The Retirement Plan No One Talks About: Muscle

No one ever sat me down and said, “Hey, you should probably start saving for retirement and doing squats.”

We talked about 401(k)s. We talked about compound interest. We talked about not touching the money unless we wanted to be eighty years old, eating something soft, and wondering where it all went wrong. Retirement planning, apparently, was strictly financial. Which feels like a massive oversight, considering money doesn’t help you stand up from a chair if your legs have quietly opted out.

Because here’s the part no one loves to admit: retirement isn’t just about whether you can afford to stop working. It’s about whether your body will let you enjoy any of it. You can have the savings, the time, the travel plans, the cute little vision board — and still end up afraid of stairs, nervous about falling, and exhausted by the simple act of existing. That’s not retirement. That’s just life on hard mode with better snacks.

Somewhere along the way, women were sold a very specific idea of what aging was supposed to look like. Softer. Smaller. Quieter. We were told to be careful. To slow down. To stop lifting things that felt heavy, physically and otherwise. So we sat more. We rested more. We took it easy. And then everyone acted surprised when strength disappeared like it had somewhere better to be.

Muscle doesn’t leave because you had a birthday. It leaves because it wasn’t needed anymore. Which is annoying, but also exactly how bodies work. When you don’t ask them to do hard things, they stop being capable of doing them. And then one day you’re negotiating with the floor about whether you can get up without assistance.

We’ve been conditioned to think muscle is cosmetic. Optional. Something you either have because you’re “into fitness” or don’t because you’re “normal.” But muscle isn’t a gym thing. It’s a life thing. It’s what keeps you balanced when you trip instead of sending you straight down. It’s what protects your bones. It’s what lets you carry groceries, luggage, grandchildren, and the general weight of your own life without making a production out of it.

And here’s the inconvenient truth: muscle doesn’t just show up because you want it. It doesn’t care about your intentions or your Pinterest boards. It shows up when you pick up something heavy on purpose and do it again. And again. And again. Slowly. Boring-ly. Unsexy-ly. There’s no shortcut. No pill. No hack that replaces effort.

The couch, unfortunately, is very convincing. I love the couch. The couch has never judged me. The couch understands when I need a break. But the couch is not neutral. Every time you choose not to move, your body takes notes. It adjusts. It adapts. It starts letting go of things it thinks you no longer need. Balance. Strength. Endurance. All quietly filed under “unused.”

This isn’t about never resting. It’s about understanding that comfort today has consequences tomorrow. And tomorrow doesn’t care how tired you were.

The goal isn’t to live longer just to live longer. The goal is to live capable. To travel without fear. To live in your own home as long as you want. To get off the floor without a plan and a witness. To be visited because you’re living, not because someone feels obligated to check in on you.

That version of retirement doesn’t come from money alone. It comes from muscle.

People love to say, “I wish I’d started sooner,” and sure — same. But the second-best time to build strength is now, with the body you have, the energy you have, and the schedule you’re barely holding together. You don’t have to love it. You don’t have to become a gym person. You just have to decide that your future deserves some effort from your present.

Money still matters. Of course it does. But muscle is the retirement plan no one talks about because it requires work instead of paperwork. It doesn’t grow quietly in the background. It demands attention. But it pays you back every single day — in independence, confidence, and options.

And honestly, when the time comes, I’d like my retirement to involve doing things. Not being managed. Not being careful. Not waiting.

So I’ll keep lifting. Not to look younger. Not to prove anything. Just to make sure my future still belongs to me.