One fucking point. ONE FUCKING POINT

Did a PFT this morning; scored 149, which puts me in tier 3, the lowest, by one fucking point. One more sit-up, one more pull-up, a few seconds off the run, and I’d be in tier 2; low, but tier 2 nonetheless. A bit of a recent personal best, doing 3 miles in 26:30. Previous 3-mile was 26:55 a week or so ago, so I’m making pretty good progress.

On the plus side, though, it means in a week I’ll be in tier 2. I joke that I’m physically 19 again; not entirely true, but I can at least hold my own against those fucking kids. (Calculate your score here.)

A little more time, and I’ll be at or under my age group’s probability for lung cancer, and it’s likely greater than 85% of lung volume lost to smoking will be recovered. Then 2 years or so after that, I’ll be at or under my age group’s probability for heart disease.

I worked out the other day after looking at this, that I have about 15k days left in my life; all things being equal, I’ll die at age 76, in 2049. The more I think about that, the more I think, it’s worth all this. I can push that number higher.