…and I’m a hypochondriac. I became a health editor probably for the same reason some people go vegan, to live a healthier than thou existence: “White rice? Do you really expect me to eat white rice? Why don’t you sprinkle arsenic on my spinach while you’re at it?”

It was always gratifying to read the latest nutrition headlines and be able to say, “oh, yeah, I’ve been doing that for ages.” Blueberries in the morning with flaxseed and Greek yogurt. Salad with chicken, apples and avocado — no dressing — for lunch. Fish, fish and more fish for dinner. You get the point. But lately, every health article I read is scaring the hell out of me.

First there was the article in Self magazine that chiropractic can cause arterial tears and strokes. Then, I came across the other article in Self saying the same thing can happen from yoga. Would you care to guess what happened the next time I went to my gym class and overdid it on ab work? I thought I was having a stroke. My stroke triggered a panic attack, which resembled all the signs of a stroke, thus pushing me further and further into the I’m Dying abyss. Good times.

After I finally convinced myself that my symptoms could be caused by nerves (thank you, John Sarno), I looked up panic attacks online. Bad, bad idea. Did you know that panic attacks can actually raise blood pressure and trigger all sorts of cardiac events, like, for instance, a stroke?

So now, I have been carefully monitoring what articles I allow myself to read. Lyme disease? Too fucking scary and impossible to avoid. Basically, if my eye is drawn to the article out of morbid fascination, I have to push myself on to the next article. While it might help my emotional well-being, it really is doing nothing for my job as a health writer. Check back in a year, and please feel free to stab my eyes out if I’m writing about the best way to apply lip gloss (which, fyi, increases your susceptibility to skin cancer. Not that I’m paranoid or anything).

In an attempt to pretend I’m eating a healthy breakfast, I have added almond slices and flaxseed to my Cookie Crisp cereal. It’s kind of like saying “It’s okay that I had sex with a prostitute, honey. I used a condom.”

I am seriously delusional.

Me as I dragged my ass down the street to Crunch yesterday: Dear gym, I hate you. Lovelessly and resentfully, my body.

Me upon entering the gym: Why is there always a line at the counter? Of course the desk girl doesn’t have any towels out. “Can I have a large towel, please?” Instead of handing me one of the nicely folded towels that she has stacked behind the counter, out of reach, she wades through the basket of unfolded ones and pulls out a small one. Whoops. Puts it back. Reaches in again. Pulls out another small one. Puts it back in. Reaches in a third time. Pulls out another small one. Are you for real? Then I realize what she’s doing. Are you so lazy that you can’t give me a towel that’s already folded because it takes away from the work you’ve done? God forbid you have to FOLD AN EXTRA TOWEL on my account. We are at a gym you know. Jesus, burn a calorie or two. Grrr. Fourth time in, she pulls out a large one. Halle-fucking-lujah. I snatch it and storm off. Uh-oh, am I becoming one of those self-important New Yorkers for whom everything is an inconvenience? Fuck.

Oh, hooray. Machines galore. But, damn, those ellipticals are pushed closely together. I’m going to be rubbing sweaty elbows with the girl next to me. I sigh and hop on, hoping the peeps on either side of me don’t reek of b.o.

Four minutes in: Grumble. Booooooring. Is this almost over?

Six minutes in: Okay, this isn’t so bad. Wait, I’ve only been on here for six minutes? Fuck. I’ve got so much stuff to do.

Eight minutes in: Oh, hello, body, is that you? I didn’t recognize you without the couch attached to your ass. I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you.

Ten minutes in: Man, I can do anything.

Twenty minutes in: Fuck you, world, ain’t no one going to hold me back.

Thirty minutes in: Whoo! I am one strong motherfucker! I’m never getting off this machine. Just try and make me. Uh-huh, that’s what I thought. I wouldn’t want to mess with me, either.

Thirty-five minutes in: Take that (gasp, gasp), stress… (gasp). I showed you.

On the way home: God, I love exercise. What would I do without it? Note to self: remember how good it feels to work out.

Next day: I am so not going to the gym today. No, no, no, you can’t make me. I’m in control of my body and I say no, I’m not going.

On the way to gym: I hate you, gym. I. Hate. You.

Found on the clinical trials site, Centerwatch.org:
Trial Information
Summary: Healthy users of heroin (men and women, age 21-45 yrs) needed for 4-8 week inpatient study of medication effects at the NY State Psychiatric Institute.

Earn between $2100 and $4280. Call the Substance Use Research Center at (212) 543 6243.

Contact: New York State Psychiatric Institute

Does anyone else find this puzzling? Maybe even, oh, I don’t know, oxymoronic? Last time I checked, heroin users aren’t exactly the picture of health. Either all of those after-school specials were wrong, or this is the Dept. of Psychiatry’s polite way of saying, “We’d like users who aren’t going to drop dead before the eight-week study is up, and fuck up all of our research. But, please, feel free to feed your habit at our expense, and then promptly keel over when we’re done with you.”

So says Dr. Dean Ornish, founder of the Preventive Medicine Research Institute and author of a ridiculous number of diet and nutrition books. If you’re worried that all of the ailments that plagued your parents will be your fate as well, there’s some good news: we can alter our genes by adopting a healthy lifestyle. In as little as three months, people can deactivate genes that cause a host of diseases, like cancer, inflammation, and heart disease, and activate protective ones. Kinda makes you wonder why we don’t all throw away our doughnuts already, doesn’t it?

In the study, Ornish and his colleagues put 30 men with prostate cancer on a stringent health regimen that consisted of:

• A plant-based diet (fruits, veggies, soy, whole grains), supplemented with soy, fish oil (three grams/day), vitamin E (100 units/day), selenium (200 mg/day), and vitamin C (2 grams/day)
• Moderate exercise (walking 30 minutes per day)
• Stress management techniques (yoga-based stretching, breathing techniques, meditation, and guided imagery for one hour per day)
• Weekly one-hour support group

Why can’t I be the subject of a healthy lifestyle study? Please, somebody force me to do all the things I know are good for me but can’t for the life of me seem to stick with. At least I’m getting 30 minutes of walking in each day, just from living in New York. And, like most New Yorkers, I’m in therapy, so that would probably count as my support group. I take 1 gram of fish oil, and try to eat one salad a day. But the rest I most definitely need to work on.

Last week’s New York magazine detailed the story of a man, Kevin Baker, whose mother came down with Huntington’s Disease, which pretty much devours the brain whole. Since it’s so rare, pharmaceutical companies don’t see any reason to put money behind something that won’t bring them serious profit. Cancer makes money. Huntington’s does not. Anyway, the author found out that he had a 50/50 chance of coming down with the disease, so he decided to get tested, even though there was nothing he could do about it. He figured, I’m so paranoid about it now, I might as well get the test so that I might have some peace of mind. Turns out, he’s got it. It’s just a matter of time before symptoms start to show and the disease ravages his brain.

I can’t help but wonder what kind of effect lifestyle changes might have on diseases like this. Is there any hope for him? What if we could avoid all diseases just by exercising, eating healthfully, and avoiding stress and toxins? It’s like rubbing a genie lamp and asking it to eradicate all diseases, and being told we already have that power. Crazy.

What a glorious, glorious day. “Why?” you ask. Well, as I was sitting in the living room sipping my mega-strong coffee that, as of last night, was freaking me the fuck out, Regis mentioned today’s news that coffee may help you live longer. LONGER. That’s right. And the benefits are even higher for women. Those heart palpitations it gives me? Pshaw, what do I care? According to the HealthDay story in the Washington Post, “The researchers found that women who drank two or three cups of caffeinated coffee daily had a 25 percent lower risk of death from heart disease…than non-drinkers.”

So, take that, livingto100.com! How dare you suggest I cut back on my coffee consumption to add years to my life. So it temporarily heightens my blood pressure and makes me anxious and, all right, maybe a bit combative. It’s what I live for, all right? And apparently, coffee is going to let me live for it even longer. That’s right — the thing I live for is what’s keeping me alive. What a deliciously symbiotic relationship we share. Am I getting hard to follow? Sorry, I’m on a roll. My caffeine is kicking in hard CORE.

But that isn’t even the entire reason why I’m celebrating this morning. Tara Parker-Pope is my new best friend for reporting in her New York Times Well blog that Red Wine May Curb Fat Cells. Really? Oh, say it’s so, Tara. Is there anything red wine can’t do for me? It protects the liver, may prolong life, improves good cholesterol, decreases chances of heart disease and now has “anti-obesity properties?” I think red wine deserves Lucky Charms’ tag line of being “magically delicious.”

Hilarious that TPP, a New York Times journalist, feels the need to report the obvious:

“Whether to add red wine to your daily diet must be balanced against other health risks. For people with alcohol dependency problems, the health benefits of red wine are far offset by the risks of drinking to excess. Excessive use of alcohol can lead to addiction, traffic accidents and potentially fatal medical problems.”

Ohhh. So you mean I shouldn’t stand outside of A.A. meetings and offer people bottles of red wine? There go my plans for this evening. Talk about a buzzkill.

So how are my 12 rules for living to 110+ going? Well… I guess it’s going to be a little harder than I thought. Back when I was a health editor and I had the latest research and press releases to scare the shit out of me on a daily basis, I was so good at, well, being good: “Cake? Oh, no, thank you. I’ll eat my organic celery and all-natural peanut butter, thanks. I’m saving my appetite for this delicious barley and 12-vegetable recipe I’m making for dinner.”

Add to that being on a freelancer’s salary, and organic is just a laughable, laughable luxury. When I read Finslippy’s Twitter last week, “I have just returned from Whole Foods, and lo, I spent fewer than 65 of my dollars. I should be revered like a god,” all right, I’ll admit it, maybe I was a little bit jealous. So not good for my longevity. However, I have developed a new fondness for dried beans, lentils and frozen veggies. But good Lord, do those beans take forever to soak. It’s like waiting for Madge to tell her customer she can take her hands out of the damn Palmolive already.

In trying to find Madge’s video, I came across this list of silly office pranks, good for a little stress-busting when you know you’re taking your job too seriously: “#6: While sitting at your desk, soak your fingers in Palmolive liquid. Call everyone Madge. #5: Hi-Lite your shoes. Tell people you haven’t lost them as much since you did this. #14: Send e-mail messages saying there’s free pizza or donuts or cake in the lunchroom. When people drift back to work complaining that they found none, lean back, pat your stomach and say, ‘Oh you’ve got to be faster than that.’”

If I were at an office right now, I think I’d have to try a few of them out. If any of you do, please report back. When my boyfriend, Ryan, who also works from home, gets back from his trip to Boston, I’m definitely going to annoy the shit out of him with a few of these. That way, I’ll be able to tell if he’s actually been reading my blog. Wait, does that go against any of my 12 healthy living commandments? It’s all in fun! Really. No mean-spirited people here.

If you’re looking for something a little more offensive, you could try to replicate Dad Gone Mad’s Crap Craft, which clearly required a bit of overtime in the men’s room. Try my above-mentioned barley recipe (below) and chances are, you’ll perfect the art in no time.

Here’s the recipe (it really is amazingly healthy and yummy, if I may use that cloying word. I promise I’ll never do it again):

Barley Primavera

• Cook 1 1/2 cups of barley according to package instructions, using chicken broth instead of water. Drain when done.
• Chop up a ton of your favorite vegetables. I like to use zucchini, summer squash, mushrooms, spinach or arugula, tomatoes and fresh basil.
• Saute 1 cup of onions and two cloves of garlic in olive oil. Add zucchini, squash and mushrooms to the pan and cook gently.
• Add 1/4 cup of olive oil and 1 T. of lemon juice to the barley, along with your onion and garlic mixture, and toss evenly.
• Add you greens, basil and salmonella-free tomatoes to the barley. Toss gently. Salt and pepper to taste and serve with shaved parmesan.

I do everything according to taste, so you might want more or less garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, etc. Such a precise recipe, isn’t it? But you’ve got to admit — doesn’t sound so bad for barley, does it?

In my never-ending quest to outlive you all, I am turning myself into a human guinea pig. Through various studies around the world, researchers have determined a few things about the uber-elderly that I am adopting as my very own prescription for living to 125:

1. Drink one glass of wine/day. See… not everything we love is bad for us. Thank you, wine god, Dionysus. I shall worship you daily.
2. Do not smoke. I’ve always found the idea of barbecuing my insides rather creepy, so I’m quite happy to oblige on this one.
3. Maintain a healthy weight. My mom still looks fab in a bathing suit. I’m banking on genetics, and a ridiculous amount of squats.
4. Don’t overeat. My ex-boyfriend used to say, “Eating is not a game,” after a particularly harrowing binge that left him hanging over the toilet all night. I usually only do that with liquor… and Mexican… and brownies… and coffee. Actually, I think maybe I just blocked out the times I’ve overeaten, then barfed in my mouth and swallowed. Wouldn’t you?
5. Eat lots of fruits and vegetables. Apparently the Okinawans (Why, yes, that IS where Mr. Miyagi is from. So wise, Daniel-san), who have the longest lifespan in the world eat an average of seven servings a day (though their RDA is 13 servings). Average. So you’ve got to figure there are old men out there eating whole bushels of seaweed to make up for the slackers who are only eating five salads a day. I better go stock up on produce – stat. Does someone have a truck I can borrow?
6. Fat intake should account for 25 percent of my daily calories. And most of that should come from “good fat” sources. (Bad trans fat! Bad!). Guess it’s time to lay off the pints of Ben & Jerry’s S’mores. Sooo Goood. According to this fat calculator, that’s about 55 grams/day for me. I was already over my limit by 11am today, thanks to my cheese and peanut butter breakfast. Yes, I dip blocks of cheddar in peanut butter. Don’t judge. It’s a snack from childhood, which probably explains why I was always constipated.
7. Regular physical activity, including weight training. Does walking to the subway station and back count? I also walk my dog around the block a few times a day, and have to climb four flights every time I come in the door. That’s got to count for something, right? After all, too much exercise causes heart damage, and that would seriously put a wrinkle in my live-until-125 plan. Some doctors say the optimal amount of exercise is working at a burn rate of 285 calories an hour for one hour 3-5 times/week. According to this chart, that means I can snorkel, play a game of social badminton, or walk 4 MPH. I think I can handle that. I choose snorkeling. Can someone get me a ticket to the Caribbean, please? I don’t think it’d be too pleasant here on the shores of Coney Island. Interestingly enough, for those of us who are extremely exercise-phobic, a reduced calorie diet is more important than exercise when it comes to life expectancy.
8. Challenge my mind or, as Mom says whenever we do something stupid, “Use your brain!” Does idiotic writing count? I would play Scrabble, but Ryan is so competitive it stresses me out. Which brings us to the next rule.
9. No stress allowed! I am a serious stress case. I go through bouts of insomnia, get heart palpitations and hives almost daily, and pretty much worry my life away. If exercise doesn’t curb it, I guess it’s time to take up meditation. Snoooooozeville! Luckily, according to this study, mindless work is more damaging to your longevity than office stress is. Just don’t tell your boss that.
10. Stay positive and happy. Hah, easier said than done. This one’s going to be fun. I hope antidepressants are allowed. Oh, shit, I think that was a double dose of negativity right there, wasn’t it? Guess I’d better start a stinkin’ gratitude journal. Yawn. Cynicism is so much more fun. You guys aren’t going to stop reading if I get all happy, are you?
11. Be a social butterfly. This ought to be fun considering what a neurotically antisocial person I am. No, really, I am. Think about it: when was the last time I answered the phone or called you back? Exactly.
12. Sleep and sleep with. Regular sex and regular sleep. I know the recommended amount of shuteye is seven or eight hours. Just how much sex are we talking? Some studies say a few times a week. If she doesn’t orgasm, though, I say it doesn’t count.

Great, so all I’ve got left to do today then is have sex, write down some things that I’m happy for (yay), do a crossword, drink a glass of wine, vomit up my cheese and peanut butter, and eat five more servings of veggies. I feel younger already.

It has always been my goal to live as long as humanly possible. And I’m not talking to 100. That’s kid’s stuff. Think about it. If 40 is the new 30, then, following the same ratio, 100 is the new 75. Any woman with a halfway decent set of genes who eats spinach a few times a year is generally going to stick around at least that long. So, no, 100 is not my end goal. I have much higher ambitions than that. I intend to kick around long enough to secure myself a place in the Guinness Book of World Records for being the oldest living supercentenarian on earth. I might be blind, drooling and senile, but I’ll still have one arthritic hand clutching the last threads of life. Well, that’s my hope anyway.

Unfortunately, we don’t have the longevity gene in my family. I could marry someone with bionic genes, I suppose, but that’s only going to help my offspring, and what do I care how long my child lasts if I’m not around to see it?

Heart disease runs in my family, big time. My paternal grandfather who died of Alzheimer’s had a quadruple bypass; my dad, a triple. My mom’s father died of a massive heart attack when I was just a few years old, and Mom is on medication for high cholesterol.

The relatively good news, anyway, is that life expectancy is only 25 to 35 percent genetic. The rest comes down to environment and lifestyle. Clearly, I’ve got some work to do. I may not be the healthiest person in the world, yet, but I’m working on it. I’ve decided to try a little experiment: to follow every piece of health advice I come across in the news or get from my doctor. If I do all the things I’m supposed to do, will I lead a healthier, happier and longer life? Be sure to look me up in 85 years to find out.