HEALTH
60-Plus is the New - oh heck, you pick! RICHARD BERCUSON
PW/16 Warning: This column is about fitness
for those of a certain age. Which is to say, if you’re too young to remember the ‘72 Summit Series or even Gilligan’s Island, you’re best to store this piece till you mature...or, read on and see what you’re in for.
At risk of becoming a pathetic ol’ fart,
I joined a gym. I got a great deal on the monthly fee to encourage me to go often and be envious of the unbelievably fit bodies I will never attain. They also offered what they figured was a steal: a private trainer for the bargain price of $55 for 25 minutes. Yes, indeed, it was a steal. In fact, it would have been outright theft if I’d accepted. I didn’t. With my phys. ed. and hockey training
backgrounds still sort of fresh (because I still know where my gastrocnemius is), I created my own program and have stuck to it now for three months. The results are in. But first, this. I learned some horrible truths not long
ago. For my 60th birthday, my dear wife
threw me a surprise party at our home. Various types showed up: hockey and teaching colleagues, even a former pee wee player of mine from Montreal. I recognized nearly all of them. Everyone feigned joy at my reaching this milestone without being
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killed by a puck to the forehead. Really, though they came for the food (mighty fine) and free booze (mighty expensive, I later learned from the credit card bill). When it was over, I had a long nap.
The next day, I researched osteoporosis, exercise for seniors, age-related macular degeneration and the like. It was all quite depressing, which was only slightly offset by the knowledge that society provides seniors with some marvelous discounts. For instance, Denny’s Restaurants offers
a seniors’ menu for those over 55, which never seemed like a senior-ish age, but hey, if they’re offering, I’m taking. You can get a cheaper breakfast that serves one baby hummingbird egg instead of two. After all, in one’s dotage, one can no longer digest two eggs. My bank teller even congratulated me a few days after the fateful day when her screen flashed, “This customer is 60!!!” At which I was given free banking privileges as long as I kept a balance over $12,598. As a retired teacher and thus beyond wealthy, this was easy-peasy. People keep saying silly things like “60
is the new 50.” Now that I’m uncomfortably past 60, and still trying to pretend I’m not 50 but 40, I’m discovering that some things require more work than they did before. For instance, being on the floor with wee grandkids is wonderful fun. They climb on me and I show them how to break Fisher-
continued on page 17
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