Tag Archives: aging well

Why Comparing Yourself to Others Can Steal Your Joy

Comparing Yourself to Others?  Why not with Yourself Yesterday?

The only person you really need to beat is the person you were yesterday.

Who are you?

You probably think you know.

I thought I did, too.

But the older I get, the more I realize that discovering who we are is less like opening a finished book and more like reading a story that keeps being written. We discover our interests, our strengths, our weaknesses—and sometimes our quirks—along the way.

I discovered some of mine very early.

I grew up on a college campus, surrounded by students, professors, laboratories, classrooms, and all kinds of fascinating things that were far beyond the understanding of a curious kid. While some of the other children were busy playing with their friends, I found myself wandering toward the engineering department.

I was fascinated by the machinery.

I would stand there watching college students work on equipment and wonder: How does that thing work? Why does it move that way? What makes it do that?

Apparently, I was not very good at minding my own childhood business.

Instead of simply watching, I asked questions. And when the answers weren’t enough, I went to the college library to find out more.

Nobody had to tell me to learn. Curiosity was my teacher.

That same curiosity has followed me throughout my life. It eventually helped lead me into medicine, and now, as a retired octogenarian physician, it continues to pull me toward new technology, science and, especially, artificial intelligence.

I consider myself fortunate to be alive at a time when AI is transforming the way we learn, communicate and solve problems.

Some people my age ask, “Why should I bother learning all this new technology?”

I ask, “Why wouldn’t I?”

After all, I didn’t spend my childhood staring at machinery just to spend my old age staring at the television remote.

We Are Not All Wired the Same

One thing I have learned about myself is that I find it difficult to force myself to sustain effort in something that genuinely doesn’t interest me.

Give me something I’m curious about, and I can become almost annoyingly persistent.

Give me something that doesn’t interest me, and suddenly my brain develops an impressive talent for finding something else to do.

I remember one of my Spanish teachers telling me:

“Laurence, you’re an underachiever.”

I wanted to be polite, so I didn’t tell him what I was thinking:

“Maybe, sir, I just haven’t found Spanish particularly interesting.”

Of course, he may have had a point. Perhaps I could have worked harder.

But his comment also taught me something important: interest matters.

We are not equally fascinated by the same things. Some people love mathematics. Others love music. Some thrive in business. Others want to teach, build, heal, create, write, garden or work with their hands.

Some people can spend hours studying spreadsheets.

I would rather watch somebody take apart an engine.

And that’s okay.

One of the most important questions we can ask ourselves is:

What do I genuinely love?

What am I curious about?

What do I genuinely want to become?

Those questions are much more useful than constantly asking, “How do I measure up against everybody else?” Comparing yourself to others could lead to a frustrating life because we are not all wired the same. 

Standards Are Important—But Comparison Is Not the Same Thing

I grew up in a family where standards mattered.

My parents expected us to work hard, behave properly, learn and make something worthwhile of our lives. But, as I remember it, they did not constantly tell us that we had to outperform our siblings or some other child in the family.

There was an expectation to do our best.

That is different from being told that someone else is the standard by which our worth is measured.

Standards are necessary.

Without standards, there is little direction. We need goals. We need discipline. We need something to aim for.

But as we mature, we also become increasingly individual and unique.

Our circumstances become more personal. Our abilities differ. Our interests change. Our opportunities are different. Even our definition of success may change dramatically over time.

Comparing two people as though they are identical experiments is simply not fair.

We aren’t.

There Will Always Be Someone Better

Let’s be honest.

No matter how successful you become, there will always be someone who is more successful.

Someone will be richer.

Someone will be smarter.

Someone will be younger.

Someone will be stronger, faster, taller, prettier or more athletic.

And if you happen to be very successful in all of those categories, congratulations!

Give it a few minutes.

Someone else will come along.

That’s not pessimism. That’s reality.

The danger comes when we turn that reality into a judgment about our own worth.

“He’s more successful than I am, so I’m a failure.”

“She’s healthier than I am, so I’m doing something wrong.”

“They have a beautiful home, successful children and wonderful vacations. My life doesn’t look anything like theirs.”

And suddenly we have purchased a one-way ticket to Unpleasantville, with a connecting flight through Misery.

If you have that mindset, it may not entirely be your fault.                        Growing up, you may have heard people subtly suggesting                       that you should be comparing yourself with others—a habit                that can quietly foster insecurity and make you feel that you                     are never quite good enough.

The problem isn’t that someone else is doing well.

The problem is using someone else’s life as the measuring stick for your own.

Social Media Made the Comparison Game Much Worse

Before social media, most of us compared ourselves with people within our immediate circle—siblings, cousins, classmates, neighbors, coworkers and friends.

At least that comparison pool was relatively small.

Today?

We can compare ourselves with billions of people.

And here’s the funny part: we are usually comparing our ordinary Tuesday with someone else’s best five minutes of the year.

Social media gives us photographs of the vacation, not the canceled flight.

We see the beautiful house, not the mortgage.

We see the smiling family portrait, not the argument that happened five minutes before the camera came out.

We see the promotion, the new car, the graduation, the wedding, the perfect meal, the six-pack abs and the breathtaking vacation.

Nobody posts:

“Spent three hours today worrying about something I can’t control.”

Or:

“Ate too much pizza. Again.”

Or:

“I’m not nearly as happy as this picture suggests.”

We are comparing our behind-the-scenes with somebody else’s highlight reel.

That’s a terrible contest.

And statistically speaking, when your comparing yourself to others and there are several billion people, your chances of being number one become rather… inconvenient.

But Comparison Isn’t Always Bad

Now, let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater.

Comparison can be useful.

If someone has accomplished something remarkable, we can study what they did. Their achievement can become a source of inspiration.

A successful physician can inspire another physician.

A great athlete can inspire us to exercise.

A successful entrepreneur can teach us about persistence.

Someone who has overcome adversity can remind us that difficult circumstances don’t necessarily determine the final outcome.

The difference is in how we use the comparison.

Instead of saying:

“I’ll never be as good as that person.”

Ask:

“What can I learn from that person?”

That’s a completely different mindset.

One produces discouragement.

The other produces growth.

Expect Great Things From Yourself

There is another important side to this idea.

We shouldn’t use “don’t compare yourself with others” as an excuse for complacency.

We should still expect great things from ourselves.

Michael Jordan is widely associated with the idea:

“You must expect great things of yourself before you can do them.”

The point isn’t that we should expect ourselves to become Michael Jordan.

That would be a rather ambitious career change for most of us.

The point is that our expectations influence our actions.

If we continually tell ourselves, “I’m too old,” “I’m not capable,” “I can’t learn,” or “It’s too late,” we may stop trying before we even begin.

But if we say:

“I can learn something new.”

“I can become a little better.”

“I can strengthen what I still have.”

“I can contribute something meaningful.”

we create room for growth.

Success doesn’t always require becoming extraordinary.

Sometimes it means becoming a little better than you were yesterday.

The Better Competition

Jordan Peterson popularized the advice:

“Don’t compare yourself with other people; compare yourself with who you were yesterday.”

That idea has stayed with me because it changes the entire game.

Your past self is a much fairer opponent.

Yesterday’s you had your history.

Yesterday’s you had your limitations.

Yesterday’s you had your opportunities—or lack of them.

Yesterday’s you had your knowledge, habits and circumstances.

So instead of asking:

“Am I better than him?”

Ask:

“Am I better than I was?”

Did I learn something?

Did I become a little kinder?

Did I exercise?

Did I make a healthier food choice?

Did I call someone I had been meaning to call?

Did I spend less time complaining?

Did I become more patient?

Did I finally tackle something I had been avoiding?

Did I learn something new?

Did I use my time better?

These may seem like small victories.

But life is largely built from small victories.

The Power of Being Just a Little Better

We sometimes think improvement has to be dramatic.

It doesn’t.

You don’t have to transform your life on Monday morning.

You don’t need a revolutionary five-year plan.

Sometimes you simply need to take the next step.

Read a few more pages.

Walk a little farther.

Lift a little more.

Eat one more serving of vegetables.

Spend a little less time scrolling.

Learn one new concept.

Call an old friend.

Apologize.

Forgive.

Get up and try again.

Small improvements accumulate.

One day of improvement doesn’t look like much.

But hundreds of days of small improvements can produce a very different person.

That’s the beauty of compounding—whether we’re talking about money, muscles, knowledge, relationships or character.

At My Age, Yesterday Is a Pretty Good Competitor

As an octogenarian, I’ve learned that the goal changes as we get older.

When you’re young, you may want to conquer the world.

Later, you may want to build a career, raise a family and accumulate accomplishments.

Eventually, you realize that staying healthy, staying curious, remaining useful and maintaining meaningful relationships are accomplishments in themselves.

I don’t need to be better than someone half my age.

I just want to keep improving what I still have.

If yesterday I knew something about artificial intelligence, today I’d like to know a little more.

If yesterday I exercised, today I’d like to keep moving.

If yesterday I made a mistake, today I’d like to learn from it.

If yesterday I was impatient, today I can try to be more patient.

If yesterday I didn’t reach out to someone, today I can make the call.

That’s progress.

Not spectacular.

Not Instagram-worthy.

But real.

Your Life Is Not a Race Against Everyone Else

Life isn’t a 100-meter dash where everyone starts at the same line, wears the same shoes and runs under the same conditions.

Some start with advantages.

Some start with disadvantages.

Some have extraordinary opportunities.

Others have to fight for every inch.

Some discover their gifts early.

Others don’t discover them until much later.

And some of us spend years trying to figure out what those gifts actually are.

That’s okay.

Your journey is yours.

The goal isn’t to become somebody else.

So stop comparing yourself to others.

The goal is to become the best version of yourself that your circumstances, abilities and choices allow.

So admire people who are ahead of you.

Learn from them.

Celebrate their accomplishments.

Let them inspire you.

But don’t allow their success to become evidence of your failure.

And don’t let someone else’s highlight reel make you ashamed of your ordinary life.

Tomorrow, Take a Look in the Mirror

Tomorrow morning, instead of looking around and asking:

“Who is ahead of me?”

ask:

“What can I do today that my yesterday-self couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do?”

Maybe it’s something big.

Maybe it’s something ridiculously small.

It still counts.

Because the person you were yesterday is the one person you can legitimately compete with.

And here’s the good news:

You don’t have to beat yourself by a mile.

Just move the needle.

Learn something.

Do something.

Improve something.

Help someone.

Become a little stronger.

A little wiser.

A little kinder.

A little healthier.

A little more curious.

Then go to bed knowing that you didn’t merely live another day.

You grew a little during it.

That’s a pretty good way to live.

And, in my book, that’s For The Good Life.

 

Elective Whole‑Body MRI Scans: Hype, Hope, or Hidden Harm? A Doctor’s Friendly Guide

**Should You Get a Whole‑Body MRI  “Just to Be Safe”?

The New Longevity Craze, Explained Without the Hype**

For the past few years, friends have been asking me what I think about elective whole‑body MRI scans — those pricey, high‑tech “peek under the hood” imaging sessions that promise to find stage‑1 cancers, silent aneurysms, fatty liver disease, and spinal degeneration before symptoms appear.

And for the longest time, I couldn’t give a straight answer.

Not because I didn’t want to. But because I couldn’t find a single study showing that people who get these scans actually live longer than people who don’t. Longevity benefit? Still unproven. And the companies selling these scans have no incentive to fund research that might rain on their parade.

Recently, though, the conversation heated up.

A JAMA editorial by two radiologists argued that whole‑body MRI companies are misleading consumers — that these scans are more likely to trigger unnecessary, sometimes harmful follow‑up procedures than they are to save lives. Naturally, the companies (Prenuvo, SimonMed, Ezra/Function Health) denied everything. No surprise there.

Meanwhile, Americans are lining up — and paying thousands out of pocket — for these scans. Social media influencers swear by them. Celebrities post their MRI selfies like they’re vacation photos. And venture capitalists are throwing millions at the industry.

But is this the future of proactive health? Or just another expensive wellness fad?

Let’s break it down.

💰 The Price Tag for Whole-Body MRI Scan (Brace Yourself)

These scans aren’t exactly “Black Friday deals”:

  • Prenuvo: $2,499 for a full-body scan
  • SimonMed: Starts around $1,299
  • Ezra: $899 (partial), $1,499 (spine-focused), $3,999 (skeletal + neurological)

Insurance won’t touch these — because no major medical society endorses them. If you want one, it’s all out-of-pocket. Think of it as buying peace of mind… or possibly buying anxiety.

📈 Why People Love These Scans

Elective whole-body MRIs and biological age tests are booming thanks to:

  • Social media hype
  • Celebrity endorsements
  • A cultural shift toward “proactive longevity”
  • The irresistible promise of catching something early

People want control. They want data. They want reassurance. And honestly, who doesn’t want to know what’s going on inside their body?

But here’s the catch…

⚠️ Why Most Doctors Are Skeptical

Major medical societies — including the American Cancer Society — advise against whole-body MRIs for healthy, average-risk people.

Why? One word: overdiagnosis.

About 1 in 5 people get an “incidental finding” — a harmless shadow, nodule, or oddity that triggers a cascade of follow-up tests. Suddenly, a perfectly healthy person becomes a worried patient.

This can lead to:

  • Biopsies
  • Exploratory surgeries
  • Repeat imaging
  • Sleepless nights
  • Google searches that convince you you’re dying

And here’s the kicker: Most of these findings would never have caused problems in your lifetime.

Meanwhile, there’s no evidence that whole-body MRIs reduce mortality or extend life.

Doctors argue that targeted, evidence-backed screenings — mammograms, colonoscopies, blood pressure checks, pap smears — remain the gold standard for early detection.

⚖️ The Benefits vs. Risks (In Plain English)

Arguments For Elective Scans

  • Early detection: You might catch something serious early.
  • Peace of mind: Some people feel safer knowing they’ve done a “deep dive.”
  • Personal autonomy: You’re investing in your health on your own terms.

Concerns From Medical Experts

  • Not optimized: Whole-body scans sacrifice detail for speed.
  • Incidental findings: Anxiety skyrockets over harmless abnormalities.
  • Financial strain: $1,000–$4,000 upfront, plus follow-up costs.
  • System burden: Unnecessary tests clog the healthcare system.

🧬 What About Biological Age Testing?

Alongside MRIs, people are buying blood and epigenetic tests to measure “biological age.”

These tests look at:

  • Cellular aging
  • Inflammation
  • Metabolic efficiency

They’re fascinating — and fun for health enthusiasts — but doctors view them the same way they view elective MRIs:

Interesting, but not clinically actionable.

There are no standardized guidelines telling physicians what to do with your biological age number. It’s more of a wellness metric than a medical one.

🧠 So… Should You Get One?

If you’re asymptomatic and average-risk, most experts say: Think twice.

If you’re high-risk due to family history or symptoms, talk to your doctor — targeted imaging may be appropriate.

But for the general public, the safest starting point is still:

  • A thorough review of your personal and family history
  • Evidence-based screenings
  • Lifestyle habits that actually improve longevity

Whole-body MRIs may one day prove their worth. But right now, they’re more of a luxury wellness product than a medical necessity.

For The Good Life
Laurence Gayao MD, DABFP, BCEM | For The Good Life

Quadruple Bypass Surgery: What This Retired ER Doctor Learned as a Patient

When the ER Doctor Became the Patient

My Unexpected Detour to a Quadruple Bypass Surgery

Retirement sounds wonderful when you are working.

You imagine sleeping late, traveling whenever you want, spending more time with family, pursuing hobbies, exercising, and finally having enough time to do all those things you kept postponing while working.

Then you actually retire.

And after about four months, I discovered something nobody had warned me about:

Retirement can get boring!

At age 68, I retired from my job as an emergency physician at Arlington Memorial Hospital. Our ER had about 50 beds and saw roughly 75,000 patients a year. After decades of working in emergency medicine, suddenly I had nowhere to go at 7 a.m., no patients waiting for me, no ambulance radios going off—and nobody asking me to decide whether someone needed a CT scan five minutes ago.

At first, it was wonderful.

Then I started looking at the clock.

A lot.

I had started my health and fitness blog, and I was keeping myself busy with exercise, hobbies and other interests. But apparently, my internal emergency-medicine clock had not received the retirement memo.

So I did what any retired emergency physician with too much free time might do.

I went back to work.

Retirement… With a Few ER Shifts Thrown In

I began working a few days a month covering emergency departments at small rural hospitals around Texas.

It sounded like a good compromise. I wasn’t going back to the crazy pace of a large urban ER. I would work occasionally, make a little extra money, see some patients and then return to my peaceful retired life.

There was only one problem.

Rural emergency medicine can be anything but peaceful.

At a small hospital, you might find yourself caring for a critically ill patient with only a nurse and a medical assistant immediately available. If someone needs to be intubated, a chest tube inserted, or another lifesaving procedure performed, you’re the person who has to do it.

And if the patient needs a higher level of care?

You call for a helicopter or ambulance and wait.

That waiting can feel very long when someone is critically ill.

Things become even more complicated when several critically injured patients arrive at the same time.

One night stands out in my memory. We had nine Mexican nationals involved in a severe motor-vehicle accident.

Nine critically injured people.

In a small rural ER.

Let’s just say all hell broke loose.

That’s a story for another day.

In the large medical-center ER where I had previously worked, a situation like that would still have been serious, but there would have been several emergency physicians working, plenty of nurses and paramedics, respiratory therapists, specialists and immediate access to surgery and other services.

In the rural ER, you quickly realize that the cavalry isn’t necessarily coming.

Sometimes, you are the cavalry.

After about three months, I decided I had enough.

My retirement needed to be retired from emergency medicine.

The Sweet Spot

I eventually found a much better arrangement.

I began working in the emergency department of an orthopedic and spine hospital only about six miles from our home.

It was a much more relaxed environment.

Most of the patients were there for orthopedic problems or postoperative complications. Occasionally someone would show up with an unrelated medical emergency, but there were two larger hospitals only about a mile away.

That made a huge difference.

I could still practice medicine, but I wasn’t constantly wondering whether the next ambulance would bring me a disaster movie.

This turned out to be the sweet spot.

I had time to write, exercise, garden, pursue my hobbies, travel and spend time with family.

We took two or three months of vacation each year. We visited grandchildren living in different states, including two who were in Thailand. I attended alumni reunions, helped organize medical missions and stayed involved with friends and former classmates.

Life was good.

Actually, life was really good.

And for about nine years, I enjoyed this semi-retired lifestyle.

Then one evening, my heart decided it wanted to make a dramatic entrance.

The Night My Heart Changed the Schedule

I was attending a medical school reunion in Washington, D.C.

I was having a great time catching up with five of my classmates and their spouses. We were talking, laughing and enjoying one another’s company—the usual reunion activity where you discover that 50 years have passed but somehow everyone still remembers the same stories.

Then suddenly, I didn’t feel right.

I became weak and dizzy.

I went to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on my face and looked in the mirror.

Nothing.

I still felt lousy.

I returned to my classmates and told them that Edith and I needed to go back to our hotel room because I wasn’t feeling well.

Once in the room, I lay down and checked my pulse.

It was fast.

And irregular.

As an emergency physician, I didn’t need a medical school refresher course to recognize the pattern.

I thought I was having atrial fibrillation with a rapid heart rate.

I told Edith to call 911.

Within minutes, several of my fellow alumni showed up at our hotel room. Even the college dean, who happened to be a cardiologist, came to check on me.

He asked a few questions and examined me.

Then he essentially confirmed what I had already suspected.

“Yep. Looks like atrial fibrillation.”

It’s a little humbling when your reunion suddenly turns into a mini medical conference about you.

The EMS team arrived, performed an EKG and confirmed the diagnosis. I was transported to Georgetown University Medical Center, where I was given medication—a beta blocker—to slow my heart rate.

Fortunately, my rhythm returned to normal, and so did I.

They made sure I wasn’t having a heart attack and eventually discharged me.

I thought that was the end of the story.

It wasn’t.

Not even close.

The Test That Changed Everything

When I returned home, I made an appointment with my cardiologist, Dr. Ane Saleemi.

He ordered a cardiac stress test.

During the test, he repeatedly asked me whether I was having chest pain.

“No.”

Again:

“Any chest pain?”

“No.”

Again:

“Are you sure you don’t have chest pain?”

“No.”

Apparently, my heart was keeping a secret that I hadn’t been invited to hear.

The stress test showed an abnormality.

Dr. Saleemi recommended a cardiac catheterization.

A few days later, he performed the procedure.

Afterward, when I was fully awake, Dr. Saleemi came in to talk with me.

He had good news.

And bad news.

The good news?

My heart muscle was strong and functioning well.

The bad news?

I had four significantly blocked coronary arteries.

Four.

Apparently, my heart had been quietly running a four-lane highway with most of the lanes closed.

Why hadn’t I experienced chest pain?

Dr. Saleemi explained that because I had remained physically active, my heart had developed collateral circulation—alternative small blood vessels that helped provide blood flow around the blocked arteries.

That was fortunate.

But it wasn’t enough to solve the problem.

I needed a quadruple coronary artery bypass graft (CABG).

Suddenly, the retired emergency physician who had spent decades taking care of critically ill patients was going to become one.

From Doctor to Patient

On August 13, 2023, I underwent quadruple coronary artery bypass surgery.

The next day, I woke up with tubes coming out of places I didn’t even know could have tubes.

There were tubes in my nose, tubes on both sides of my chest, a urinary catheter, several IV lines and various other pieces of medical equipment.

As a physician, I had seen this many times.

As a patient?

Let’s just say the view from the other side of the bed is completely different.

My postoperative recovery became complicated, and I spent about six weeks going in and out of the hospital.

The hardest part wasn’t necessarily the surgery itself.

It was losing my independence.

Before surgery, I was exercising regularly, lifting weights, walking outdoors and taking care of things around the house.

Suddenly, I needed help with simple things.

Walking.

Bathing.

Getting dressed.

Even ordinary activities that I had never thought twice about became major accomplishments.

That experience changed me.

Walking in the Patient’s Shoes

As physicians, we spend years learning how to diagnose disease, order tests, prescribe medications and perform procedures.

But there is one thing no textbook can completely teach you:

What it feels like to be the patient.

Going through my own health crisis gave me a much better understanding of the mental, emotional and physical struggles patients experience when their health suddenly changes.

Patients aren’t just looking for treatment.

They need encouragement.

They need reassurance.

They need someone to listen.

They need someone to explain what is happening without making them feel like a medical problem on a chart.

And sometimes they simply need somebody to sit beside them and say:

“You’re going to get through this.”

No matter how sophisticated healthcare becomes, no technology can completely replace the human touch.

This experience also gave me a much deeper appreciation for nurses.

I had always respected nurses, of course. But being dependent on them for basic care gives you an entirely different perspective.

They are there when you’re scared.

They’re there when you’re uncomfortable.

They’re there when you need help getting out of bed.

And sometimes they’re there when you are not particularly pleasant because you’re tired, frustrated and hurting.

They still come back.

That’s what good nursing is.

Learning to Slow Down

Recovery also taught me something that doesn’t come naturally to me:

Patience.

I wanted to get stronger quickly.

I wanted to exercise.

I wanted to get back to doing everything I had done before.

My body, however, apparently had its own recovery schedule.

It didn’t care about my timetable.

I learned that pushing harder isn’t always better.

Sometimes the smartest thing you can do is slow down, listen to your body and give it time to heal.

Three years later, I’m not quite where I was before surgery in terms of strength and exercise tolerance.

But I can walk.

I can exercise.

I can do chores around the house.

I can work in our garden.

And I can enjoy life.

My doctors have even given me one important piece of advice:

Don’t climb ladders to trim tree branches or clean the gutters.

Apparently, surviving quadruple bypass surgery only to fall off a ladder would be a rather embarrassing way to end the story.

So I listen.

Mostly.

What I Am Most Thankful For

Today, one of the things I am most grateful for is that my mind is still working well.

I can still learn.

I can still be curious.

I can still figure out new technology—although sometimes the technology seems determined to test my patience.

And that’s how this retired physician ended up writing a health and lifestyle blog and learning things about artificial intelligence, websites, social media and digital technology.

Not bad for an old ER doctor who once thought retirement would simply mean more time to watch television.

I still have a lot to learn.

But perhaps that’s part of The Good Life.

You don’t have to stop learning because you’ve gotten older.

You don’t have to stop trying new things.

And you certainly don’t have to let a setback convince you that your best days are behind you.

The Lessons Behind the Bypass

My parents taught me something early in life that has stayed with me:

If you want something, you have to work for it.

They also taught me resilience—to keep going when things don’t go according to plan, to learn from failures and setbacks, and to get back up after life knocks you down.

My bypass surgery gave those lessons a much deeper meaning.

Life will throw things at us that we never expected.

Sometimes it’s an illness.

Sometimes it’s losing a job.

Sometimes it’s a financial problem.

Sometimes it’s simply getting older and realizing that the body doesn’t quite cooperate the way it used to.

We can’t always control what happens to us.

But we can control how we respond.

For me, faith has been an important part of that response.

During those difficult weeks of recovery, I kept reminding myself that God was with me—even when I didn’t understand why I was going through it.

And slowly, one step at a time, I got better.

The Good Life Isn’t a Perfect Life

I’ve come to realize that The Good Life doesn’t mean a life without problems.

It means finding meaning, gratitude and purpose despite the problems.

It means appreciating the ability to get up in the morning.

It means enjoying a conversation with an old friend.

It means spending time with family.

It means planting something in the garden and watching it grow.

It means taking a walk.

It means learning something new.

It means laughing at yourself occasionally.

And yes, it means knowing when to stay off the ladder.

My journey from emergency physician to retired physician, from doctor to patient and from illness back to recovery has taught me something I probably should have known all along:

Health is precious. Independence is precious. Time is precious.

And sometimes the best way to appreciate them is to have them temporarily taken away.

Today, I’m still here.

Still learning.

Still writing.

Still gardening.

Still exercising.

Still occasionally arguing with technology.

And still sharing what I’ve learned with friends and readers of For The Good Life.

After all, I may be retired from the emergency room.

But apparently, I’m not retired from life.

And that’s a pretty good thing.

For The Good Life
Laurence Gayao MD, DABFP, BCEM | For The Good Life

Strong Legs, Stronger Life: Why Leg Strength Matters as We Age

Want to Age Well? Don’t Forget Your Legs.

🦵 When Walking Across the Room Became a Victory Lap

Laurence Gayao MD | For the Good Life

If you ever want a crash course in humility, try having quadruple coronary artery bypass surgery and then discovering that walking across your living room now qualifies as an Olympic event.

On August 31, 2023, I had my bypass. I expected recovery to be tough — but I didn’t expect my muscles to file for early retirement. Between complications, medications, and multiple hospitalizations, I spent six weeks mostly in bed. My legs apparently interpreted that as: “Sir, we’re clocking out. Permanently.”

I watched my thighs shrink, my balance wobble, and my endurance evaporate. Getting out of a chair became a strategic operation. Taking a shower felt like climbing Mt. Apo. And during my first week of cardiac rehab, I had to use a wheelchair just to get inside the building.

For someone who spent decades telling patients to “stay active,” that was a humbling moment. Life has a funny way of making you eat your own advice.

Completed rehab after three months. Leg strength much improved
Celebrating my last day of cardiac rehab

But slowly — and I mean slowly — things changed. The wheelchair gave way to walking. Walking became easier. My balance improved. My endurance returned. And I was reminded of something I had told thousands of patients over the years:

“The human body responds to what we ask it to do.”

If we don’t use our muscles, we lose them. If we challenge them, they rise to the occasion — even in our 60s, 70s, and beyond.

🧘‍♂️ Why Being Sick Requires a PhD in Patience

Being dependent on others for basic tasks was harder than the surgery itself. Bathing, dressing, moving from one room to another — everything required planning, assistance, and patience.

And suddenly the word patient made perfect sense. We call sick people “patients” because recovery demands patience with your body, your doctors, your therapists, and especially yourself.

Your body heals on its own timetable — not yours.

🦵 Why Leg Strength Is Your Best Anti‑Aging Strategy

As we age, strong legs become the foundation of independence. They help us walk confidently, climb stairs, get out of chairs, maintain balance, and recover quickly when we stumble.

Weak legs, on the other hand, start a downward spiral:

less activity → less muscle → less strength → poorer balance → higher fall risk → even less activity

Breaking that cycle is one of the secrets to aging well.

🧬 Meet Sarcopenia: The Sneaky Muscle Thief

Sarcopenia is age‑related muscle loss. It can begin in our 30s and accelerate over time. It shows up quietly:

  • Walking slower
  • Struggling with groceries
  • Avoiding stairs
  • Difficulty rising from low chairs

One day you realize something that used to be easy now feels like a CrossFit challenge.

And here’s the kicker: when muscle goes, bone often goes with it. Sarcopenia and osteoporosis are like unwelcome siblings who show up at the same family reunion.

Muscles stress bones — and that stress keeps bones strong. Stop moving, and both weaken.

🧠 Strong Legs, Stronger Brain?

Research shows that older adults with stronger legs often perform better on cognitive tests. It doesn’t prove that squats make you smarter — but it does suggest that what’s good for your legs is good for your brain.

Your thighs aren’t just for walking. They’re metabolic engines that help regulate glucose and improve insulin sensitivity. They’re multitaskers — like OFWs who work abroad, send money home, and still manage to run a sari‑sari store on the side.

🏋️‍♂️ How to Fight Sarcopenia (Without Becoming a Gym Bro)

The best weapon against muscle loss is progressive resistance training — gradually challenging your muscles with:

  • Body‑weight exercises
  • Resistance bands
  • Machines
  • Free weights

You don’t need heavy weights. You don’t need a fancy gym. You just need consistency.

A good goal: 2–3 strength sessions per week. Start slowly. Build the habit. Give yourself 6–8 weeks. Your strength, balance, and confidence will grow.

And remember: Nobody gives trophies for grunting louder.

❤️ My Cardiac Rehab Lesson

Six weeks of inactivity nearly erased my leg strength. But with rehab, patience, and persistence, I rebuilt it.

That experience changed how I think about exercise:

  • It’s not about looking good in a mirror.
  • It’s insurance against frailty.
  • It’s preparation for the years ahead.
  • It preserves the simple joys — walking with your spouse, playing with grandchildren, traveling, gardening, shopping, or getting up from the couch without needing a battle plan.

🏁 The Bottom Line: Strong Legs = Freedom

Strong legs aren’t just about fitness. They’re about independence.

Move.

Challenge your muscles.

Build strength.

Maintain balance.

Stay active.

And start where you are.

If you haven’t exercised in years, don’t worry about where you should be. Start where you are.