My grandmothers, Rose and Fannie, lived to be 95 and 87, respectively. I don’t believe they exercised a day in their lives and their diets were horrible. Fats and carbs from dawn to dusk, as in cakes, breads, potatoes, breaded veal chops cooked in rendered chicken fat, and other artery-clogging Jewish cuisine.
What’s more, Grandmas R and F didn’t have mammograms, colonoscopies and stress tests; wouldn’t know a beta blocker from a statin and thought a good night’s sleep was anything over five hours. So how is it that I’m exercising obsessively, dieting perpetually, reading food labels compulsively, and taking batteries of medical tests–intent to get through my sixties intact?
Are good genes worth more than sweating on a treadmill, counting carbs, and having a CT scan of the lungs? If they are, show me the cake.