Bendites, we’ve got our outdoor sports dialed. The means by which we sweat and socialize is so often wrapped up in our identity, we might as well introduce ourselves not by what we do for money but what we do to stay happy, healthy and outside. But what happens when those roles feel limiting? I am mountain-biker: hear me grunt past you.
Mastering adulthood isn’t about becoming really, really good at stuff. Instead, we argue that maturity centers on gracious newbie-dom — forever curious, new at something, always.
Or, if the following experiences prove anything, our clumsiness makes for compelling copy. Reporter Kayvon Bumpus, 23, has the metabolism of an alpaca on uppers; 42-year-old me, well, used to race bicycles and might yet resume; and Aaron Switzer, publisher, boss-man and eight months to 60, recently rode with one of his adult sons on touring bicycles from the Baltic to the Adriatic seas.
Along our journey to try new health and fitness routines, we popped-and-locked through a Jazzercise class (…or were those my shoulder joints?), shocked our cardiovascular systems during a sauna/cold plunge at Gather Sauna House and V2’d the Nordic ski lanes at Swampy Lakes Sno-Park on skate skis. Here we share our experiences.
Jazzercise
Peter Madsen: I didn’t look forward to Jazzercise. The reason: childhood insecurity. When I was 10, my family and I relocated from the Twin Cities area to Honolulu. At that time, I wore Payless shoes, shorts with elastic waistbands and tourist shirts featuring the humuhumunukunukuapua’a (the state fish). Cool kids in Hawaii wore Air Jordans, shorts below the knees and surf tees. My elementary school contracted with Jazzercise just as I was trying to de-dweeb-ify myself as quickly as possible; doing aerobics to mom-friendly ‘80s hits did not grant this haole such a platform.
Going into our Dec. 19 Jazzercise class at the Bend United Methodist Church, a stone’s throw from the Source office, my trepidation melted as Dendree Knott, one of two Jazzercise instructors, strode across the gym to greet us. Jazzercise attendees, about 40 of them and mostly women in their 50s and up, took turns introducing themselves. Knott, who’s taught Jazzercise for 40 years, directed us to grab dumbbells. I opted for 3 pounders, while Kayvon picked 8 pounders. Aaron chose 5 pounders yet reupped with the eights when he saw a woman his age swinging them around. So competitive!
On a small stage, Knott and co-instructor Pam Shaver rotated duties. As hits by Taylor Swift, Chappell Roan and Shaboozey pulsated from speakers, Knott and Shaver directed us in a variety of moves. We sashayed, we shook our butts, we vogued. My smartwatch tracked my heartrate, which hovered at 150 beats per minute — vigorous, but not anaerobic. When I found myself lagging, I homed in on the instructors’ timing. Kayvon and Aaron flailed next to me; we cracked up when we glimpsed each other’s moves. By the end of the class, each of the Jazzercise devotees congratulated us. Back at the office, I felt intoxicated — endorphins coursed through my bloodstream. I could get used to this.
Kayvon Bumpus: When I think of Jazzercise, one thing pops into my head: the 1988 National Aerobic Championship (a bunch of fitness nuts dancing on TV in color-coded spandex). Don’t forget its corny, yet catchy, theme song.
With synthesizers sounding in my head, I followed my elder colleagues into the all-female Jazzercise class. “Some of our husbands used to come,” one attendee told us. I feared that those dude-recruits were weeded out for their weakness, and we might share their fate.
As pop hits blasted through the gym, we did our best to mimic Knott and Shaver. Back and forth we went between aerobic dancing to strength movements, with just seconds in between to wipe our brows. I thought I was doing alright, even busting out my own moves, reminiscent of Carlton Banks’ from “The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.”
My ego got checked when I realized that women four or five decades older than I were putting me to shame with their coordination and form. Was I doomed to be another washout? Knott, Shaver and the other ladies reassured me otherwise: “You did great!”
And I felt great, my back especially. But I decided that if I was going to get shown up athletically, I’d stick to Brazilian jiujitsu, where I might get out-grappled by an aggro ex-cop with a grudge and a sumo gut, rather than get outdanced by a kindly grandma who was born during Harry S. Truman’s presidency.
Aaron Switzer: I was very excited by the concept of “getting out of my comfort” zone as a 2026 fitness theme. As the oldest of the trio, I have no doubt that I have become the most set in my ways. And yet, this perennial experimentation with Central Oregon’s outdoor recreation has not made me an expert in the art of declining fitness. The only thing I know is that the overtraining that marked my youth was not going to serve me in the sunset of my athleticism. Something had to change.
I exercised no creative control over this year’s 20/40/60 activities. I was shocked when the all-women Jazzercise class was first on the menu. As an ‘80s child, I remember its heyday. Bouncing around — and reaching up and down — to pop tunes was not a revelation. What was revealing: In a class of my peers, I was not keeping up. I like to think that I have a good base of fitness, but a Jazzercise class is what you make of it. The more jazzed you are, the harder you go. And between the over-the-top excitement of the people around me and the pure energy coming from the two instructors, I was probably pushing harder than I should have, given that I hadn’t danced in 20 years.
In this class, I was surrounded by the happiest Bendites I’ve encountered in a while. The group has been together for decades; their excitement for their time together was contagious. Days later, when I was nursing an array of sore muscles I’d forgotten I had, I was glad to think the change was doing me good.
Gather Sauna House (& Cold Plunge in the Deschutes River)
Peter Madsen: Sauna culture looms large in my Scandinavian family’s traditions. So do cold plunges. In fact, my aunt Ida swims in the Swedish fjord near her home each morning. Yet, I entertained no delusions; I anticipated a visceral panic as soon as I hit the Deschutes River.
Halina Kowalski-Thompson has co-owned the mobile sauna biz with her husband Dorian Thompson since 2020. We recently visited their semi-circle of mobile sauna buildings at their long-term location at Bend Riverside Park. Directed by Brianne Rigdon, Gather’s friendly staff and operations manager, we began with the sauna, which is kept at 190 degrees. Aaron ladled water over the stones, resulting in a hiss that the Finns call “löyly,” or “spirit of the sauna.” Minutes passed. The heat made us mutter. Bree’s plan for us involved 10 minutes in the sauna, then a 30-second — to 4-minutes — cold plunge in the Deschutes River — repeated three times. Kayvon was the boldest dipper, plunging entirely under the surface. Aaron submerged himself to the neck. As I waded in, the Deschutes shot daggers through my legs; I yelped and splashed water on myself, progressively sinking more of my body with subsequent dips, per Aaron’s cajoling. We “ended on cold” — river dip last — before returning to the office. Asked how the sauna cold plunge experience went, I was effusive: “I feel like a million bucks.”
Kayvon Bumpus: Maybe glacial water can actually benefit your immune system (provided you survive it), but willful refrigeration isn’t how I picture a relaxing afternoon. A few minutes of extreme heat, though, makes a 38-degree bath sound appealing. Thirty seconds of flailing in the Deschutes River was enough for me, but I made sure to completely submerge myself before skittering to shore. Back in the sauna, I felt a lingering cold prickle from the river’s natural acupuncture but nonetheless began overheating right away.
For our third and final plunge, I dunked my head repeatedly, yet I wasn’t freezing — I felt toasty. As science would have it, blood vessels in my limbs were constricting to provide warmth to my core and vitals. Never mind that I couldn’t feel my feet. Do polar bears whine about numb paws?
Aaron Switzer: While I swam competitively through high school, I never really swam again. Jumping into cold water at 6 am scarred me. My desire for change met its match when I found out the second activity involved a cold plunge. The sauna is delightful, yet it wasn’t entirely why we were there. As I sunk into the freezing water, I knew I was on the 30-second plan. When the ice rose to my neck, every fiber of my being told me “get out!” I was hyperventilating; it took everything I had to stay in while I counted the seconds. If I didn’t get out of the water, I would die. But on my last soak, knowing what was coming, I lasted 50 seconds. A small miracle. Back at the office with a cup of tea, I was again shocked to find that a routine jolt was my friend. A glow warmed my body. Maybe next time I could last a full minute. Wait — next time?
Skate Ski with Meissner Nordic at Swampy Sno-Park
Peter Madsen: The point of 20/40/60 is for each of us to toil outside our comfort zones in a new-to-us outdoor activity. It’s here I admit some advantage in skate skiing, as the Nordic discipline has been my go-to winter activity since 2017. That said, I haven’t skated in six years, owing to an errant stint in the Willamette Valley. Aaron and Kayvon are experienced downhill skiers.
Kevin Gorman, the owner of WebSkis, a leading Nordic shop in Bend, lent these rubes some top-end Fischer gear. To help them start fresh with some good habits — and to disabuse me of a couple bad ones — Steve Roti, the president of Meissner Nordic and Josh Cook (most familiar to readers as the sculptor of the snow dragon), ran us through some on piste drills at Swampy Sno-Park. I focussed in on a straighter posture and slower motions that prolonged my glides. Yet I was impatient for the lesson to be over; with a hint of mischief, Managing Editor Nic Moye had told me that Aaron wanted to race. Asked about this, Aaron guffawed. She said what? Nonetheless, we raced in a nail-biter, 20-meter uphill sprint. Aaron broke ahead with smart double-poling action. As I pulled even toward the finish, Aaron lost balance, sailing onto his bottom, skis and poles askew. Back on his skis and grinning, Aaron fist-bumped me: Good race.
Kayvon Bumpus: Was this a Nordic skiing class or a Tai chi seminar? Our teachers trained us holistically, ensuring we practiced good balance and breathing before we even strapped on our skis. Once on the trails, I tumbled, kissing the snow immediately. I’m used to tearing down steep slopes at Stevens Pass Ski Resort, not waddling up an incline with a roller-blading motion. My double black-diamond experience served me going downhill, but climbing made me feel like a newborn penguin without a lift pass. Though my technique improved over our two-hour session, Cook told us it would take “years” to become truly skilled skate skiers. Perhaps I’ll leave that to Peter; my youthful attributes are better suited for ill-advised jumps and crash landings as hard as midnight snowpack.
Aaron Switzer: The biggest challenge of this experiential triumvirate may have been the skate skiing. We were fortunate to have two passionate instructors. Yet, as with all snow sports, you fall toward success. Doing so is a whole different cat as you approach 60. I had taken a skate ski lesson in my 30s, yet I decided I preferred the liberation of getting into the backcountry over the aerobics and speed of skating. And yet, skate skiers look so graceful and fast. Couldn’t I, too, as grace quits the body, recapture some of that athletic ease? It turns out – probably not. I don’t want to discourage 59+ individuals from picking up skate skiing. With the right amount of energy and dedication, it could be a sprightly addition to a winter’s regimen. Myself, I’m more likely to wind up at an upcoming Jazzercise class, instead.
This article appears in the Source January 8, 2026.
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This article was so inspiring and fresh! I love the fact that 3 generations each took the same activity that was outside their comfort zone and reported about their experience. It was thoroughly enjoyable to read!
Aaron’s 60 now??!? Looking buff my friend!!
Loved this post! It’s so true that we often need those uncomfortable moments to grow. I wonder how even small challenges—like a cold shower—could spark creativity, similar to the fresh ideas in games like Space Waves. Thanks for the inspiration!