Why do I feel like a fraud when I associate the word athlete with myself? Because I’m 53? Because I’m much slower than I used to be? Because I don’t compete? Because I’m not specifically training for anything?

I haven’t FELT like an athlete for what seems like ages. It’s crazy how often I catch myself thinking I want to be an athlete again. That begs the question— When did I ever stop? Just because my athletic endeavors look much different now due to LIFE, does that invalidate my standing as an athlete? I’m not sure why,  but I tend to automatically associate legitimacy with consistency, competition, a fit body, fast times and visible muscles.  If I don’t possess these characteristics, does that disqualify me from using athlete as a descriptor? Over the past few years I’ve had many setbacks, often reducing me to slow walks that challenged me. Does being out of shape and sick strip that title from me? Is it something I can claim only when I work out 6 days/week, engage in a variety of sports and actively compete?

So many questions…

As a kid, I was in perpetual motion. A typical day included participation in a variety of sports and outdoor activities, whether organized or simply a spur of the moment backyard wiffle ball game. Eventually I narrowed my focus to running in high school, but for fun I still played basketball, tennis, softball, and volleyball (especially the summer),  and I frequently sailed, swam, hiked, and biked. Being active and competent in a multitude of sports was my identity and I loved to win.  As an adult, of course other things took priority over sports, but I continued to run on my own and eventually I became a coach.  Back then my identity as an athlete wasn’t in question  — at least in the back of my mind. 

Fast forward 25 years and here I am doubting myself.  I’m 53, rarely play any of those sports I used to love and I struggle to run a mile at the same pace I once ran for an entire marathon. Last year I trained for a half marathon  and entered my first race in over 15 years, yet I still felt like a poser because I was in the midst of an autoimmune flare and ended up walking a lot. My time was almost an hour slower than previous halfs. I was proud of myself for finishing, but could I really consider myself an athlete if I didn’t run the whole thing?

Does walking and being slow really matter, though? Logging all the miles and ultimately crossing the finish line has to count for something, right? Where did this imaginary “rule” that it has to be fast in order to be legit come from? My mind? Society? Messages on social media and other peoples opinions? Likely it’s all of the above.

A body that’s fighting a chronic illness is a masterful teacher. Being forced to start over and face the reality that my body can’t do what it used to is humbling. The inability to walk a mile without my heart rate spiking pressured me to reevaluate my priorities and values. Suddenly my walks were filled with lots of soul-searching. Why do I even want to continue running? If I can’t perform like I used to, does that mean I should give up altogether? The more I walked the more I realized I wanted to keep going, even if it meant I had to reframe my purpose and set different goals. I didn’t realize it at the time, but there was a real awakening happening that ultimately shifted my attitude.

Moving slower taught me to appreciate the ability to run (even at a turtle’s pace)  and allowed me to rediscover what I loved about the sport as a kid. It has been decades since I appreciated the freedom movement grants me, the beauty I’m exposed to on a run, the sound of my breath or feet hitting the pavement, and the time alone to clear my head. It seems crazy that there was a time when I refused to enter local races because I feared I wouldn’t win my age group or run a respectable time. Maybe I felt more like an athlete back then, but I definitely wasn’t having much fun.

So why did I still feel like a poser after running a half last year? Why do I continue to question whether I’m legit even after I accomplished a 32 mile week AND lifted weights consistently AND fell back in love with running?

I think it’s safe to say that part of the problem is coming to terms with the fact that I’m 53 and in the throes of perimenopause. It blows my mind that I’m in this stage of life where I no longer have teenagers, regularly receive mail from AARP for membership, deal with aches and pains I’ve never had before, go to bed at 9 PM every night and can only keep up with my kids on their warm-up for a grand total of 20 seconds. Wasn’t it just yesterday I was dragging them along on runs as they tried to keep up with ME?

Maybe it’s because as a kid I considered someone in their 50’s old. Or maybe it’s because society tends to dismiss women athletes, especially when they get older. Not to mention the endless stereotypes of menopause that I realize I had ingrained in my brain as well. Now that I’ve arrived at this transition, I realize my mind is refusing to accept any of that.

Thankfully, there are lots of women (doctors, scientists, trainers, athletes etc.) who are smashing the stereotype that growing older equates with slowing down and riding quietly off into the sunset. They are redefining what it means to be a woman and an athlete by setting ambitious goals, taking on new challenges, unashamedly building muscle, running ultras, starting new careers, and thriving well past menopause. There are tons of women lifting heavy in the gym, running every day and embracing life, and I don’t think twice about calling them athletes. I wonder if they struggle with embracing that as well? 

I owe a debt of gratitude to all the bad ass women who are putting themselves out there, proving that it’s not too late to challenge ourselves, set new goals, and take on the world. Why not go outside and shoot some hoops or shake the dust off my tennis racket or mountain bike and rediscover the joy of playing different sports? Why not set a goal to train to get faster at a new distance or run longer than I ever have? Why not call myself an athlete and embrace it as I step out the door to log some miles or hit the gym? Why not take this opportunity to capitalize on all the wisdom I gained from a life experience filled with lessons that have ultimately made me stronger and happier?

Maybe being an athlete in my 50s simply looks different than it did when I was younger. But isn’t that the exciting part? Now I get to define what that means to me. I get to choose how I write this next chapter. There are blank pages awaiting my touch. With 50+ years of experience under my belt and wisdom gained from countless challenges,  I can set new goals and enjoy setting the stage for this next chapter. Just because the picture looks DIFFERENT, doesn’t mean it’s not VALID. I’m looking to the future with hope, excitement and many aspirations,  proudly claiming what it means for me to be an athlete in my 50s. It’s never too late to start.  Go unleash your inner athlete — no matter how old you are!