Written by Ken Jones

I’m 68 years old and, if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s how to keep moving forward. 

Born into a military family, I spent my childhood traveling the world—new cities, new schools, always adapting. I’ve got 13 siblings, including 2 sets of twins, so let’s just say things were never boring growing up. 

Following tradition, I joined the military myself and became a lineman. The job took me across the globe, and I loved it. But an injury cut that chapter short. A shoulder surgery ended my career and sent me into retirement 11 years ago. For the first 6 months, I sat around wondering what was next. Then I found the YMCA. 

A new routine, a new purpose 

That YMCA became my second home. I showed up so often, someone eventually asked if I wanted to work there—and I did. Not because I had to (my military pension’s got me covered), but because I wanted to stay active and stay connected. I now spend 5 days a week there, training, teaching, and being part of a community that keeps me going. 

It was there, surrounded by people I trusted, that the first signs started to show. My hand would shake, and I didn’t even notice. Others did. At a social function, someone asked if I was okay. That’s when I knew something was off. 

I figured it was nerves, or something tied to my old shoulder injury. But when I went to my doctor, he didn’t hesitate. Within two weeks, I had an appointment with a Movement Disorder Specialist. She listened carefully, examined me, and finally said, “It’s Parkinson’s.” 

Facing the diagnosis 

I didn’t know a thing about it. No one in my family had it—or so I thought. Later, I found out my mother may have shown signs before she passed 20 years ago, but I was away with the military and never made the connection. 

When I was diagnosed in 2022, I had the same questions anyone would: Why me? Will I still be able to do what I love? The truth is that some days are great. Others, not so much. My medication’s increased over time—from 4 to 8 pills, and I’ve added another drug. I can tell when they wear off. But the best thing for me is exercise. 

I teach classes at the YMCA. Strength training for people over 50, high-intensity workouts for seniors, and cycle fit. I even joke with my students, “If I start shaking, don’t worry—you don’t have to follow that part!” We laugh. I mean it. Life must go on—with honesty and humour. 

Choosing to live openly 

Early on, I tried to hide it. I’d put my hand in my pocket when it started to tremble. But over time, I realized: what’s the point? The people who care about me understand and support me.  

I haven’t joined a local support group as t’s about 25 minutes away—but I stay informed. I read everything I can from Parkinson Canada. I enjoy quiet evenings with mystery and detective novels. I live a simple life, but a full one. 

When I saw the commercial from Parkinson Canada ending with “It’s not Parkinson’s, it’s Swagger,” I felt seen. I loved it. I even mimic the arm swing the man does in the commercial—it’s a reminder that I’ve accepted who I am. That’s what finding my Swagger means: not just living with Parkinson’s, but living with confidence. 

For anyone just starting this journey 

If you’ve just been diagnosed, here’s my advice: accept it. Hiding it doesn’t help. Talking about it does. Let people support you. You’ll find strength in the people who stay and the peace that comes with being honest. 

Some of my military buddies still don’t know. That’s okay. I’m taking my time. This is a journey, not a sprint. 

And me? I’m still in the race. I may run it a little differently now—but I run it with purpose, pride, and power.