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GET THE LEAD OUT

© Henry L. Lefevre

Blessed by the fountain of I keep getting younger. Being an octogenarian doesn't necessarily mean over the hill.

How do I do this? Exercise. I get the lead out.

Sips from my fountain of youth include helping poor maligned doctors, playing plenty of chess, getting a hobby like cooking, grocery shopping alone, and baby sitting hyperactive pre-teens.

Helping Poor Maligned Doctors

Doctors are those unfortunate souls who are forced to scratch out an existence by pandering to HMOs, fighting off lawyers, and occionally treating a patient or two. Despite their atrocious environment, my doctors are quite understanding. Whenever I baffle them with symptoms that only I can create, they send me to specialists who know all the answers. The hectic driving through 59 miles of traffic and then walking the four-mile treks from the parking lot to the receptionist's desk keeps me frazzled but young.

Doctors, poor souls, are always behind. Therefore, I do calisthenics while waiting my turn. Have you ever noticed how much quicker patients get served when they are doing jumping jacks and deep knee bends in a packed waiting room? If that doesn't work, I start jogging.

Play Plenty of Chess

Most retirees ignore the exercise value of chess. Little they know. After playing a four-hour game at the clubhouse, I come home completely exhausted. Part of my problem has to do with my eyes. I don't blink in fear of missing my opponent's next move. The resulting problem is similar to the one I experienced when I was a skirt chasing teenager. My eyes didn't get better until my ophthalmologist convinced me that I ought to blink at least five times each day.

Get a Hobby Like Cooking

The cooking routine works best for men like me. First, it keeps me on my feet and away from TV for at least four hours per day. Second, I used lots of elbow grease to clean up the pan that I used trying to convert beans into charcoal for over three hours. Even our Teflon pans don't always work. I remember spending two hours scrubbing a pot before I figured out where the carbon ended and the Teflon began.

I once became hooked on becoming a French Chef. It turned out to be a great fat-burning hobby. My favorite dish was tuna-based chili. At first, that worked fine. My wife enjoyed a night out once the main course was trashed. Eventually, however, the messes I made trumped the wonderful night on the town and my wife drew the line. From then on, every time I stepped into the kitchen while my wife was still home, she would chase me out with a broom. That way, we both got our quota of aerobic activity.