Inversion Therapy for the Soul
What my handstand videos say about aging (and why I post them anyway)
I post videos of myself doing handstands on the internet.
And I don’t really care what you think of that.
It’s my little rebellion—a punk rock middle finger to the aging narrative. A pushback against the polite Do Not Enter signs society places in front of people my age, and the quieter ones I used to place there myself.
Yes, I post handstand videos for all the world to see.
But I don’t do them at the gym where anyone I know might actually see them.
Because it’s cringe. Not for me—I’m still over here not giving a shit—but for the (mostly) student-aged onlookers who might interpret it as a midlife crisis unfolding in slow motion in the aerobics studio. Right before their very eyes. There’s a fine line between pushing boundaries and being the weird guy, and I’m careful not to cross it.
Plus, online I can edit out the faceplants. I can juxtapose success and failure with a jump cut and a trending audio track. I can curate the rebellion.
None of which answers the question:
Why am I doing handstands in the first place?
But getting to the point has never really been the point of The Wocket, now has it?
Truth time: I can’t actually do a handstand.
I can almost do a handstand.
I can walk into a kick-up, fling my feet to the sky, and—with the help of a wall—make them stay there. I can float those feet off the wall and become a self-supporting, upside-down, tickled-pink fool. But only for 10 to 20 seconds before I topple—sometimes to my feet, sometimes into a jumbled heap of bruised limbs. Never gracefully.
At some point, I’ll be able to control how—and more importantly, when—I exit that position.
Then, and only then, I’ll say I can handstand.
Watching My Dad Grow Old Was Harder Than Watching Him Die
I recently watched my dad die.
Truth be told, it wasn’t that hard to do. The gaffer was ready, and it was time. If I’m being completely honest, it was a bit of a relief.
See you, Pop. I love you.
The hard part was watching him get old.
That sucked. Big time.
It probably sucked way harder for him—slowed in mind, body, and spirit. Some of that was beyond his control: hydrocephalus was dragging him down. But a lot of it was lifestyle, too. Not just toward the end, but for the entire latter half of his life.
That realisation made it doubly hard to watch—hard with sadness, and hard with fear.
“Age (and shit) happens.”
Roger Daltrey once stuttered that he hoped he’d die before he got old. A decade later, Neil Young nasally opined that it was better to burn out than to fade away. Both are still up there nightly doing what they did in their twenties—just slower now.
I think all three of us—me, Roger, Neil—have reached the same conclusion:
Age and shit happens.
And when I get to their age (Roger’s four years younger than my dad; Neil’s six), I want to be more like the heroic geezers still wailing about aging than the struggling old fella I was visiting near the end.
Hell, I want to be moving like Jagger.
I Practice in Secret, But I Post for the World
There’s a little-used studio down the hall from the cardio suite at the Trent Athletics Centre. The usage is the only thing little about it—it’s a cavernous, mirror-lined space where every grunt, every “whew,” every crash to the gymnastics mat echoes off the walls.
It’s here that I handstand.
Or do whatever you call the thing that might eventually become a handstand.
Every so often, someone else will wander in—stretching, calisthenics, a bit of yoga. Whatever their “not for public consumption” thing is.
“It might look weird. But not like a cry for help.”
Confession: I get a giddy thrill when someone sees me doing a handstand in there. Showing off what my fifty-something body can do. Celebrating the goofy-ass absurdity of a guy my age hurling himself upside down, crashing down, and doing it again. With some in-between headphone shimmy thrown in because, well, that’s part of handstands too.
Because doing it in there?
It might look weird.
But not like a cry for help.
It means I’m doing it for no one but me.
And maybe the ’grams.
But they don’t need to know that.
The Science Behind the Silly
Let’s get sciencey for a sec.
Inversion exercises like handstands engage multiple physical and neurological systems critical to health and independence as we age.
Physically, they build upper body strength, joint stability, and bone density—especially in the wrists, shoulders, and spine. This contributes directly to fall prevention, one of the leading causes of injury in older adults.
Neurologically, handstands activate the vestibular and proprioceptive systems, boosting balance, spatial awareness, and coordination. All of this helps preserve mobility and slow cognitive decline. They also promote circulation and lymphatic drainage, helping cardiovascular and immune health.
Mentally, the challenge of learning a skill like a handstand encourages neuroplasticity and delays cognitive aging. Research shows skill-based movement reduces depression, regulates mood, and buffers against age-related anxiety and disorders.
In short:
Handstands are dope.
They support physical function, preserve independence, and protect mental health deep into your later decades.
But mostly?
They’re stupid, joyful, defiant fun.
Like rock and roll is supposed to be.
Handstands Are for the Hopeful
My two biggest handstand cheerleaders probably wouldn’t know how to rewind a VHS tape—or why it would’ve been kind to do so.
They are of the youngs. I am of the olds.
Carly rocks Zoomer-core like a pro, stacking TikTok views and sponsorships in ways my clients only dream of. I blush thinking that she at one point asked me for advice about her socials. Tyler, a Zennial former student employee of mine, has an enormous brain and drive to match, and probably also didn’t learn a damn thing from me. But I’ve learned heaps from both of them. They’ve been sending me tips on extending my stay in the UpsideDown.
Neither has seen me do a handstand in person.
But they’re among the hundreds (thousands?) who’ve seen me do it online.
Handstands aren’t just about my health—though dang, I love what they’re doing to my abs and shoulders. They’re not just about giving the middle finger to convention or refusing to “wind down” now that I’m on the other side of middle age.
And no, they’re not even just about impressing my Gen Z and Zennial pals who hype me up from the digital sidelines.
They’re about living.
Being ridiculous.
Choosing joy.
Leaning into the kind of gloriously stupid fun that fuels TikTok dance crazes—and knowing that, in 2025, if you do it with enough ironic self-awareness, no one’s gonna call you cringe for trying.
And if I really had to answer the question?
They’re about hope.
Hope that I can age with power instead of shrinking in fear.
Hope that I can push against gravity—not just physically, but existentially.
Hope that Clara sees her dad choosing motion over stagnation, silliness over shame, joy over just getting by.
Hope that, if I do it long enough, I might inspire someone—young or old—to try something absurd and wonderful just because it calls to them.
And also?
It’s ridiculous.
It’s badass.
It’s rock and roll as hell.