How In The Hell Did I Make It To Age 94?

TMotorCycToday is my birthday. I’ll list some survival tips, so maybe some texting, vaping, boozing, overeating, pot-smoking young ‘uns will get some valuable info from my senile musings. My theme is based on the words of poet Dylan Thomas: Do not go gentle into that good night! Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Incidentally, Dylan died an alcoholic at age 38, so don’t imitate his real life self-destruction. First, of course, is genetics. My mom, brother and sister all made it into their 90s. However, it wasn’t genetic when my dad died at 35. He was a heavy eater, smoker and boozer, three important negative warnings in my lifelong efforts to survive.

When I retired at age 65, after decades of sitting in an office, I weighed 190 pounds on my five-foot-eight frame. Also, there were beginning symptoms of goodbyes, including shortness of breath and chest pain. Then, in the next year or so, with a strict regimen of diet and daily exercise, I knocked off 50 pounds of blubber. Now, thirty years later, I still weigh 140 and hike several miles daily.

At age 14, after smoking a pack of cigarettes to idiotically prove my maturity, I got sick. I never again puffed the poison nor became hooked on street drugs. Many friends and family were addicted, and died in their 50s, 60s or earlier. In the same theme, at age 18 and in the Navy during World War 2, I drank myself into a stupid stupor several times before quickly giving up heavy boozing.

These days I do enjoy evenings with one drink. So, pay attention, you 70-year-old youngsters out there! Toss away those addictive killers, turn off your TV and stupidphone, rise up daily from your bulging glueteus maximi and live a meaningful, healthy life!

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