I Biohacked for 10 Weeks to Try to Live Forever⁠↗

I also get a Whoop band ($30 a month) and a $150 Fitbit Charge 3. I have three gadgets on at all times, and they all measure the same data. To a biohacker, there is no such thing as too much data.

The doctor at Upgrade Labs took a blood sample and, as with every other time my testosterone has been checked, it was below the normal range. The normal amount of free testosterone for a man my age is 9 to 30 according to the lab that tested my blood sample. I’ve got 3.6. That’s barely enough to be a writer.

The greatest sleep hack was also the saddest: not drinking. If Carrie Nation had given out Oura rings instead of busting up bars with a hatchet, Prohibition would have never have been repealed. Even one drink reduces my deep sleep significantly. It’s the one thing my Whoop, Oura, and Fitbit completely agree upon. Alcohol (and sugar), especially when consumed later at night, sends my heart racing and interrupts my sleep even when I don’t notice it. Especially my deep sleep.

As far as the organic high-fat meat, Pasternak said, “That’s like being a smoker and having organic tobacco.” I asked him if it’s really that bad to put butter in my coffee every morning. “Why shouldn’t you put butter in your coffee?” he asked. “Why shouldn’t you rub shit on your face? There’s no science behind that whatsoever. Most of these diets are created by people who have no experience in the field of nutrition.”

I walked up to the counter at Upgrade Labs and examined their newest product, a $495 infrared tool called a vFit, which is shaped like a vibrator. I asked the biohack technicians what a vFit is. It is a vibrator. For “10 to 12 minutes a day” a woman is supposed to shine infrared light into her vagina to improve her pelvic floor. I did not take this home because I feared Cassandra would get furious at me for believing people should self-improve even during masturbation.

Here’s something you don’t want to know I did and I didn’t want to do: I spread a piece of paper over my toilet, defecated on it, and scooped a tiny spoonful into a vial, put the vial in an envelope addressed to a company called Viome, placed the envelope in my mailbox, and never told my mail carrier about this. I believe I should serve jail time for this.

As part of the $150 gut analysis, I filled out a questionnaire on the Viome website, answering questions that I was surprised had anything to do with my poop. Questions such as “Did you grow up on a farm?” The possible answers were “yes,” “no,” and “I don’t know.” Which means there are people willing to pay $150 to defecate on paper, scoop it into a vial, and mail it who don’t even know if they grew up on a farm.

Maybe Dave Asprey will live far longer than I will. Or maybe he’ll inject the wrong chemical into his penis while flying a Cessna to a beach for more butthole sunning and it will all end in a horrifying Instagram photo. Either way, I’m back to eating five times a day, walking 12,000 steps, and going to the gym three days a week. I’ll shoot for 90 years old. And be thrilled if I make it.