It’s around this time of the year when people’s visits to doctors increase. And doctors often say such an increase is expected around the holidays. We overeat.

‘Twas the season to gormandize on turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, yams and the full spectrum of Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s edibles.

It’s impossible to visit anyone this season without being offered bizcochitos, usually made with real lard. On that note, I had a couple of visitors/relatives from California, who wanted to browse the Bridge Street area around Christmas. That was several years ago, when my friend Pete DuMont opened a bookstore-coffee shop on the south side of Bridge. My two guests inquired as to the ingredients. “We try our best not to consume any lard at all,” one of them pontificated.

Pete walked them to the front of the store. “See those viejitas on the sidewalk?” he asked, pointing to what looked like a church crowd, average age 80. They looked fit. “I’ll bet every one of them had lard in their diets most of their lives. And I’ll bet each of them eats bizcochitos made with pure lard.”

That got me to thinking. I was in Chicago years back when a deejay who worked for radio station WGN, told of having interviewed a man who seemed to be 105. He used a cane on his daily walks along State Street and Madison Avenue. Often he was in the company of a woman or two.

The radio employee, on a man-on-the-street assignment, asked the gentleman, “And to what do you attribute your condition, your ability to get around as well as you do?”

Without hesitation, the man said, “I’ve been drinking heavily most of my life; I enjoy as many women as I can; I smoke three packs a day.” Somewhat taken aback by such revelations — all of them going against what we call “healthy” living — the deejay asked,

“And, if you don’t mind, tell us your age, sir.”

“I just turned 28.”

Well, the smoking-drinking-womanizing anecdote, along with the lard-made Christmas cookies, aren’t intended as any kind of prescription; I merely inserted them to introduce — yet again — what I hope to do to stay healthy.

Each day there’s an item in the paper extolling the virtues of activity; most authorities say walking is great exercise. I’ve also lamented my belief that too many young people lead sedentary lives, texting and playing video games.

Therefore, as I visited my son Diego, next door, he and my grandson and namesake invited me to see their new video game. “Nah,” I said, “You see one shoot-em-up, you’ve seen ‘em all.”

“But no, Dad,” Diego said, “this one’s different.”

“That’s what they all say.”

But I relented. This one, named Kinect, really is different. It has a slew of activities that put us, literally, through the motions.

Let me explain:

My son Ben and his wife Heather, chose a game that places their likenesses on the TV screen and replicates every movement they make. First they appeared on a rail, moving toward objects and barriers that needed to be jumped over or dodged. Along came hard-to-catch balls, which provide bonus points, which Ben and Heather, and later son Stan and his wife Lisbeth, needed to touch in order to raise their scores. But the jumping is real. They’d jump one second, then immediately duck to avoid an object about to “hit” them. After several minutes of increasingly difficult levels, they practically collapsed on the sofa.

That was unexpected, as Ben and Heather, three days before, had completed a 100-mile bike race in Tucson. And they reached the top of Mount Kilimanjaro last June.

My grandson, Arthur, attempted the same game, advancing several levels. In fact, all of us — Diego, Connie, my wife Bonnie, and I — tried our luck. I told Diego it really wasn’t necessary to set the game to the baby level when his Dad competed, but even that was a workout. In my opinion, it’s equivalent to bouncing on a trampoline or walking on a treadmill.

But it was more than jumping and shucking. The game includes track-and-field events — by feigning heaving a javelin, Arthur nailed the object yards away; and by running in place, he performed the long jump — which left me breathless, even as a spectator.

I believe intra-familial competition is healthful. That’s why I refuse to be on the same team with Bonnie whenever we play parlor games. I think such competition salves some hidden tensions. But that’s a topic for a future column.

I thus enjoyed watching my sons going against their spouses in a three-round boxing match. In this case, the competitors face the TV screen and attempt their knockout punches, which register on the screen, and often record a knockdown or more. Though there is absolutely no contact between the husband and wife — at least not during the boxing match — the flailing at the air in this electronic form of shadow boxing really showed some effects. All were breathing hard and perspiring afterward.

Do I need a new gadget to help me meet this six-years-long goal of getting slimmer? I’ve been recording my weekly weight for many months, and it’s had its ups and downs. No, I’ll not buy that fancy game but at the same time I will likely challenge some of my sons to video races. I might even try out the built-in bowling game. They explained it to me the next day, and it brought memories of the ‘50s Las Vegas, with its bowling alley on Grand Avenue.

My visit next door turned out to be a moving experience. Great fun, but nothing close to the enjoyment I experience in keeping current my membership at the City Recreation Center and sweatin’ with my friends.