Too Late Is Usually a Lie

I started running at 46.

Not jogging. Not "getting back into it." Starting from zero.

I couldn't run a mile without stopping. My body hurt. My lungs burned. Everything in me wanted to quit.

This past weekend, I’m running 13.1 miles through Disneyland.

Here's what I learned about "too late."

About 18 months ago, my son Andrew looked at me and said something I needed to hear:

"Dad, you need to get healthier."

He wasn't being mean. He was being honest. And he was right.

I was 46 years old, hadn't exercised consistently in years, and was carrying weight I didn't need to carry. I had four sons watching how I lived. And I wasn't modeling what I wanted them to see.

So I started running.

The first run was humbling. I made it maybe half a mile before I had to stop, hands on knees, gasping. I remember thinking: I'm too old for this. I should have started years ago. It's too late.

I almost quit right there.

But Andrew kept pushing me. We started running together. Slowly, painfully, we built up distance. A mile. Then two. Then a 5K. Then longer.

Last weekend, I flew to California with my youngest son and ran my first Disneyland Half Marathon—13.1 miles through the parks, finishing before sunrise.

At 47.

With a body that couldn't run a mile 18 months ago.

"Too late" is one of the most convincing lies we tell ourselves.

It sounds like wisdom. It sounds like realism. It sounds like maturity.

I'm too old to start running.

I'm too established to try something new.

I'm too far along in my career to change direction.

I'm too invested in this path to question it now.

It's too late to build something different.

These thoughts feel true. They feel responsible. They feel like acceptance of reality.

But most of the time, they're just fear wearing a reasonable mask.

We believe "too late" for a few reasons:

Sunk cost. We've invested so much in the current path that changing feels like admitting those years were wasted. (They weren't. They got you here.)

Fear of looking foolish. Starting something new at 47 means being a beginner again. Beginners make mistakes. Beginners look awkward. Our egos don't love that.

Identity attachment. We've built an identity around who we are and what we do. Changing feels like losing ourselves. (It's actually finding a new part of ourselves.)

Comparison to our younger selves. We compare what we could do now to what we could have done at 25. That's not a fair comparison - and it's not the right one.

The right comparison is: What can I do now versus what happens if I do nothing?

If I'd listened to "too late," I'd still be unable to run a mile. Instead, I have a half marathon medal and memories with my son that I'll keep forever.

Here's what I'm learning: The second half of life is full of "too lates" that aren't actually true.

Too late to start running. I started at 46. Ran a half marathon at 47.

Too late to try something new. I launched a YouTube channel about running Disney with my kids this month. At 47. Is it a little ridiculous? Maybe. But my sons think it's cool, and I'm having fun.

Too late to build something different. I'm building DeaconLife, EmmausDisciples, runDis Dad, and Lead and Keep - all in the margins, all while still doing my day job. I don't know where they lead, but I know they matter.

Too late to change direction. I'm in the middle of that right now. Still figuring it out. But the path forward isn't set in stone just because I'm 47.

The lie of "too late" assumes the best opportunities are behind you.

The truth is, some opportunities only become possible in the second half.

Here's what I couldn't have done at 25:

The second half has constraints the first half didn't have. But it also has resources the first half didn't have.

Wisdom. Experience. Perspective. Clarity about what matters.

"Too late" ignores all of that. It only sees what's lost, not what's gained.

The question isn't "Is it too late?"

The question is "What becomes possible if I stop believing that?"

What if you started that thing you've been putting off?

What if you built that project you keep thinking about?

What if you made that change you've been afraid to make?

What if "too late" is just a story you've been telling yoursel - and you could tell a different one?

I'm not saying it's easy. Starting running at 46 was hard. Building new things while leading a team is exhausting. Questioning your path when you're "supposed to" have it figured out is disorienting.

But "too late" is usually a lie.

And the second half is too important to spend it believing lies.

Here's my challenge for you:

Think of one thing you've told yourself it's "too late" to do.

Now ask: Is that actually true? Or is it just a story?

What would happen if you started anyway - even small, even slow, even imperfectly?

I couldn't run a mile 18 months ago. This weekend I’m running 13.1 through Disneyland.

It wasn't too late.

It might not be too late for you either.

-Michael

The 5 Questions for the Second Half launches February 26.
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