I had it asked recently, with my rash of fitness and diet posts of late, why I was so wound up about eating right and working out and living so long when, by chance, I could get hit by a truck and die tomorrow. All that work would be wasted.
As I thought about that, I concluded that my fears come from the exact opposite point of view. With the state of medicine that we have today, it really doesn’t matter how we eat, or if we exercise, or for that matter if we get hit by a truck. We have the medical technology today to keep putting ourselves back together again, and most likely every one of us will live to around 100 whether we like it or not.
The question is not the quantity of our years, but the quality.
Turning 40 left me with less of a feeling of “crap, look how much of my life is gone!” and more of “Crap, look how far I have to go and I feel like shit.” The novelty of backaches, heartburn, tight pants, and such had worn thin. And it has taken surprisingly little effort to turn that around.
That and I use the crosswalk and look both ways. Duh.