I spent forty years treating my body like a rental car I paid for with a stolen credit card.
I poured whiskey into the gas tank. I ran it redline. I drove it into walls. I ate like a man who thought heart disease was a myth invented by Democrats. And for a long time, the machine just took it. It’s a good model. American-made. Sturdy.
But at 57, the check engine light didn’t just flicker; it burned out the goddamn bulb.
Bloated. 320 pounds. Pre-diabetic blood that looked like syrup. Joints that creaked like a haunted house. I looked in the mirror and saw a man who was preparing to die in a chair.
And then I realized: You can’t escape if the vehicle won’t start.
So I went into the garage. I didn’t do it for vanity. I didn’t do it to get laid. I did it because I have a plane to catch, and I need this old bastard to make the flight.
I lost 40 pounds. Not with a fad diet, but with the ruthless efficiency of an engineer fixing a structural failure. I cut the sugar. I cut the booze down to a dull roar. I started drinking water like it was the elixir of life.
And you know what? The machine responded.
The inflammation went down. The flexibility came back. I can tie my shoes without making a noise that sounds like a dying walrus. My blood work came back, and the doctor looked at me like I’d performed a magic trick.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I decided I wasn’t done yet,” I said.
This isn’t about looking young. That ship has sailed. The gray hair, the wrinkles, the scars… those are staying. They’re the mileage. They’re the proof I drove the hell out of this thing.
This is about reliability.
I need this body to carry a backpack through Vietnam. I need these knees to handle a squat toilet in Thailand. I need this liver to process a celebratory beer on a beach in the Philippines without shutting down the whole grid.
I am tuning the engine. I am tightening the bolts. I am polishing the chrome, not for the showroom, but for the road.
The machine is old. It’s got a few dents. But goddamn it, it’s running. And it’s ready for the last, long haul.
