"Don't Sweat the Style Stuff"

By Jerry Zezima

Row, row, row my seat swiftly down the track.

Warily, warily, warily, warily, my body’s out of whack.

That’s the tune I sang to myself — because I didn’t want to scare everyone else at the gym — as I rocked and rolled on a rowing machine under the expert guidance of my very own personal trainer.

I decided to go back to the gym because I have a heart condition and my cardiologist recommended it (going back to the gym, not having heart condition).

I met assistant manager Antwone Bowen and said I hadn’t been there in a while.

“How come?” he asked.

“I just got out of jail,” I told him. “I was in for sticking up a gym.”

Antwone smiled nervously.

“Not really,” I admitted. “I was diagnosed with an aortic aneurysm and was scheduled for open-heart surgery, so I stopped coming.”

“How did the surgery go?” Antwone asked.

“I didn’t need it,” I replied. “The doctor said I have to do cardio exercises, so I’m back.”

When I told Antwone I’m 71, he exclaimed, “Wow! You don’t look it.”

“How’s your eyesight?” I wondered.

“Not good,” said Antwone, who’s 26 and wears glasses. “But I can see that you’re in excellent shape.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” I said. “That’s why I’d like to get a personal trainer.”

Antwone put me in touch with Shae Ayyildiz, who’s 24 and has been training people, young and old, for two years.

“I could start you on the three-pound dumbbells,” Shae said during my introductory meeting.

“I’m a 185-pound dumbbell,” I said. “Besides, I’m not supposed to do any heavy lifting.”

“In that case, rowing is very good,” Shae said. “You can do that, the high bike and the treadmill.”

When I showed up a few days later for my first training session, Shae said I should warm up on the treadmill for 15 minutes.

I breezed through it without having to call an ambulance.

“You’re starting off well,” said Shae. “But you shouldn’t be wearing jeans. Why aren’t you wearing sweatpants?”

“I have to run errands after this and I need the pockets for all my stuff,” I explained.

“I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable on the rowing machine,” said Shae, who took me over to one, got me seated and told me what to do: “Pull on the handle and push with your legs.”

I instantly got into a good rhythm.

“You’re going at the speed of light!” Shae chirped.

“That’s because I’m lightheaded,” I said. “Could I be on the Olympic rowing team?”

“Sure,” she answered. “You might even win a gold medal.”

“Not bad for a guy who doesn’t have all his oars in the water,” I noted.

Then Shae took me over to a high stationary bike, which looked like the kind used by racers in the Tour de France.

“I’ll always have Paris, even though I’m not going anywhere,” I said.

“You’re pedaling like a champ,” said Shae.

“Do you have any clients who are my age?” I asked.

“Yes,” Shae said. “But you’re doing much better than they do. And you’re more active.”

From the bike it was back to the treadmill to cool down.

“The treadmill helped me warm up before and now it’s helping me cool down,” I pointed out. “How does it know?”

“It’s smart,” answered Shae, who was impressed that I did 15 minutes on the treadmill, seven on the rowing machine, seven on the bike and another 10 on the treadmill. “And it was only your first session.”

“If you were to give me a grade, what would it be?” I asked.

“I’d give you an 8.5 out of 10,” Shae said. “But that’s only because of your clothes.”

“You deducted a point and a half for style?” I said incredulously.

“You need to dress properly for training,” she replied.

“I barely broke a sweat,” I said. “That’s because I’m not wearing sweats.”

“If you wear them next time,” Shae promised, “I’ll give you a perfect 10.”

Copyright 2025 by Jerry Zezima

"Taken Aback"

By Jerry Zezima

No matter what I do, whether it’s good, bad or just plain stupid, my wife, Sue, has my back. And I have hers.

But lately, neither one of us has wanted to make the exchange. That’s because we both threw our backs out.

I injured mine while cleaning the bathroom, which is what I get for trying to be helpful around the house.

The irony was not lost on Sue, who appreciated my effort (“you’re so delicate,” she said, “but you did a nice job”) and told me that the best thing for a bad back is exercise.

The irony was not lost on me because a week later, she hurt her back at the gym.

“You’re so delicate,” I said. “And exercise will only make it worse.”

The worst thing about having a bad back, aside from feeling like someone inserted a hot fireplace poker directly into your spine, is getting contradictory and generally useless advice from people who are a pain in the area south of your back.

They will tell you that the best way to feel better is (pick one) heat, cold, rest or, heaven help us, exercise.

I can say from personal experience that the best thing for a bad back is sitting in a comfortable chair with a heating pad and a beer. Just don’t spill the beer on the heating pad or you will get electrocuted. Then a bad back will be the least of your problems.

But for expert advice, I spoke with my mother, Rosina, a retired nurse who is 100 years old and still going strong.

“I’ve never had a bad back and I used to clean the bathroom all the time,” she said. “It was my daily exercise.”

Mom agreed with my theory about rest and beer but added, “If you rest too much, you become stiff. And if you have too much beer, you get fuzzy. Use the heating pad because heat is better than cold. I use a heating pad on my knees. If you have pain, it relaxes that area. But as you get older, your bones get a little brittle. If you’re going to clean the bathroom, you should get one of those long-handled brushes so you don’t have to bend down.”

As for Sue’s injury, Mom said, “Exercise can be good — to a point. Please tell Sue not to overdo it.”

When I hurt my back, I had a hard time getting dressed, putting on my socks and shoes or doing anything that involved movement. Fortunately, that didn’t include walking to the refrigerator for a beer.

After a week, the pain had worked itself out and my back felt better.

Then it was Sue’s turn. She felt so bad that she asked me to help her with her socks and shoes. She also used the heating pad. And she took me food shopping so I could push the cart, fill it with groceries and bag them at the register.

In the frozen-food aisle, where Sue was looking for ice cream, she said, “Turn around.”

I turned around and left the cart stationary.

A woman who was in the same aisle laughed.

“Now you know why I don’t take him shopping,” Sue told her.

At the register, the cashier, a young man, asked if I needed help bagging the groceries.

“Thanks, but I can do it myself,” I replied while holding a bag upside down.

Sue sighed. The kid smiled.

“My wife pulled a muscle,” I told him. “I have her back.”

After a week, her back felt better. Now she’s going to the gym again and, taking my mother’s advice, she’s not overdoing it.

Sue also bought some beer for the next time I clean the bathroom. It’s nice to know she’s still got my back.

Copyright 2025 by Jerry Zezima

"The Eyes Have It"

By Jerry Zezima

I have always believed that if you have an appointment with an eye doctor, you should show up late. When the doctor asks why you weren’t on time, you can say, “I couldn’t find you.”

This will let him or her see — with the aid of prescription glasses, because eye doctors invariably wear them — that you are in the right place and will probably need a pair of specs yourself.

That’s why I was late for my first appointment with Dr. Brian Cho, an optometrist who is nice, funny and, of course, bespectacled.

“Welcome,” said Dr. Cho. “Did you have trouble finding the office?”

“No,” I replied. “I live right around the corner.”

“Why were you late?” he wondered.

“Because,” I answered, “I took the red eye.”

Then I showed him my red eye.

“This is why I made an appointment,” I said, adding that I woke up that morning and was stunned to see in the bathroom mirror that the left lower portion of my right eye was the color of a fire engine.

Dr. Cho took a peek.

“You have a subconjunctival hemorrhage,” he told me. “It’s a bruise of the eye. How did you get it?”

“I must have poked myself while I was sleeping,” I said. “I was probably dreaming about the Three Stooges. I’m a big fan.”

“I used to watch them when I was a kid,” said Dr. Cho.

“Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk!” I noted.

“By the way,” he added, “do you snore at night?”

“That’s what my wife claims,” I replied.

“Maybe she poked you,” the doctor suggested.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “She’s too nice. Besides, she doesn’t like the Three Stooges.”

“Most women don’t,” he said.

“There’s no accounting for taste,” I stated. “At least I don’t have pinkeye.”

“That’s contagious,” Dr. Cho said. “This isn’t.”

He looked at my eye again and said, “It should be gone in a week or two.”

“The whole eye?” I yelped. “Then you’d have to call me Wink.”

“Do you have glasses?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “They’re in the liquor cabinet.”

“No, I mean do you have eyeglasses?” the doctor wanted to know.

“I have a pair I’m supposed to wear if I’m driving at night,” I responded. “But I don’t need them unless it’s raining and I can’t read road signs.”

When Dr. Cho saw that I had brought them with me, he said, “Let’s see if you’re a man of vision.”

He gave me a series of tests that did not, unfortunately, include the standard eye chart, which begins with a big E at the top, followed by increasingly smaller letters, with FP on the second line, TOZ on the third, and so on.

“I had it memorized,” I said.

“Not anymore,” said Dr. Cho, who had me look at a new chart through different lenses.

The verdict: I don’t have glaucoma or macular degeneration.

“Not bad for a guy my age,” I said.

“How old are you?” the doctor inquired.

“I’m 71,” I told him.

“You look 61,” he said.

“Thanks!” I chirped. “I guess your glasses help. All eye doctors wear them, don’t they?”

“I don’t know about that,” he said.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“I’m 49,” Dr. Cho answered.

“You look 39,” I said.

“Thanks!” he chirped. “And you’re not even wearing glasses.”

“How is my vision?” I inquired.

“You have 20/30 vision without your glasses and 20/20 with them,” the doctor replied.

“My previous optometrist said I had 20/40 vision, so I must be getting better,” I said. “Maybe I’ll end up with X-ray vision like Superman.”

“You never know,” Dr. Cho said. “But I do know this: If you want to avoid getting poked in the eye again, don’t dream about the Three Stooges.”

Copyright 2025 by Jerry Zezima