‘It’s been life-changing’: meet the adults making big changes later in life

‘The thought of being able to cycle alongside my children kept me going’: Naida Jabar, 47

I was 44 when I learned to cycle. I grew up in Yorkshire and when I was about five, my younger brother had broken his leg falling off a tricycle. We never had bikes after that – and like many girls my age of Asian heritage, I wasn’t pushed to do sporty or outdoor activities.

It was only after I had children myself that I started to feel I had missed out. I also realised cycling was a good skill for my daughters to have and so when my girls got bikes, I decided to learn to ride as well. I knew our local community sports organiser was a keen cyclist. She offered to teach me and some of my Muslim female friends on a course called “sofa to saddle”. It’s like “couch to 5k” but aimed at people who have never ridden before.

I’m a plus-sized individual and if I’d been learning on my own or on the street, I would have felt embarrassed but in a group, at a cycling track, I didn’t feel that way. We were all in the same boat.

Learning how to use the pedals and keep my balance was really scary. At first, I felt an intense fear that I would fall. I saw some of my friends giving up and, being quite a large person, I felt vulnerable and found it challenging. But being in this group also gave me the fire to achieve what I had set out to do. When I felt despondent, the thought of being able to ride alongside my children helped me to keep going. I kept that vision in my mind.

I’ll never forget the day I mastered pedalling and started whizzing around the track with my friends. We were all just so thrilled that we could do it. It felt exhilarating and immensely joyful.

After 10 sessions I’d learned to ride and could even cycle on the road safely. It gave me a huge sense of achievement. Now, three years later, I’m a qualified Bikeability instructor and I lead guided group rides for women who need a bit of encouragement to get out on their bikes.

‘We’d go on holiday and I’d never go into the water. I didn’t have the confidence’: Simba Kachere, 55

I was 53 when I learned to swim. I was born in Zimbabwe under colonial rule and there were no swimming pools in the areas where Black people lived when I was growing up. Those facilities were where the minority white population lived; areas my friends and I wouldn’t have dreamed of going to.

A few people had taught themselves to swim in rivers, but it was dangerous and you could get bilharzia – a painful disease – from parasitic worms. So I was never interested in learning to swim.

I emigrated to the UK in my early 30s and met my partner here. We started going on holiday abroad and I would sit by the swimming pool doing nothing. I’d never go into the water. I didn’t have the confidence, because I couldn’t swim. My partner encouraged me to learn, but I felt I was too old. It would be embarrassing.

When I was 53, a colleague suggested I secretly have swimming lessons. She knew I was going to Tenerife with our friends at Christmas. “Surprise them – learn how to swim and don’t tell them,” she said.

I work for a mental health charity, St Andrew’s Healthcare, and one of the staff benefits is free sessions in the pool with the charity’s sports and exercise therapists. So I decided to take my colleague’s advice.

The first day, I felt a bit exposed in my swimming trunks, and afraid of the water. But I put on an “I don’t care face” and jumped in. I saw others swimming perfectly when, to me, swimming even one lap seemed like a huge deal, and asked myself: “Am I going to be able to do this by Christmas?” But now I think that pressure was good for me. It encouraged me to set targets every time I went. I started watching the good swimmers to try to learn how they did it and, between sessions, I’d watch YouTube videos and do exercises to help me improve.

On the plane to Tenerife that December, my friend’s 12-year-old son bet me he could swim faster than me, because he still thought I couldn’t swim. He kept doubling the bet and I kept agreeing. Eventually, it was €20. We had the race on Christmas Day and to his surprise, I won! Of course, I gave him the €20 afterwards – but the shocked reaction of everyone watching was so funny and very satisfying. I encourage everyone to learn to swim. For me, it has been life-changing.

‘I couldn’t see the point of cooking just for me. It was scary not knowing what to do’: Andy Scott, 75

I learned to cook when I was 73. My wife, Rocky, died of cancer 11 years ago and during our marriage she never asked or expected me to do any of the cooking. It sounds very chauvinistic to say this, but I presume she thought it was a woman’s job – and I lacked any enthusiasm to learn. It was the same when I was a child. I was never asked to do any cooking and I never thought about it. If anything, my mother viewed me as a hindrance if I was in the kitchen.

I did once cook a turkey at Christmas for my wife, when she was very ill, but only because she shouted instructions from her bed. While she was having chemotherapy, all I could make her was readymeals in the microwave. Often, she didn’t eat half of it. I look back now and regret not being able to cook for her.

For years after she died, I got by on readymade meals. It became very expensive and my daughter kept on at me to learn to cook, and bought me cookery books. She pointed out that I had time on my hands, in retirement. But I couldn’t see the point of cooking just for me and I felt scared of not knowing what to do.

When the world started opening up again after the pandemic, my daughter suggested I go to a cookery class. I discovered Age UK Barnet was running one and decided to go along. I never felt embarrassed because most of the other students were men, too – I was one of the youngest there, at 73. I was put to work in a group, and the first thing I did was learn to chop. Gradually, after a few weeks, I became more confident and started frying things and preparing food to put in the oven. I’d often learn what to do from watching the more experienced students or asking them for tips.

Now, I really look forward to going. Not only do I thoroughly enjoy cooking, I also enjoy the social aspect of the class. It’s a very lonely life when your better half dies, but in the class, we all cook different parts of a meal and when we finish, we sit down and eat together.

I’ve started using the cookery books my daughter gave me and I get a lot of pride out of cooking a curry or a bolognese sauce from scratch. When I invite my family around for dinner, they give my cooking the thumbs up. I just wish my wife was still here to taste it.

‘Learning to read, I feel I’ve become the person I was always pretending to be’: Stephie Bradshaw, 36

I was 33 when I started learning to read. Until then, three-letter words were pretty much all I could understand. Throughout primary school I was called lazy by my teachers; when you hear that enough, you stop trying. It was thanks to a volunteer helper in the class that I got tested and diagnosed with dyslexia. I was 11.

By then, I felt that I’d let myself and my family down. So I put up a front, to make people think I could read when I couldn’t. I’d guess words and remember others, cracking jokes about my lack of intelligence to hide the truth. But my husband knew. One day, about three years ago, he suggested we watch a BBC programme where Jay Blades, presenter of The Repair Shop, learned to read at the age of 51 with the charity ReadEasy.

It struck a nerve because Jay couldn’t read to his daughter and I was pregnant at the time. I realised I wanted to be able to read to my child at bedtime and help her with her homework. My husband emailed ReadEasy for me, before the TV programme even ended. The first day with my coach, I felt terrified. I nearly talked myself out of going. But my husband – who is like my personal cheerleader – convinced me to go.

My coach, Hannah, a local primary school teacher who volunteers with the charity, was brilliant. We met in the local library twice a week for half an hour. She never gave up on me the way my teachers had at school. She told me none of this was my fault: the education system had let me down, she said, and we just needed to find my way of learning.

I took great satisfaction in my progress. I remember seeing road signs and going, “Oh my goodness, I can read these!” I read my first book, Heartstopper a graphic novel by Alice Osman, and I understood, for the first time, why people read books.

The course was life-changing. I feel more confident, independent and capable now, like I’ve become the person I was pretending to be all those years. And every night, I fulfil my dream of being able to read to my daughter. She made me want to be the person – the mother – I am today. She helped me find myself. I owe everything to her. I hope she will be proud of me one day.

‘I enjoyed music all my life. After cancer I felt it was time to dream some dreams’: Alan Ackroyd, 66

I was 60 when I started learning to play the concertina. All my life I had enjoyed listening to music, particularly traditional folk music, but I thought: I’m not a player.

I had tried to learn the recorder at primary school, but I didn’t have support and encouragement at home. I can even remember my father making comments about how awful it sounded. So I gave up.

Just over six years ago, I got life-threatening cancer. I was a baker with my own business, working 80-hour weeks. I had to sell up quickly and have cancer surgery and chemotherapy, then spent a month in hospital, which gave me time to think about what I was going to do with my retirement. It was time, I felt, to dream some dreams and build some castles in the air.

I had always rather liked the sound of concertinas so thought I’d give it a go. On the day I got out of hospital, I bought one. I wanted to go deeper into the folk tunes I enjoy. All my life, I’ve loved doing things with my hands and although making music isn’t the same as producing a physical product, like a loaf of bread, it still felt very creative.

I’m not somebody who’s very special or important. I’ve never been anywhere or done anything. But that month in hospital, the NHS spent tens of thousands of pounds on me and I promised myself that, from this point onwards, every day I lived was going to count.

I was very determined. I struggled to find a concertina teacher in my hometown of Cambridge, but I didn’t let that stop me. I bought a book, and started listening to people playing the tunes I wanted to learn on YouTube.

Now, through the internet, I’m able to get hold of music for folk tunes that were played 200 years ago and bring them to life. The dots I read on a page become sounds that people heard all those years ago. I feel a connection with the past, through all this beautiful music, and after playing the concertina for half an hour a day, every day, for six years, I’m now at the point where I can put my own twist – my own interpretation – on some of these tunes.

Often, I’ll sit down with my concertina and, 90 minutes later, my wife will come in and find me completely lost in the music, with no idea where the time has gone. It gives me a tremendous sense of achievement – and I enjoy it so much, I’m sure it’s doing me good.