When Republicans called Lautenberg cranky, grumpy, incoherent and forgetful, the retired senator challenged his 49-year-old opponent, Doug Forrester, to a three-event mini-Olympics:

A footrace through Trenton, a skiing competition at 12,000 feet, and a strength contest lifting "raw power weights."

"The fact of the matter," Lautenberg quipped, "is that Franky ain't so cranky and won't stand for any hanky-panky."

Alas, the giant slalom of political fitness never took place, but when the votes were counted, Lautenberg won that Senate race.

Now 84, Lautenberg would be 90 at the end of his fifth term. That is, if he prevails in the June 3 Democratic primary over - big surprise - another younger man.

U.S. Rep. Rob Andrews, 50, wants a Senate seat so badly, he's willing to give up the congressional hall pass he has held since 1991. Some would call trading a sure thing for a long shot a sign of mental instability, but voters deserve more proof.

So let me propose a competition of sorts, pitting Lautenberg and Andrews in physical and mental feats of strength. For comic relief, I'll even join them.

I'm seven months pregnant, you see, growing rounder, more sedentary and scatterbrained every day. Maybe neither candidate can jump hurdles or recite pi beyond 3.14, but surely they can beat me.

The S-Games

The senator, I hear, skis, plays golf, and walks between government buildings, a distance that men in their prime travel by tram.

Andrews says that what gets his heart racing is parenting. "I came home the other night," he tells me, "to find out my daughter went on her first date." Also, he works out on elliptical and rowing machines.

Boring. I say he and Lautenberg thumb wrestle, settling any tie with text messaging.

After that, both must drive - and survive - the length of the New Jersey Turnpike at rush hour.

Then I suggest both politicians be me for one weekend.

This tricky challenge begins with rousing a 4-year-old from bed and persuading her to eat a semi-healthy breakfast. Then comes transporting said urchin to soccer, the grocery store, and a preschool birthday party at one of those insanely loud indoor kiddie gyms.

If they have any energy left? A stare-off to see who blinks first.

Mental might makes man

John McCain, 71, has been dogged by the fact that he'd be the oldest person ever elected to a first term as president. At 46, Barack Obama has been accused of being too unseasoned - read: young - to be commander-in-chief.

As Penn State football coach Joe Paterno seeks to keep a job he has held for 42 of his 81 years, he swears he'll leave the day his body tells him it's time. "I don't want to be a martyr," Joe said.

Renowned gerontologist Robert Butler coined ageism in 1968 and still cautions against judging a book by its wrinkled cover.

"The real issue is whether someone is functioning," says Butler, who at 81 just wrote a new book, The Longevity Revolution. "In fact, frequently, older politicians play a vital, stabilizing role."

"While you might not want to have a Senate composed of one hundred 84-year-olds," he says, "I don't think it's bad to have a range of ages."

That said, in politics, "the best defense is a good offense." So Butler would have the candidates forgo physical feats and prove their mental might instead.

That's a tough one. Getting any politician to take an IQ test is harder than you'd think.

To demonstrate the senator's acuity, Lautenberg's staff members sent me a list of aggressive legislation he has championed. But they couldn't (or wouldn't) put the octogenarian on the phone so I could ask, say, how many books he devours each week.

Andrews admits his 15-year-old's social life might make him "fail a stress test," but deftly dodges my question about whether he could finish a crossword puzzle faster than Lautenberg.

So Lautenberg used to joke about his age, but is silent now that he's even older? Andrews is happy to talk about voters deserving a "change," but stops short of saying younger equals better.

"I'm going to go out and tell people who I am, what I'm for, and what I would do," says Andrews. "People are sick to death of junior high school-yard politics."