The thing about aging is that once you open a health care door, it never closes. You are never really done or finished.

You are simply opening up another chapter and walking through another door for the rest of your natural life.  Growing old is about maintenance, not miracles.

I thought my foot issues were over when I had my surgery.

I went to the podiatrist today and she said she wants to see me again in four weeks, perhaps for good.

My foot looks fine, she said, and let’s keep it that way.

This is not a complaint but an observation. This is the health track when you get older.

I’ve been going to the gym for nearly two months and was feeling pretty pleased with myself.

I was jogging along on the treadmill for 30 minutes this afternoon when Laura, the gym manager, and my friend and exercise mentor came up to me and said, “Jon, you’re doing fine. Time to do some upper body weights.”

“No,” I sputtered; I’m doing fine, this is enough, I’m just getting comfortable with it.”

Laura shook her head. She wasn’t buying it.

Then I realized this was yet another Come-to-Jesus moment from another healthcare worker trying to tell me something I needed to hear.

Laura is savvy as well as caring and direct. She leaves me alone until I get smug and lazy and then strikes, firmly but gently.

I trust Laura and consider her a good friend.

She has a great big heart, and the people in the gym love her. When she tells me something, I listen. I am learning to do that with people I like and trust.

I’m taking care of my legs, but my shoulder and back hurt, and I’ve ignored my arms in this health care revolution.

Laura ignored my protests and told me to come and look at machine number 10; I can lift light weights with my arms, just ten times each time, and strengthen my side and shoulder muscles. They could use some help also.

I can’t bullshit Laura; she sees right through me as if I were a piece of glass. Gym rat is not a natural role for me; I can always use the help.

I know that doing my legs only and nothing else is foolish, more of just dealing with things halfway and incompletely. I did that for years.

I see what exercise is already doing to my legs, and I want that for my arms and the rest of me.

My body is signaling me every day: get to work.

Laura set me up on the arm strength machine, and she asked me what weight I wanted to lift. “Oh, five pounds,” I said, “that will be enough.” We set the machine for 5 pounds.

“Oh, this is enough,” I said, quickly lifting the five pounds with no strain or stress. This, I thought, will be a snap.

“Bullshit,” she said, “you aren’t feeling a thing.” She leaned over, set the machine to 15 pounds, and told me to do it ten times.

I did it 12 times, and I felt a strong pull. She was right. The five pounds were doing nothing. The 15 pounds felt like something was happening.

So when I return to the gym in two days, I’ll do 30 minutes on the treadmill or bike, and five lifts on the arm machine. I already want to do more than 15.

I’m sure Laura isn’t done; I appreciate her watching over me and giving me a kick in the ass when I need one.

Physical exercise is always an emotional challenge for me; I never did much of it and never liked it, but I like what is happening to my body.

I will never be a jock, but I am comfortable hanging out in the local gym.

One of the joys of growing older is that I no longer have to prove anything to anybody. I can stand or fall on just being me.

I’ve been on the hero journey (not about heroes but seekers) for some years now; I suspect I will never stop.

Joseph Campbell wrote that people on this journey leave the ordinary behind and set out to figure out who they are and why they are here.

Some survive, some don’t.

My journey began with the end of a 35 year marriage, the hardest time of my life. But like the mystics say, pain is a doorway to walk through to the light.

Along the way, magical helpers appear to help the bewildered pilgrims along. They might be dogs, donkeys, birds, or people.

Laura is one of them. She knows how to help without hurting or wounding. And she doesn’t fool me either.

She is a tough cookie.

One of the biggest lessons of my life was understanding that the key to happiness was surrounding myself with strong women and doing what they tell me to do.