This Christmas my husband and I have decided to gift ourselves with a pricey juicer. It’s not as unromantic as it may look; there’s an intimate connection between good health and romance.

 

If some people, the younger ones especially, go for the latest electronic communication gadget thinking nothing of its prohibitive price, surely it’s because it’s that important to them. Well, Vergel and I have just sunk good money on a juicer, on a 12-month instalment plan, because the rest of our lives may well depend on it.

 

A quick demo, and we were its proud owners. We needed no further convincing, having been won over by the certified benefits from juicing for people in their autumn years.

 

Naturally inclined toward a healthy lifestyle of regular sports and a seafood diet, Vergel would seem to have little need for it. But at our brittle age, I suppose, one slip is all it takes. His was bingeing on oysters and durian: He felt a hot surge to his head.

 

Good genes

 

I owe my own wellbeing to my genes, genes that carried some forbears into their 90s—two uncles are right there; their elder brother, my father himself, reached 91. But maternal genes, though not bad either—Mom lived to her mid-80s—predispose me to certain serious illnesses, which, by the grace of God, I’ve yet managed to avoid.

 

Anyway, still I needed to shift to a more careful lifestyle, and I have done so. As Vergel used to say, I was “more a regular gym dropout than a gym regular.” Not anymore: I treadmill almost as often as he plays tennis. I may not be having as much fun, but it’s he who gets bruised and sprained.

 

My own slanted view that athletes are more at risk to injury especially in later years is vetted by Paulina, wife of the former ambassador of Chile, Roberto. Unsuccessfully running down a shot to near where I sit, a cool, happy and safe spectator of their doubles match against Vergel and our editor and friend Thelma, she tells me, breathless as she tightens a knee brace, “If you play like me because you love the game, you won’t know when to stop!”

 

Of course, it’s a problem I won’t have to face.

 

Aptitude

 

But then again, I really didn’t give tennis much of a chance. In my late 30s, like a good cousin, I did sign up with Ninit under a pro who had been once the nation’s No. 1. Ninit showed an aptitude for it, but I myself was plain lousy and quickly stopped being a good cousin. My pro was only too relieved: I was wearing a shirt proclaiming him my teacher. Soon enough, Ninit herself, deprived of a partner sure to make her look better anytime, lost interest, too.

 

I just can’t derive any kind of pleasure from participating—not to mention getting all sweaty and grimy—in any game that consists of a ball or any missile coming at you; it’s prospectively harmful. At PE in high school my great skill was ducking balls I was supposed to catch.

 

Girl athletes are rare in my family and in our generation, yet several of us seniors who never played are hitting 75 with relative ease and without arthritis. I’ve observed, on the other hand, that a number from the younger generation seem not to do as well.

 

Cousin Menet, 75, makes her point: “Very few in our generation smoked or drank. We had no vices. We were the goody-goodies who pleased our grandmothers and the nuns!” And she adds, between giggles, “We certainly paid a high price for our good health!”

 

Decisions

 

Philosophers say, “In life as in poker, we all have to play the cards we’re dealt. We are where we are and the way we are because of decisions we make every day throughout our lives.”

 

In other words, whether we realize it or not, the tests are over and the results are in. Still we ask ourselves, “What are we saving ourselves for?” or “Isn’t it better to die happy than with regrets?” or “Why should we deprive ourselves at this late stage when we’ll all die anyway?”

 

Dr. Christine EV Gonzalez straightens me out in one of her columns, “The Green Secret.” If I may paraphrase: The occasional lechon may not do you in sooner, but it will certainly have a bearing on the quality of life before you finally go. Vergel and I are convinced we should take care now; so, we got ourselves the juicer.

 

As though making up for all those carefree years, we’ve never consumed so much vegetables in one day, all at once. I have come up with some really good concoctions; I add fruit—apple or pineapple—for taste. The dominant color is always the same and not so encouraging—dark-frothy green—but there lies precisely the magic.

 

We don’t need to order the obligatory salad at restaurants anymore. We don’t get hungry like before and, therefore, tend not to overeat. Juicing is said to help the body lose weight, get rid of toxins and fat—alas, not sugar. Only regular exercise remains the one sure, if hard, way.

 

But nothing comes easy anymore; anyway, it sure feels great to still be here—and not quite there.

 

With love and gratitude in our hearts, let’s juice to life. Another blessed Christmas to all!