Having had one-and-a-half heart attacks (don't ask - I'm not sure myself) already, I was determined not to allow the next version to happen without some sort of preventative action on my part.
I am only 68 kilos in my natural state - never weighed more than 71; I don't have more than a single red a day- effing orders - and I eat no animal fat that I can see. I went for a blood test in December and, to my surprise, was within every recommended parameter. The next week I was scheduled for a stress test - the walking machine thing - and I though hey! a piece of cake. Except it wasn't. I needed another stent. Which I got a month ago. I protested my innocence to the cardio and told of how I walked up a particular hill three times a week, every week, after visiting a restaurant in the area. He looked shocked. Oh no, he said, all that go for the burn stuff is lethal after you reach forty! What you must do is take normal walks but on the flat!
So there you go; you may be better off just riding the bikes than pushing them, in which case I suggest you never buy a Derbi which my son had for a while until he had to push it home one day from the beach at Formentor. Which is reachable via a mountain climb or, alternatively, by sea, which latter option was clearly unsuited to the task in hand.
As a further bit of useless information, his Mum fixed the bike when he got home - throttle cable and carb problem. She actually rode the bike a single time and didn't take to the experience. Women are generally wiser than we are, though that's yet another generalisation I hesitate to offer.
However, a ponytail is quite useful; I now claim that mine, post-hearts, is all about keeping an equilibrium in life: the less hair I have then the longer it has to be to maintain the essential balance.