Age of Fitness : 100-Year-Old Man Says Pumping Iron Helps Him ‘Feel Better’

Harry Cowl was never much of a fitness buff.

He ate what he pleased and was too busy working to spend his days working out.

That was for the first 98 years of his life.

In the past two, however, Cowl has turned into a regular jock, a 100-year-old fitness fanatic who regularly bounces his 130-pound frame through high-impact aerobics and pumps iron alongside beefy musclemen 75 years his junior.

“I find that I feel better,” the great-great-grandfather said during a recent workout at Supreme Court Sports Center in Van Nuys. “I don’t think I’d be alive without it. I give it all to exercise.”

Genes, doctors say, probably have more to do with Cowl’s longevity than his exercise. But, they agree, Cowl’s fitness regimen undoubtedly has kept him more mobile and alert than most other centenarians. Exercise by elderly people can have dramatic effects, from increasing coordination and balance to strengthening atrophied muscles.

“If you don’t use it, you lose it,” Cowl explained, resting between sets. “A lot of people get to be 60 and they think they are too old. People who are 10 to 15 years younger than I am, they’re crippled, they can’t walk. Their legs are shot.”

Cowl, a retired real estate appraiser who moved to Encino from Minnesota 30 years ago, encourages other senior citizens to exercise, even just to stretch daily, but wins few converts. “They may come down once, but they get all stiff and don’t want to come back,” he said.

His own conversion to fitness was gradual. An avid handball player as a young man, he ventured to the sports club one day to look at the racquetball courts that were being remodeled. He liked what he saw and began attending aerobics classes.

Slowly, his stamina increased, and he was hooked.

He now works out three or four times a week.

“He’s religious about it,” said Bob Worthington, a weight-room regular, as he watched Cowl bench press 30 pounds several times in quick succession. “He doesn’t fool around.”

More and more these days, senior citizen centers and nursing homes are sponsoring exercise classes and touting the benefits of exercise to the elderly.

But many think they are too old, and it is a rarity for people over 80 to go on their own to health clubs.

“Most people, when they start to get into their 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s, they have the mistaken impression that they should be reducing the amount of exercise they do,” said Bob Girandola, an associate professor of exercise science at the University of Southern California.

“In fact, they probably should be increasing it because their sedentary time is much greater,” he said.

Born on St. Patrick’s Day in 1892, Cowl moved to Los Angeles when he was 70 to be near his children. His oldest son now is 70 himself and has long since moved away. Cowl has been married to the same woman, 92-year-old Geraldine, for 71 years.

“Some of these people, they change wives every five or six years, but I’ve got the same one,” he said proudly.

Benjamin Harrison was President when Cowl was born. Cowl courted Geraldine in a horse and buggy, and his first car, a Model T Ford, cost him $400 new. “Oh, I thought I was quite a dude,” he said. “But you can’t even get a good set of tires for $400 now.”

Cowl’s workout starts with a high-impact aerobics class, a 90-minute sweat session for the cardiovascular fit and the coordinated elite.

Navigating a field of Lycra leotards and baggy sweats, Cowl--wearing knee-length khaki shorts, a yellow T-shirt and old sneakers--finds a spot at the back, near the edge, and shakes his lanky limbs to warm up.

“Hiii Haaarrryyy!” instructor Melissa Andrews shouts across the mirrored room in a sing-song voice. She is a solidly built 31-year-old in a floral leotard. An infamous flirt, Cowl smiles and raises his arm in a wave that moves his body from the waist up.

To the side, Cowl winks and says: “They call woman the weaker sex, but she could wear out 10 men.” He grins widely, exposing his gold tooth.

The music starts, a throbbing techno-pop beat that shakes the floor and vibrates the tonsils. As the rest of the group flails in an endorphin-induced frenzy, Cowl shuffles, his arms above his head, his feet sliding lightly back and forth across the wooden floor.

“Make sure your knee is right above your heel,” Andrews shouts with unholy pep.

Cowl glances down at his heel, about a foot in front of his knee, and reins it in a few inches.

He stays for only 30 minutes of the class, just long enough to bump his heart rate a few beats without wiping him out completely.

There are, after all, weights still to be lifted.

In the weight room, Cowl moves quickly from machine to machine, strapping himself in and ripping off a few sets. Curls. Squats. Presses. His form would make a personal trainer cringe.

“Cool,” says a young man whose upper arms are bigger than Cowl’s thighs.

In the gym, where status is defined by the cut of a tricep, Cowl says he is not intimidated. Men who could lift Cowl over their head with one hand give him wide berth, and encourage him as he goes through the paces.

“With all the young people here, I don’t attempt to compete,” he says, flexing his arms and looking at each in turn. “I’m not trying to build up any muscle. I’m just trying to hold onto what I’ve got.”

And, Cowl says, the desire to hold on applies not only to his body.

“When you get to be my age, it’s difficult to remember some things.” He pauses and looks around the weight room at machines designed to exercise the body. “I try to exercise my mind, but it’s not as easy.”

He said he forgets things, sometimes confuses what happened last month with what happened last year. He is resigned to it, he says, and after a moment of quiet, he slaps his knees, stands up and heads across the room for another set.

“My son tells me, ‘Old man, they’ll carry you out in a box someday.’ Well, that may be, but I’ll stay until then.”