Terry Charles

7 Things This 62-Year-Old Orthopedic Surgeon Would Tell His 30-Year-Old Self I turned 62 this year. That's 32 years of orthopedic practice, thousands of patients, and enough pattern recognition to see who ends up on my surgical schedule at 60 and who's still hiking at 80. If I could go back, here's what I'd tell my 30-year-old self: 1. Your joints have a finite number of hard efforts—budget them wisely The runners you see at 75 aren't the ones who went hard every day at 30. Tissue capacity is a resource you spend, not a limitless well. Recovery isn't weakness, it's a strategy. 2. Muscle mass in your 30s is cognitive insurance for your 60s The muscle (myokine)-brain axis isn't theoretical—you'll see it in your patients. Building capacity now means maintaining function later. Your central nervous system adapts faster at 30 than it ever will again. Use that window. 3. The patients who age well aren't optimizers—they're maintainers Consistency beats intensity over 30 years. The boring habits compound. Your healthiest 75-year-olds never had perfect programming. They had sustainable habits that didn't require heroic willpower or constant optimization. 4. Learn to train around injuries now, not through them Your ego at 30 creates your limitations at 60. Every tissue has a breaking point—inflammation doesn't make you tougher. The guys who "pushed through" are often the ones on your surgical schedule. 5. Metabolic health is invisible until it isn't Your fasting glucose at 80 feels the same as 105—until it doesn't. Insulin resistance is silent for years before diagnosis. The lifestyle choices you make now about walking, eating, and moving determine whether your 60s are spent managing diabetes or staying off medications. 6. Horizontal movement > vertical achievement The status you're chasing at 30 won't matter at 60. But your ability to hike, cycle, and play with grandkids? That matters immensely. Train for capacity, not PRs. 7. The injuries you ignore at 30 become chronic pain at 60 That shoulder twinge you're training through will limit your ability to lift your grandkid. Scar tissue doesn't heal like young tissue—it compensates. See the physical therapist now. You'll wish you had when you're sitting in my clinic.

“CMB” = Christus mansionem benedicat, which translates to “May Christ bless this home.”