Am I My Mother?
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Routine Maintenance

Routine Maintenance

For the majority of my life, “routine maintenance” meant taking my car in for regular checkups. No more. Now routine maintenance means doing whatever I can to prevent further deterioration of Judy Kugel AND the car. I am aware that for me, it’s a losing battle. It is all about putting off the inevitable, but I’m giving it my best.

   My maintenance program began at age forty when I decided it was time for my first facial. I wasn’t convinced that it did much, but it sure felt good. At about the same time, I took up running. Running was not a popular female activity then. I know this because my first pair of running shoes was purchased on the men’s side of the sporting goods store. There was no market for women’s sizes then, so perhaps I was a pioneer.  I remember those Adidas shoes well; they were an iridescent green shade and the ever-present Adidas three stripes were a disgusting yellow-green. I would be laughed off the running path if I were wearing those today. However, since I’m not running anymore (prime example of my deterioration is knee-deterioration), this hardly matters.

Rather than log the (boring-even-to-me) history of my increasing efforts to stay in shape, let’s see where I am 30 years later. I spend approximately nine hours a week exercising. That includes a 45-minute-weekday early morning session split between the elliptical trainer, the stationery bicycle and stretching. Add in a three times per week weight-lifting session, biking to and from work except in horrible weather, and an aerobic walk or two on the weekends. My reward comes when I refuse help in loading my carry-on into the overhead rack on a plane or the offer of a seat on the subway.

OK, occasionally I do take the seat.  Seventy may be the new fifty, but not necessarily 24/7.


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