta, especially caught my attention. Joe will soon celebrate his eighty-third birthday. Staying active has been part of his life for decades, and movement has simply become part of who he is. When people ask how he has remained so active for so long, his answer is refreshingly simple.
“Don’t stop.”
Joe enjoys challenging himself, but competition is only one reason he continues to train. Regular exercise helps him feel better physically and mentally. He also appreciates the balance that triathlon provides through swimming, cycling, running, and strength training, believing that together they develop the whole person.
Then he shifted from talking about himself to talking about his family.
Joe and his wife are raising two young children.
“I want to stay healthy and strong,” he wrote, “not only for myself, but also to continue being fully present for my young children.”
A few days earlier, I had received a thoughtful reply from Laurent Labbe in Hong Kong. Although his life and Joe’s have followed very different paths, I was struck by one remarkable similarity.
Laurent also wrote about remaining healthy and active for his family and about demonstrating to both his adult children and his younger children that an active lifestyle does not have to end with age. That idea is reflected in a photograph of Laurent approaching the finish line alongside his young son.
Neither man measured success by his next race.
Instead, both were thinking about the example they hoped to set and the kind of father they wanted to be.
As I sat reading their emails, I realized I was no longer thinking primarily about triathlon. Somewhere along the way, I had become much more interested in what kept these athletes moving than simply what kept them training.
As I sat reading their emails, I realized I was no longer thinking primarily about triathlon. Somewhere along the way, I had become much more interested in what kept these athletes moving—not simply swimming, biking, and running, but continuing to grow, to learn, to encourage others, and to embrace whatever possibilities still lay ahead.
That wasn’t the article I had intended to write, but I was beginning to think it might be the more important one—or at least equally important.
Continuing to Explore What’s Possible
As I stepped back from the collection of stories and follow-up emails, one group gradually came into focus. These athletes were still pursuing ambitious goals in triathlon well into their seventies and eighties.
On the surface, their stories looked remarkably similar.
Gene Peters continued competing at the highest levels of the sport. Laura Rosetti continued racing, coaching, and encouraging others after more than forty years in triathlon. Darrell Myrick had returned to endurance racing following major heart surgery. Rick Burgess was already asking what he might accomplish next after becoming the oldest finisher at Ironman California.
The more I reflected on their stories, however, the less interested I became in their accomplishments alone. What intrigued me was what seemed to sustain each of them over time.
Gene Peters was the first to deepen that question.
When Gene and his wife, Kitty, became involved in triathlon, each found a different role. Gene trained and raced. Kitty became his greatest supporter. She volunteered at races and proudly shared Gene’s accomplishments with friends. According to Gene, Kitty understood how important triathlon had become in his life. Looking back, he doubts he would have accomplished nearly as much without her encouragement.
One of my favorite photographs of them shows Gene and Kitty together after an Ironman 70.3 World Championship—a reminder that every finish line was something they shared.
After Kitty passed away following fifty-five years of marriage, Gene continued training. Two years later, at age eighty-two, he finished fourth at the Ironman World Championship in Kona in the 80–84 age group.
It would be easy to conclude that Gene simply refused to slow down.
I don’t think that’s the real story.
As I reread Gene’s story, I saw someone continuing a life that he and Kitty had built together over decades. Kona was another chapter in that story, not its purpose. His accomplishments were remarkable, but what stayed with me was the quiet influence of someone who believed in him for more than half a century.
Laura Rosetti offered a different perspective.
Few athletes have remained involved in triathlon as long as Laura. She began racing in 1985 and, more than forty years later, continues to train, coach, and compete. She has raced at Kona repeatedly and earned numerous age-group podium finishes. Yet when I asked what had helped sustain her involvement for so many years, she spoke far less about racing than about relationships.
When Laura moved to Georgia in her early fifties, she knew almost no one. Through masters swimming and local cycling and running groups, she found training partners who became close friends. Those friendships made training more enjoyable, provided accountability, and carried her through moves, injuries, and different seasons of life.
Laura told me that building those relationships becomes more difficult as we grow older. We have to make the effort to put ourselves in places where friendships can develop. For her, community was never simply an incidental benefit of triathlon. It has been woven into the experience itself.
Darrell Myrick pointed in yet another direction.
Following major heart surgery, many people would have assumed Darrell’s endurance racing days were over. Instead, later that same year, he stood on the starting line at the Ironman World Championship in Kona and crossed another finish line. What impressed me most, however, wasn’t simply that he returned to racing. It was that recovering enough to race again reflected how deeply an active lifestyle had become part of who he was.
Rick Burgess added another dimension.
After becoming the oldest finisher at Ironman California at age seventy-three, Rick didn’t ask whether he should stop. Instead, he immediately began wondering what might still be possible.
“If I could do this at 73, what could I accomplish at 75?”
As different as these four athletes are, they share one important characteristic.
Each continues to explore what remains possible.
Although these four athletes followed very different paths, they helped me understand four different ways people continue exploring what remains possible.
Gene’s story reminded me of the quiet influence of a spouse who believed in him for more than half a century.
Laura showed that community isn’t simply a pleasant part of triathlon—it often sustains it.
Darrell demonstrated that an active lifestyle can become part of our identity.
Rick illustrated that curiosity doesn’t have to diminish with age.
The finish lines may look similar.
The stories behind them do not.
Redefining Success
Not every story pointed toward bigger races or longer distances. Instead, some pointed toward something that may have required even greater wisdom.
They reminded me that continuing to move forward doesn’t always mean continuing in the same direction.
Craig Cross was one of the first athletes to help me see that.
For years, Craig had challenged himself with longer races and ambitious goals. As he has grown older, however, his thinking has changed. Craig challenged one of my own assumptions. We often speak about athletes over fifty as though they are one group. Craig reminded me that the experience of someone in their early fifties may have very little in common with someone in their late seventies or eighties. Aging isn’t one stage of life. It’s a continuum.
That observation helped explain something I had been seeing throughout these stories.
Craig also recognized that the rate of physical decline changes as we grow older. What worked in his fifties no longer works in quite the same way in his seventies. As Craig wrote, “My athletic world has changed.” Rather than resisting those changes, he has learned to work with them.
He still trains with purpose, but his emphasis has shifted toward recovery, strength training, Pilates, yoga, and sprint triathlons rather than longer races. Success is no longer measured against the athlete he once was, but against the opportunities still available to him.
Steve Stewart arrived at a similar place from a different direction. Completing an Ironman after retirement had been one of his long-term goals. Many people might have viewed that accomplishment as the perfect ending to their triathlon story. Steve didn’t. He continued training and racing, but with different expectations and different priorities. The satisfaction of remaining active gradually replaced the pressure to accomplish something even bigger.
Nikki Austin‘s story reflects another kind of adaptation. After years of racing, an artificial hip, and more recently a serious wrist injury, she continues looking for ways to remain active. Race walking has replaced some of her running. Water aerobics has become another outlet. She still hopes to return to triathlon, but she no longer measures success solely by crossing another finish line. Remaining healthy, engaged, and optimistic has become just as important.
The accompanying photograph says as much as the words: Nikki smiling beside members of her family after a race, exactly where she wants to be.
Marty Hunter‘s experience reminds us that adaptation is not always a choice. After injury changed what was physically possible, she shifted from long-course racing toward relay events and shorter races. Her competitive spirit remained, but it found a different expression. Rather than mourning what she could no longer do, she embraced what she still could.
As I reflected on these stories, I realized that none of these athletes had lowered their standards.
They had simply changed the way they defined success.
Success was no longer measured only by finish times, race distances, or podium finishes. It was increasingly measured by the willingness to adapt without giving up.
Their goals changed.
Their commitment to moving forward did not.
When the Finish Line Isn’t the Finish
As I continued rereading the stories and follow-up emails, another pattern gradually emerged. Some of the athletes were still racing. Others had moved on to different pursuits. At first, I assumed that distinction would become one of the defining themes of this project. Instead, it became less important with every story I revisited.
When I wrote Triathlon Adventures Across America, I explained why I wanted to complete my goal of racing in all fifty states before turning seventy. Having watched family members and older friends age, I was convinced that seventy represented about the limit for triathlon-level activity. If I was going to achieve the goal, I believed I had to do it before then.
As I reread these stories and the follow-up emails, however, I gradually realized I had been asking the wrong question.
The important question wasn’t how long someone could continue competing in triathlon. It was what they continued moving toward as they grew older. The athletes whose stories filled my spreadsheet answered that question in remarkably different ways, yet their answers shared something important. None of those who were no longer racing in triathlon had stopped living with purpose simply because the sport no longer occupied the same place in their lives.
Paul Zellner was one of the first to help me see that.
Years earlier, Paul had turned to triathlon to quit smoking and become healthier for his family. He accomplished both goals. But when I contacted him again, what struck me wasn’t that he had stopped training for another Ironman. It was why.
While preparing for Rockford Ironman 70.3, Paul found himself asking a different question: “Is this where I should be spending my time?” He thought about his wife, his children, his grandchildren, volunteering, and travel. Then he looked at the medals hanging on his wall and wondered, “Is one more medal that important? Is my ego driving me?“
For Paul, redefining success didn’t mean leaving triathlon behind. It meant allowing the values he had learned through triathlon to shape what came next. As he reflected later, “For me, triathlon has been about relationships and community.” That new purpose is beautifully reflected in a photograph of Paul pushing his granddaughter, Addie, during a run. As he wrote, “Running as a pusher for my granddaughter, Addie, brings me new purpose. I look forward to seeing how far these old legs will take us together.“
Jeanne Minder‘s experience pointed in a similar direction. Jeanne has accomplished far more in triathlon than most athletes ever will, yet when I asked what continued to matter most after decades in the sport, she devoted surprisingly little attention to medals or finish times. What energized her was introducing people to triathlon, encouraging them through their doubts, and helping them discover abilities they never knew they possessed. Her greatest satisfaction no longer came only from what she had accomplished herself, but from watching others begin and progress in stories of their own.
Sue Faulkner reminded me that influence is often measured differently than achievement. When I first interviewed Sue, she talked about wanting to show her children and grandchildren that growing older did not mean becoming inactive. Reading her follow-up years later, I realized she had already succeeded. Whether anyone in her family ever completed a triathlon wasn’t really the point. She had demonstrated, through the way she lived, that an active life could continue well beyond the years many people assume it should.
Johny Dignam completed the picture for me. He began as a spectator wondering what it might feel like to become an Ironman. Training eventually helped him replace unhealthy habits with healthier ones, but the lasting transformation reached much deeper than improved fitness.
The discipline, confidence, and direction he gained changed far more than his fitness. Looking back, Johny shared perhaps the most revealing comment of all: “My wife Tracey says she waited 30 years for this version of me.” By “this version,” he meant the man who had emerged through triathlon. The sport had been the catalyst, not the destination.
As I reflected on these stories together, I realized something that genuinely surprised me. I had begun this project hoping to strengthen SeniorTriathletes.com’s pages on training, nutrition, recovery, and performance after fifty. I found many practical ideas that will undoubtedly improve those pages.
But I also found something I hadn’t expected.
For much of this project, I had quietly assumed that stepping away from triathlon represented an acceptance that age had finally imposed its limits. These athletes showed me something very different. Some still raced. Others no longer did. Yet all of them continued pursuing lives filled with curiosity, purpose, relationships, service, and personal growth.
As I once again scanned my spreadsheet, I realized I no longer viewed the future quite the same way. For years I had assumed there would come a day when leaving triathlon would feel like closing the door on an important part of my life.
These athletes helped me imagine another possibility. The sport had enriched their lives, but it had not confined them. They carried its lessons, friendships, discipline, and curiosity into whatever came next.
It reminded me that leaving triathlon, whenever that time comes, is not the same as leaving behind an active and meaningful life. The finish line may mark the end of one chapter, but it doesn’t have to define the chapters that follow.
Conclusion
When I began rereading these stories, I thought I was updating a website.
I was looking for better advice about training, nutrition, recovery, and performance after fifty. And, I expected to find practical ideas that would help make those pages more useful.
I found those ideas.
But somewhere along the way, the project became something else.
Over nearly ten years, I had interviewed dozens of remarkable people. As I reread their stories and exchanged new emails with many of them, I began seeing those stories through a different lens. Individually, each had inspired me. Together—and enriched by what many had learned in the years since—I began to see something I hadn’t fully appreciated before.
I realized they weren’t simply teaching me how to become a better triathlete—they were teaching me how to approach aging.
Not one of them followed the same path. Some continued chasing ambitious goals. Others found fulfillment in sprint races instead of Ironman. Some devoted themselves to coaching, volunteering, grandchildren, or helping new athletes discover abilities they never knew they possessed. A few had stepped away from triathlon altogether.
Yet none of them had stopped moving forward.
For years, I quietly assumed that there would come a day when leaving triathlon would feel like closing the door on an important part of my life. Watching family members and friends grow older, I had come to think that every athlete eventually reaches the point where possibilities begin to shrink.
These athletes challenged that assumption.
They showed me that while our abilities inevitably change, our capacity to learn, to contribute, to encourage, to stay curious, and to remain fully engaged with life does not have to diminish alongside them.
Perhaps that’s the greatest lesson I found hidden inside these conversations with older athletes.
Triathlon was never the destination. It was the classroom.
The finish lines, the medals, the podiums, and even the training were preparing these athletes for something larger. The discipline, resilience, friendships, confidence, curiosity, and sense of purpose they developed through the sport became tools they carried into every chapter that followed.
Looking back, I realized I hadn’t been finding different answers. I had been asking more important questions.
I began by asking why people started.
Then I asked why they continued.
In the end, I realized there was an even better question.
What kind of person is this experience helping us become?
Looking back over nearly ten years of conversations, I think I finally know the answer.
The people who inspired me most weren’t simply the fastest or the strongest.
They were the ones who kept growing.
And perhaps that’s what “keeping moving” has meant all along.
The stories in this article came from athletes who simply took the time to share their experiences. I hope you’ll add yours.
Before You Go
We’d Love to Hear Your Story
After talking with senior triathletes from around the world over nearly ten years, I’ve learned there is no single reason people keep moving. Every story adds another perspective.
Looking back over your own life, what has kept you moving? Has your reason changed over the years?
Please share your thoughts in the comments below. Your story may encourage someone else who is wondering what’s possible in the years ahead.
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