I'm Retired! Now what?

August 8, 2026

Like many people, I look upon a new life of retirement as a bit terrifying.  Indeed, there’s plenty to be scared about.  Am I going to become such an introvert that I lose all touch with humans and move into a cave while eating nothing but lizards and cave crickets?  Am I going to go middle-age crazy and blow my life savings on exotic Lamborghini and Ferrari sports cars and start flirting with college girls?  (Okay, I might actually do the flirting part when given the chance.)  Am I going to turn into that creepy old man down at the end of the road that local kids are scared to death of and become the subject of sinister, urban legends?  (That actually might be kind of cool.)  Or worse yet, am I going to squander all my money into some new business endeavor and be forced to live out my golden years manning the drive thru window at the local Jack In The Box?  To be truthful, none of these fears have ever registered in my mind.  My biggest retirement fear is blowing up like a beachball to the point where my past co-workers will greet me in the local Walmart with, “How’s retirement?   Looks like you’re getting plenty to eat.”

Believe it or not, my dear old dad used to use such a line as a friendly greeting.   In his mind the greeting, “Looks like you’re getting plenty to eat,” was nothing more than an optimistic remark meaning, “My, you look healthy.”  Yea, I don’t think many people took it that way.  The guy often greeted my older brother with such a comment, and trust me, my brother was definitely getting plenty to eat.   Waaaaaay plenty.  The guy was so well fed it took him to an early grave.  And that is NOT how I wanted to spend the glory days of my retirement.  I certainly have no interest in outgrowing my 1990’s concert shirts!

At times I like to throw in the fun fact that at the age of 62 I tip the scales at a few pounds less than I did when I graduated high school.  Okay, I mention that fact every chance I get.  It’s one of my life’s greater achievements.  I know my weight because I’m addicted to weighing myself every day.  I never want to be that guy who steps on the scales every five years or so and screams out, “Holy crap!”  Indeed, I knew a guy at work like that.  He claimed that he weighed in at 225, but he hadn’t weighed himself in years.  When someone suggested he check his heft with the company’s scales he made the astute observation that his assumed 225 had beefed up to a robust 285 pounds!  Standing at 6’2” I’ve been weighing in at around 205 pounds for the last thirty or so years, and that’s where I want to stay.

Back in high school I was way more of a band kid than an athlete, but one of my best friends in college had a girlfriend who was a jogger.  In order to impress her, he became a jogger, and looking for moral support he made me a jogger.  Jogging can be a lot of fun, and I did spend a lot of my twenties and thirties pounding the pavement.  After a while though, I started to feel all that pounding right up through my ankles and into my knees while giving my lower back some serious good whacks as well.  Watching so many of my fellow joggers suffer through back surgeries later on in life, I retired my jogging shoes and started hitting the gym.  Fortunately, my company had an on-sight gym.  For years the place had a full-time staff but still only cost me a few bucks a month.  However, with company budget cuts the staff was sent packing, and the gym suddenly became free and open 24/7 to all who worked there.  We did have to sign a waiver just in case we dropped a barbell on our foot or something.  I was far more concerned about the ghost that haunted the place.  For years the site’s security claimed that a bright orb would sometimes bounce around on the gym’s security screen.  One morning after work, while I was the only person in the gym, the rowing machine just started moving on its own.  I suppose ghosts need their cardio workouts too.  I’d hate to greet a ghost with, “Looks like you’re getting plenty to eat.”

So over the last thirty-five or so years I became a regular gym rat, and hitting the gym after work became a regular routine in my daily work life.  I’d mix it all up between free weights, machines, crunches, and when I felt energetic enough, I’d sweat out an hour of racking up the steps on an elliptical or StairMaster.  One would think with all the iron I was pumping I should have looked like the Incredible Hulk by the time I retired, but I was just trying to keep up a little tone and rarely did the workouts last over thirty or forty minutes.  After all, I was tossing in these workouts after I had just pulled a twelve-hour night shift.  To be honest, I was happy with keeping a little tone, increasing my energy level while keeping everything constant.  Everything meaning blood pressure, blood sugar, stress, cholesterol, and of course my weight.  So instead of turning green and busting out of my shirt whenever I got ticked off, I’d settle for the occasional, “Nice arms!” shout out.   In my mind, that was a lot better than having to buy new shirts every week. 

Although I generally liked my job, there were those times when I would burst out of the plant ticked off about something and charge into the gym with the belief that I could do some free-standing curls with a Nissan Altima in both hands!  Exercize is a great stress tool.  Then there were those times when I’d crawl out of work, just wanting to go home.  These mornings I’d generally flip a coin with the notion being, heads I go to the gym and tails I go home to bed.   Gosh darn it, my bed never won those tosses.

 When my company built a new plant behind our old one, I wasn’t invited to join the cool kids in the new building, but even though my company badge now says “RETIRED” I was given the opportunity to keep my gym privileges.  That’s all good and fine, but now a stop by the gym is no longer part of the “going home” routine, which means my pumping iron has now turned into the more popular workout of pumping cans of Mountain Dew.

For the most part, my retirement workouts have consisted of the simple act of walking.  At work my Fitbit would praise me for racking up 10,000 steps every day and give me a virtual high five on those busy days when I’d trek over 20,000!  However, those days are over, but I’ve been putting forth a serious effort to pull myself outside regularly for a four-mile hike around the neighborhood.  Thus far such has resulted in broiling my brain in the 101-degree Texas sun and literally getting bit in the butt by a neighbor’s dog.   The pooch didn’t break the skin, but I did have an interesting bruise back there for a couple of weeks.  My new injury is a nasty sore on the back of my heel from my shoes, even though I was wearing two pair of socks!  With all this being said, I thought it was time to hit the gym!  At least until my heel heals.

I don’t remember if I said hello to the ghost as I entered the sacred fitness center where I had spent so many hours during my work career.  So after a three months hiatus, walking through the doors was a bit like a homecoming of sorts.  Everything seemed to be the same as I left it.  Well, everything but my stamina.  My, what a difference three months of retirement can do to a guy.  Those 30-pound dumbbells that I used to vigorously hoist up 15 reps are now 25 pounds with a passive 10 reps.  And those 500 abb exercises that I used take myself through are now topping out at 200.  It’s a start though.  Or at least it’s an effort.  I only hope my heel heals quickly.