No one needs to stay fat.
=========================
=========================

Blessed by the fountain of youth, 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 occasionally 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 tern. Have you ever noticed how much quicker patients get served when they are doing jumping jacks and deep knee bends in an 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 teen-ager. 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 apply lots of elbow grease to clean up the pan that I used to convert beans into charcoal in less than 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.

Grocery Shopping Alone

Another option is going to the store with a ten-item list and no supervision. Few men are alert to the hazards that arise when they don't take a cell phone along. In addition, most of us are oblivious to where items are. The last time I tried this endeavor, it took me four hours and my pedometer swore that I had walked seven miles. To make matters worse, I never did find the vitamin-fortified espresso. Perhaps I should have preceded the event by taking a course in cryptography so that I could have read my own writing.

Baby Sitting Pre-teens

There's nothing like hyperactive pre-teens for keeping me moving. Unfortunately, my grandkids live too far away. I'm currently planning to volunteer to sit for some unfortunate souls who have no grandparents in town. I hear that working mothers are especially willing to bring in free help. If I keep up with their kids for more than an hour, maybe I'll earn their undying love and affection -- as well as a slab of mom's homemade pie. If that isn't enough, maybe the kids will show me where mom hides all the cookies. Kids might not have a clue about where they left their old sneakers, but they always know how to ferret out cookies, candy, and cake. Most kids have broad shoulders despite being small. I expect them to take all the blame. If I confess to my misdeeds, their moms are not likely to believe me. Moms know that their all kids are born with the cookie-monster syndrome.

Buy a Pedometer

My wife once questioned my theories about how to stay young and grow thin. To prove I was right, I bought a calorimeter and a pedometer. The calorimeter is designed for measuring calories. The pedometer counts all of my steps. Both worked pretty well. Their combined input proved beyond any smidgen of doubt that sitting pre-teens comes out far ahead of the others. My only miscalculation came with my evaluation of chess. Thinking might leave me exhausted, but it doesn't burn as many calories as I thought. Even I can be wrong once in a while.

Listed on Suite101 -- May 7, 2003