Given this job evokes a hefty dose of stress, steals too much sleep and facilitates a rather irregular diet — my weekly butter intake must be, what, three blocks? And let’s not get into the booze — lately, I’ve been skittish about my health. I’m 34, but my biological age? It must be vampiric.
One upshot is that I’ve taken to doing a few of those ‘how-fit-are-you-really?’ tests — can I balance for more than a minute, run a mile without collapse, resist chaining the entire pack of fags, that sort of thing.
