By a Dad Who’s Learned That Parenthood Is the Ultimate Endurance Sport
When my son was born, I was 45. Back then, I was in peak shape…CrossFit several times a week, stair and hill climb training on the weekends, obstacle course races for fun, and a home gym in my basement that was quite impressive for its size. I could deadlift more than double my bodyweight before noon and still have the energy left to do a 30 minute run in the evening.
Then came fatherhood.
That basement gym? Slowly taken over by dust and feeling quite neglected. My training sessions turned into carrying a car seat in one hand and a diaper bag in the other or pacing the floor at 2 a.m. perfecting the bounce-and-sway maneuver. My new workout music became Imogen Heap’s “The Happy Song” on repeat…that song will forever be etched in my mind.
The first four years were marked by joy, yes, but also by brutal insomnia, the kind that lingers in your bones even when the baby finally sleeps through the night. My busy work schedule didn’t help, and to top it all off, I thought it would be a great idea to start a mini farm on my acreage at the time. The long hours chipped away at my energy. Fitness slipped down the list, replaced by a mix of survival mode, sugar and caffeine. I’d look at my old race medals gathering dust and think, I’ll get back there… someday.
The Comeback (Sort Of)
Two years ago, I started easing back into fitness, not at the level or intensity I was before my son was born, but enough to feel somewhat like myself again. These days, my “training” often involves an inconsistent mismatch of 30-minute strength training or indoor cycling sessions during my work lunch hour, and a short gravel biking ride on the weekend, if the Calgary weather and my family chores allows…timing is everything for this one. The key difference now is that exercise isn’t about PRs (personal records), it’s about keeping up with my eight-year-old son, who moves with the speed and energy of someone whose breakfast consisted of pancakes, gummy bears and pure enthusiasm. I get both envious and tired watching him at times.
And since he discovered soccer and plans to be a professional soccer player, my training has shifted. I spend more time running drills with him on the soccer field behind my house, practicing penalty shots, and pretending I’m a world-class goalie. Honestly, nothing gets your heart rate up faster than trying to block a determined eight-year-old who’s just figured out how to put real power behind a ball and has perfect aim at your face.
The Pros of Being a Late-Entry Dad
1. Patience by the Buckload
By the time my son came along, I’d already navigated enough workplace chaos to know that panic solves nothing. That patience has been my secret weapon—especially when helping him with homework or teaching him new skills.
2. Financial Stability
I could afford the good stroller, the safe car seat, and the CR7 soccer boots he “absolutely needed” last season. More importantly, I can say yes to experiences — weeklong dad-son camping trips, soccer training camps, etc. — that I might not have been able to in my 20s.
3. Priorities Are Crystal Clear
I’ve had my years of chasing promotions, social events, partying, and endless hobbies. Now, my hobbies are significantly reduced, and I want to be home more than anywhere else, or doing outdoor activities with him, just the two of us.
4. A Stronger Emotional Core
I’m more tuned in to emotions…his and mine. Growing up Gen X in the Caribbean, showing vulnerable emotions, or much less, talking about them, was not something that was done as a male. Now I am wiser, and I can talk about feelings without flinching and apologize when I’m wrong.
5. Built-In Life Experience
I have stories, lessons, and a perspective my younger self didn’t. I am wiser and much more battle hardened by both my failures and wins in life. I know what matters long-term and what’s just noise.
6. More Appreciative of the “Small Stuff”
When you’ve lived a few decades before having kids, you don’t take the little things for granted. Watching him score his first soccer tournament goal felt like watching someone win the FIFA World Cup. Amazing!
The Cons (Because No One Tells You This Part)
1. Energy Isn’t Unlimited
Eight-year-old boys are basically parkour artists with no off switch that run on fusion energy. I keep up, but my recovery time is longer than it used to be.
2. Fitness Slippage Is Real
Getting back into shape in your 50s isn’t impossible, but it’s not the quick rebound of your 20s or 30s. It’s a long game. Your mind might be young, but your body pushes back and many times you have to listen.
3. The Age Math
I’ll be in my 60s when he’s in college. It makes me hyper-aware of my health. That keeps me focused on staying active — not to prove anything, but because I want to be the dad still kicking a soccer ball around when he’s in his twenties and thirties (yes, I said thirties!)
4. Generational Gaps
Trying to explain cassette tapes, cars with no seat belts or a world without smartphones gets me a look like I just said I rode to school on a dinosaur.
5. Limited “Me Time”
Between work, parenting, his soccer practice, being a husband and sleep (when I get it), solo hobbies are scarce.
6. Work-Life Juggling Act
My demanding job means constant balancing — and sometimes guilt — about whether I’m giving enough to both work and family.
8 Lessons in 8 Years
A quick-hit list from the trenches
- Sleep is a currency—spend it wisely.
- A backyard soccer game counts as cardio.
- Patience grows with age, but so do aches.
- Kids don’t care how much you lift; they care how much you listen.
- Your health is an investment, not an afterthought.
- Work will wait; childhood won’t.
- It’s okay to still be learning how to be a dad.
- The best project you’ll ever build doesn’t come with instructions.
Eight Years In, Here’s What I Know
My life changed for the better the day my son was born. That’s not a Hallmark card — it’s the truth. I’m still learning how to be a father, still figuring out the balance between work, health, and family. But I have no regrets.
The fitness goals, the races, even the home gym — they’re still there, just not at the center anymore. I may never get back to the fitness level I had before he was born, but I’m more active now than I was a few years ago, even if the activity looks different. I can still sprint after a soccer ball when my son shouts, “Come on, Dad!” And I know that keeping myself healthy means I’ll be able to keep saying yes to those moments for as long as possible.
Now, I’m training for something far more important than a race medal: being the dad he needs, for as long as I am able.
I may have started this fatherhood journey later than most, but I wouldn’t trade the timing for anything. Because for all the pros, cons, and sleepless nights, the real victory is simple:
I get to be his dad.