When I turned fifty, a friend gifted me a watch that tracked my ski runs and vertical feet descended. My wife Vivian never forgave him for that. Whenever she suggested calling it a day after a long morning on the slopes, I would often respond, “Let’s make it an Everest Day – twenty-nine thousand feet!” She would sigh, grab her poles, and follow me back to the lift. What a wonderful wife.
I share this story because it reflects how I have approached physical activity for the past fifty years: not as a fitness routine, not as a structured program with goals and deadlines, but as a way of existing in the world. I never aimed to be an athlete. I am a chartered quantity surveyor from Birmingham who built a career in the Caribbean. However, movement became the common thread that connected everything – work, travel, relationships, and the belief that life should be lived with boots on.
In my twenties, I learned to water ski in Jamaica. In my mid-thirties, I took up snow skiing after a friend invited me to Boyne Highlands in Michigan over Christmas. I was immediately hooked and found an instructor in Colorado named Rob Tiernan, a mountain man from Montana who also worked as a park ranger. We skied together for many years, to the point where other instructors thought we were identical coming down the mountain. Over the years, Vivian and I skied in Colorado, Montana, Switzerland, France, and British Columbia. During an eight-day trip to Aspen, we covered a hundred and fifty thousand vertical feet. On another week in Méribel, we logged a hundred and forty-two thousand. That watch kept track again.
But skiing was just one part of the picture. In our fifties, Vivian and I trekked the Jomolhari route in Bhutan, crossing sixteen-thousand-foot passes in the Himalayas. In our sixties, we climbed Blue Mountain peak in Jamaica… twice. In Kauai, we descended sixteen hundred feet on a trail and then climbed back up, with Vivian enduring a broken toe throughout. That evening at the hotel, she remarked, “For a sixty-seven and sixty-eight-year-old couple, we’re not doing too shabby!” I couldn’t agree more.
In our seventies, we hiked two thousand vertical feet in the Tramuntana mountains of Mallorca, trekked to a frozen waterfall inside a cave in Azerbaijan, and I scaled Camelback Mountain in Phoenix – a trail that rises fourteen hundred feet in just over a mile and is known locally as a “real leg burner.” I made it back to my car in good shape.
None of this required exceptional genetics or a personal trainer. It demanded consistency and a refusal to let age be an excuse. Vivian and I always carried our own ski gear – no assistance, no shortcuts. We ate well while traveling, often enjoying exquisite meals, but we earned them. We started practicing Tai Chi at Camana Bay on Sunday mornings. We hiked wherever we went, whether in the mountains of Georgia or the Old Town of Baku. We never joined a gym with a monthly membership and locker. Our gym has always been the world.
I have always believed that in life, there are those who play and those who watch. Theodore Roosevelt expressed it more eloquently, but the essence remains the same. A vibrant, healthy life is not built by observing from the sidelines and waiting for ideal conditions. It is built by stepping out the door, putting one foot in front of the other, and doing it all over again tomorrow. At seventy-nine, I can affirm that the view from here (literally and metaphorically) has been worth every step.
For those seeking to remain active and engaged as the years pass, here are a few lessons I have gleaned along the way:
1. Integrate movement into your daily life, rather than scheduling it.
I never followed a fitness regimen. I led a life that involved walking, hiking, skiing, swimming, and carrying my belongings. The best exercise is the kind that doesn’t feel like exercise; it’s simply how you navigate through your day.
2. Find a partner who will keep you accountable.
Vivian has been by my side on every mountain, trail, and ski slope for years, even on the ones she would have preferred to skip. Having someone who shares your dedication makes it sustainable. You motivate each other on days when the couch seems more appealing than the summit.
3. Don’t let your age dictate what you can do.
No one told us we were too old to trek in Bhutan at fifty-five or too old to hike in Azerbaijan at seventy-eight. We simply went for it. Age is a reality, not a barrier, and you are the only one determining your capabilities.
4. Deserve your meals.
Some of the most delightful meals in my life followed the most challenging days on a trail – homemade lamb soup after a mountain hike in Azerbaijan, paella after a cliff walk in Mallorca, stew and red wine enjoyed while sitting on our skis in the snow. Food tastes better when your body has earned it. This isn’t a diet tip; it’s a life lesson.
Author Bio
Martyn Bould is a highly successful entrepreneur based in the Cayman Islands. He is a founding member of the Cayman National Cultural Foundation and the National Gallery of the Cayman Islands. Recognized by Queen Elizabeth II in 2012 for his contributions to preserving and developing Caymanian culture, and by the Cayman Islands Government in the 2025 Hero’s Day Awards as a Legacy Builder for laying the groundwork for future economic growth since 1970. His memoir, More than Just the Climb – Life’s Lessons Well Learned (Unicorn, Nov. 24, 2025), intertwines his personal journey with the evolution of the Cayman Islands. Learn more here.
