I've been on the road for a few weeks, traveling around the country to meet with doctors, patients, advocacy groups and community centers.  My travels have taken me to Denver, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Sacramento and, later this week, Orlando.

It wasn't easy packing for two-and-a-half weeks, especially since I only own (apparently) 12 pairs of underwear (I recently over-purged that drawer).  So now I'm left looking for a laundro-mat in Nobb Hill, San Francisco.  Weird, but true.

What's weirder is that, despite all the travel, I'm not in any great discomfort.  Usually when I sleep away or travel for more than three days I begin to feel the wear-and-tear in my body (from the bad pillows to the nasty spring mattresses).  I've done a decent job eating (sort of) healthy food, working out (on occasion ... yeah, right) and getting as much sleep as possible.

So while we're "holding hands with America," I am conscious to put my health first, wash my hands often, stretch at every opportunity, and not eat crap.  Sounds like the making of a travel book ...

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In a snow emergency, you'll find one thing in New York City:  some tough cookie seniors walking around.

Last week, New York City (where I live) got dumped with a TON of snow.  It doesn't happen very often, but when it snows ... it snows heavily.  A few hours after the storm obliterated the city (turning it into a serene, pretty and QUIET place), I laced up my boots, zipped up my jacket and journeyed out into the polar ice cap to investigate the damage.

I was amazed to see one thing in particular:  white snow.  (Usually it's yellow or black by the time I get to it.)  I was also amazed to see the number of senior citizens -- we're talking really old people -- going about their day with their coming and going.  That takes a lot of nerve, in my opinion, and it's reason #529 that New Yorkers are tough cookies.

Here I was, nervous that I'd fall on my butt or take an embarrassing spill trying to cross the street -- and yet these 70-to-80-year-olds were trekking through the snow complete with a D'Agastino plastic shopping bag covering their frosted hair.

I thought to myself no wonder most people their age go to Florida in the winter and then reflected on just how many people didn't and who, instead, braved the elements to get to the store or the restaurant or anywhere else they were going.

How they do it is a mystery to me.  But the fact that they're still up and at it really inspired me.  I should only be that stubborn (and foolish?) when I'm that age!

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It's officially wintertime.  Well, maybe not "officially," but definitely from the look, feel and smell of things ... it's winter.  Which means one thing in New York City:  seasonal ice skating!

I know I'm really a 78-year-old man trapped in a 28-year-old body, but the thought of ice skating is nerve-wracking!  The other day I went to an ice skating party and we all jumped on skates after one (two) drinks.  Which made things even worse!  It was as though the crowd skated in loops, while there was a different kind of loop in my head, saying, "Don't fall!  Don't break anything!  Don't fall!"

When you have arthritis, ice skating brings new meaning to the "walking on thin ice" analogy -- I was petrified of getting hurt (and looking stupid ... which, obviously, was more important at the time).  Holding a girl's hand while I skated didn't make it any easier.

But at least it made me focus on something other than getting hurt.  For 30 seconds.

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There's ordinary wear and tear of the body -- and there's Disney wear and tear.

The latter is much more painful.

I know this because I spent last week in Florida with my family on a trip to Disney World with the little ones (seeing Disney through children's eyes is so much more fun than as a grown up!).  We wore our pedometers and clocked an average of five (FIVE!) miles a day walking through the various theme parks.

We all remember the commercials about winning the Super Bowl -- and "going to Disney World!" -- but frankly, playing in a football game would hurt a lot less than trekking through a theme park on a steamy August day.

Nevertheless, despite an aggravated back, sore knees, and a light head, the trip was well worth it.  I just wish I had trained ("conditioned?") better before the trip because it definitely was no easy task.

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It could just be the summertime, but the urge to exercise has once again surfaced.  However, climbing aboard an elliptical trainer for the first time in (many) weeks seemed daunting.

So I did what any other irrational human being would do:  I took an aerobics class.  For the first time ever.

Seventy minutes later, after the Bataan Death March (complete with bouncy ball) was finished, I wanted to die.

It would have been ideal if it had ended there.  Seventy-two hours later I am still feeling the ill effects of a strenuous workout that, at the time, just felt "challenging."  Little did I know I'd be hobbling across streets, limping to restaurant bathrooms, or falling out of the car all these days later.

In my defense, however, I lasted through the entire class -- with the support of the all female participants and overly caffeinated aerobics instructor.  "See you again" were words that made me smile, despite the pain of doing something stupid (like taking a class for the first time, pushing it, and neglecting to stretch and "ease into it").

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