Image from Depositphotos.
Today’s Washington Post ran an article featuring Bob Becker, an 80-year-old who competes in ultra-marathons—grueling races that few people attempt at any age.
The article detailed how he lives, trains, eats (vegan), and recovers. He noted that the doctors he visits regularly call him “crazy,” but they never tell him to stop running. One stranger was reportedly so inspired by Bob’s example that they committed to living another 100 days.
Most comments were admiring. One reader said they knew Bob personally and vouched that he’s as kind as he is impressive.
But others noted a different reality: Bob Becker benefits from excellent genes and robust health. One commenter mentioned that, due to neuropathy, he could barely walk around the block. Others cited arthritis or conditions with hereditary roots—just as a woman I know smoked two packs a day and lived to be 82, while all her siblings died of heart disease before they were 60. Sometimes life isn’t fair.
To be clear: Becker deserves full credit for his accomplishments. In my own book, I mention Olga Kotelko, who competed in senior track and field into her early 90s. But while we cheer these rare individuals, we also need to place them in context. Articles like these can unintentionally distort what’s realistic for most people.
Apart from genetics, Becker and Kotelko both began athletic training early in life, even if there were interruptions. They were lucky to find (and afford) encouraging coaches. They enjoyed family support.
We don’t know how many others spend energy scrounging for support.
The Trouble with “Be Like Bob”
What truly irked me in this article was a quote from Bob’s trainer:
“He’s still discovering what he’s capable of,” she said. “He’s showing what’s possible not just for him, but for you too, for me, for all of us.”
She also created swag that says “Be like Bob.” Like many trainers I’ve met, she seems to believe that anything is possible with the right plan and self-discipline.
It’s true that we often underestimate the extraordinary power of fitness. I have a friend whose doctor was alarmed by her cardiovascular profile—high blood pressure, cholesterol, pre-diabetes. With the help of a trainer and regular gym visits, her numbers normalized in six months and her doctor was thrilled.
Trainers say this isn’t a miracle. They see it all the time.
But Becker’s story isn’t just about good training. We don’t know everything about how he manages risk—for instance, how he handles fear of falling or actual falls. Nor do we all have a truck full of support staff trailing us with water bottles and ice packs. Some of us can barely find someone to drive us home from outpatient surgery.
Extraordinary Doesn’t Mean Possible
The truth is, Bob Becker makes headlines because he’s exceptional—just like Olga Kotelko, the track star, or Bette Nash, who kept her flight attendant job into her early 80s.
Their stories are inspiring—but not representative. Most people face a far more precarious aging process.
Olga Kotelko had a relative with a sharp mind and an incurable medical condition—a woman who felt imprisoned by her own body while her mind was, as she said, “sharp as cheddar.”
I once knew a man who developed debilitating, untreatable dizziness. He had to give up walking his beloved dog and eventually moved into a care facility.
What We Don’t Talk About
I stay fit. But I tell my doctors—somewhat to their horror—that I’d rather die while still independent than become an inmate of a nursing home, helpless, with a 40% probability of abuse. I use the word “inmate” deliberately.
One of my doctors confided that both of his parents functioned well until age 80, when their health rapidly collapsed. He understands what so many doctors and optimists ignore:
Decline is not a failure of will.
Yes, let’s applaud the Bob Beckers of the world. But let’s also keep space for medical aid in dying—for those whose aging journeys look very different from a finish line.
