I went back to the gym yesterday. The temperature had dipped into the low 50s, which felt especially sharp for a 63-year-old man like me. For people used to northern climates, this kind of weather is probably perfect—ideal for outdoor play. Snowbirds thrive in it. Young people jog shirtless along running trails. Older folks stroll through parks wearing nothing more than a thin sweater, hiking poles in hand, faithful to their daily routines.
And then there’s me—bundled up like a newborn, layered from neck to ankle. That’s just reality now.
I chose the treadmill and walked at a steady 3.1 miles per hour, checking my heart rate every five minutes to keep it below 130 beats per minute—roughly 80 percent of my estimated maximum heart rate. That range is generally considered ideal for moderate, brisk walking, especially for older adults who prioritize cardiovascular health over intensity.
Having lived alone most of my life, I’ve developed a habit of minding my own business in public spaces. I don’t stare. I come in, do what I need to do, and leave. The gym is no different.
After finishing my treadmill session, I moved on to the weight machines. As a younger man, I was strict—almost doctrinal—about exercise rules. Cardio one day, weights the next. Never mix them in the same session, or else their benefits would “cancel each other out.” I trained with rigid form and pushed myself close to my limits, chasing muscle bulk and strength. Like many hot-blooded young men, I imagined that a sculpted body might somehow make me more visible, more desirable.
That mindset faded after I turned sixty.
I abandoned the word maximize and replaced it with optimize. Do what is appropriate. Make the most of what is realistic. Moderate the intensity.
This isn’t to say that everyone should lower their goals with age. Some people—men and women well into their sixties and seventies—still outperform athletes half their age. I once lingered at a park during a 5K race and watched a young man take the lead. Close behind him was an older runner, easily in his late sixties. His form was beautiful—long, relaxed strides, effortless speed, a calm expression. He looked like he was gliding. If I remember correctly, he finished with an astonishing pace.
The physical therapist in me wanted to shout, That’s too much, old man! But who was I to say that? My professional life has been spent around the injured, the fragile, the recovering. I am wired to protect, to restrain, to err on the side of caution. In that moment, I wasn’t his therapist. I was simply a witness—mesmerized by the sight of an older man running freely, his body declaring, Here I am, world. Take this.
Back at the gym, it was a Monday, and the place was busy. Many people were probably compensating for a sedentary weekend—too much food, too much sitting, too much television. I recognize the pattern well. My housemate fits the stereotype perfectly: weekends of steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, beer, and sports, interrupted only by walking the dog twice a day. Monday arrives, guilt follows, and suddenly it’s time to punish the body back into submission.
I started with leg machines since they were the most available. I approached them cautiously. My knee has been a long-standing problem, and over the years I’ve learned how to modify movements to avoid provoking pain. Aging teaches you this whether you want to learn or not. Something always limits the “ideal” version of performance. You adapt. You compensate. You change angles and positions—strategies I once corrected aggressively in others when I was younger and stricter. Back then, I believed there was only one right way to move.
After legs, I looked for upper-body machines and found a chest machine that could be adjusted for either pectorals or upper back. Just as I was about to begin, a young Latino man—maybe Argentinian, in his twenties—spoke from behind me. “A few more sets,” he said.
I was ready to step aside, but waiting made no sense. There are countless ways to train the same muscle groups. I told him calmly, “It’s alright, I’ll find another machine.” He looked momentarily panicked, as if he thought he’d offended me.
It really didn’t matter. Flexibility—both physical and mental—comes with age.
I moved on to biceps, triceps, pushing and pulling movements, carefully avoiding anything overhead. In about thirty minutes, I finished my routine.
At home, I rested. I had completed nearly forty minutes on the treadmill and a short session on the machines. Still, I felt slightly unsatisfied. Gym machines tend to isolate muscles in single planes of movement, while real life is rotational, multi-directional, and unpredictable. That’s why I supplement gym work with exercises at home—free weights, resistance bands, balance boards, steps—tools that challenge coordination, balance, and functional strength.
The next day, I felt fine and managed a couple of miles of walking for cardiovascular exercise.
Then, about forty-eight hours later, it arrived.
The familiar, dull ache.
Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness.
What Is Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness (DOMS)?
Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness, commonly known as DOMS, is the muscle pain and stiffness that typically appears 24 to 72 hours after unfamiliar or intense physical activity. It is especially common when returning to exercise after a break, increasing intensity, or introducing new movements—exactly my situation.
For many years, DOMS was blamed on lactic acid buildup. Research has since debunked that theory. Lactic acid clears from muscles within hours, not days. The real cause lies elsewhere.
Current evidence shows that DOMS results primarily from microscopic damage to muscle fibers, particularly during eccentric contractions—movements where the muscle lengthens under load, such as lowering weights, walking downhill, or controlling machines. These tiny tears trigger an inflammatory response, leading to swelling, tenderness, and temporary loss of strength.
Studies using muscle biopsies and imaging have confirmed this microtrauma, along with increased markers of inflammation and nerve sensitivity. Importantly, this process is not harmful; it is part of how muscles adapt and grow stronger. In fact, DOMS often signals that the body is remodeling itself in response to new demands.
For older adults, DOMS can feel more pronounced and last longer due to age-related changes in muscle recovery, connective tissue elasticity, and circulation. However, research also shows that regular, appropriately dosed exercise reduces DOMS over time through a phenomenon called the repeated bout effect. Simply put, muscles learn.
Evidence-based strategies to manage DOMS include:
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Gradual progression of intensity
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Adequate hydration and protein intake
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Light movement and active recovery
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Gentle stretching and mobility work
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Sufficient sleep and rest days
Pain relievers may reduce discomfort, but studies suggest they do not speed recovery and may blunt muscle adaptation if overused.
In the end, DOMS is not a failure. It is feedback.
At my age, learning to listen to that feedback—without fear, without bravado—is perhaps the most important form of fitness I still practice.