The health plan that's kept me fit for 37 years is simple:
do what you already know you ought to.
By Thomas Withers
Newsweek: Sept. 26, 2005 issue—Ironically, if I hadn't been trying to beat the high cost of health care, my wife wouldn't have run over my head with her bicycle a few months ago. The wheels on my bike hit a slick spot and I fell directly in her path. Missing me was impossible. Moments later I was sitting in the middle of the trail wearing a cracked helmet and saying, "What happened?"
Just before we'd begun our ride, my wife had looked at me and given me an angry ultimatum: "You are 86 years old, and if you don't know enough to wear your helmet, you can ride alone." Rue Ann is 29 years younger and more verbal than I, so I replied with resignation, "Yes dear," and donned my helmet.
How does the high cost of health care relate to my accident? It's simple. One of my strategies for avoiding health-care costs is to stay healthy, and that means riding regularly.
My plan works primarily for people in the 40- to 60-year age range, those young enough to make the necessary changes for entering old age with good health and enthusiasm. In towns like mine across the country, that's just not happening, and the result is that fewer people my age are still leading active lives.
Our local hospital, St. John's, will hold its 26th annual 10-kilometer foot race in October. About 2,000 people are expected to participate, but if it's anything like past years, I won't have much competition. Usually after a race, when people ask how well I did, I say, "I came in first in the 80- to 90-year-old class." Invariably, they ask the follow-up question, "How many were in that class?" With feigned embarrassment, I answer, "I was the only one."
My quest to see how little I could spend on health care began when I was 50. Two events spurred me to action: First, my blood pressure began rising above the normal range. Second, a close friend only a few years older than I had had a stroke that left him speechless, in diapers and in a nursing home. It also left him penniless.
 In a society where health-care costs were spiraling out of control, how could I escape a similar fate? To protect myself, I considered many plans, from trying to marry a rich widow to buying long-term medical insurance. Finally, I thought of a strategy that would work, though the method I chose is somewhat un-American. I decided to take care of my health. It was the best decision I ever made.
“The Payoff: Now, after my 87th birthday, I can still say, ‘What’s a headache? Constipation? Arthritis?’”
The success of my plan lies in its simplicity. It's available and adaptable to almost everyone. Furthermore, it requires little special equipment other than a bicycle—and a helmet. The system I have followed for 37 years has three essential parts: nutrition, exercise and perseverance. Nutritionally, I deviate little from the U.S. Department of Agriculture's guidelines. All the foods needed to meet its requirements are available in a traditional food store. I head to the produce department to buy fresh fruits and vegetables to supplement those I grow in my garden. I read labels and put back products that are loaded with hydrogenated fats and sodium. When using these criteria, three fourths of the grocery aisles become irrelevant. As a result, my shopping is streamlined.
Rue Ann and I, depending on the weather, do one of the following five days a week: ride our bicycles 10 miles, walk 3 miles or climb the stairs in a 10-story building. Consistency is the key to a successful exercise program.
The financial payoff for this kind of living has exceeded my wildest expectations. I get a routine physical once a year. Intermittently, I see a dermatologist and ophthalmologist. When I was 75 my doctor said, "I know you don't take any prescription drugs, but what over-the-counter drugs do you take?" When I answered "None," he smiled and wryly said I wasn't doing my part to support the drug companies. Today my old cat's drug bill is higher than mine. I'm not sure if I'm bragging or complaining.
My biggest payoff, however, is not in the money I save, but in the way I feel. Now, just after my 87th birthday, I can still say "What's a headache? Constipation? Arthritis?" When I'm in the drug department of a supermarket, I feel like the bewildered Texas cowboy in a Dallas department store. When the clerk asked, "Is there something wrong?" I drawled, "No ma'am, I've just never seen so many things in my whole life I don't need."
Recently, as my wife and I were going through airport security, a young male employee said, "It sure is a nice weekend for a father-daughter outing." With a grin broader than natural, I replied, "It certainly is, and we are going to make the most of it—aren't we, daughter?"
I'm saving my cracked helmet with the bicycle-tire marks on it as a token of my good health. I hope I'm still wearing a helmet at 95, because the alternatives are unacceptable.
Withers lives in Springfield, Mo.
© 2005 Newsweek, Inc.
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