My parents purchased our first black and white television in 1954. A favorite program many enjoyed was “The Jack LaLanne Show,” which appeared early weekday mornings from 1951 to 1984. Together, Jack and I did sit-ups and jumping jacks along with squat-thrusts, a push-up or two and more. I wanted muscles and stamina like Mr. LaLanne. Time passed by while muscles I hoped for also passed me by, sometimes creating challenges later along life’s path – including one located in Italy.

Cinque Terra is a group of five small villages off Italy’s rugged Riviera coastline. Multi-colored buildings perched at various levels on the rocky Ligurian Sea overlook fishing boats bobbing below, creating a gorgeous spectacle of color. A stream of visitors travels between the five towns there by car, boat, rail or sometimes by foot over hiking paths.

Rita and I visited Cinque Terra years ago with a classmate and his wife. The four of us agreed to start at the largest and most northerly of the villages, Monterosso, where we wandered in and out of shops lining the narrow streets and passages, then strolled the beach before enjoying a lunch of locally caught seafood. By afternoon Vernazza, the next hamlet south, was beckoning our visit. But first, a discussion on how to get there was in order.

Classmate David, recuperating from hernia surgery weeks earlier, had been reliant on his wife to lug his suitcase to-and-fro to comply with his doctor’s orders. “Maybe we should take the train instead of hiking the trail. That might be easier,” I suggested.

“No, I can do it. I’m feeling good,” David replied. “Don’t worry, I can handle it.”

We left Monterosso, starting upward along a rather steep and narrow trail. Some parts of the footpath were so much so that a temporary pause was required now and again to allow those traveling the other direction to pass by. I welcomed such delays – as the climb winded me. Twenty minutes into the hike, I wished I had been more insistent about the train ride. Five years younger than David and without any “delicate condition” to justify reluctance to walk the trail, I knew he would razz me forever if I requested we abandon the hiking idea. We trudged onward.

A short time later, David uttered, “You know, I think we should turn around. I’m not sure this hiking idea was the right choice for me.” What a relief. As the younger, presumably spryer fellow, I didn’t want to throw a wet blanket on this part of the adventure, nor to nudge my friend toward any unjustified feeling of shame about his “delicate condition.” Pride kept me from admitting I wasn’t up to it and perpetuated the illusion I was. What a relief to reverse course.

As time has passed now in retirement, I’ve become overly familiar with a variety of doctor’s waiting room decors. This is despite a retirement plan that did not include the study of interior decorating. My only consolation is knowing that even sports superstars and politicians reach a time when the effects of age must be acknowledged. In the absence of Ponce de Leon’s discovery of the Fountain of Youth or transplantable DNA from Jack LaLanne, we are all destined to grow closer to the inevitable, along with deterioration, elimination, repair or replacement of body parts.

Twenty years beyond the Cinque Terra visit, we would love to return again to see Michelangelo’s statue of David in Florence and visit more of those five Italian villages. But, considering development of my own “delicate condition” now, it appears it would be Rita’s to-and-fro turn with luggage on any such trip. Unfortunately, aging hasn’t been as kind to me as it was to television’s Jack LaLanne. On the bright side, I’m confident I could master recording a gray-haired reverse mortgage or gold bullion commercial at least as well as other old codgers do.

Sommers is a retired Minot orthodontist, violinist with the Minot Symphony and author of the book, “Retirement? You Can’t HANDLE the Truth!”