What's so good about living a long time

I'm 54 years old. Some days I feel older. I feel like I should change the name of this blog to "A Blog For Old Farts." I could call it FOF for short. For old farts.
I just came back from the gym where I worked out on the elliptical machine for 60 minutes. OK, I lied: 50 minutes. Anyway, I got my heart rate up to the 140's; that was pretty good, eh?
So, I was motivated, after recovering from food poisoning three weeks ago, to get back to exercising and my program that ensures some weight loss which, by the way, doesn't include all the pasta and ice cream I've been eating in the last two weeks. I needed it: comfort food! Gimme a break.
I was also motivated because I went to see my doc today and got back my blood tests. Haven't had any results to review for two years -- that's not too long, is it? Geez, I'm a white privileged guy who CAN get blood tests. (No, no prostate stuff; good news.)
I'm a low risk for cardiovascular disease but, of course, my cholesterol is high. Well, I weigh 208 pounds and I'm 5'7" tall: my Body Mass Index is off the charts.
Yeah, I think I should call this the blog FOF.
I exercise to make me feel good. I need to be lighter; this weight is a load, literally, on my body. I'm not doing it to live longer; I don't know what's so great about living longer. I mean, the longer I live, the more I have to pay for life insurance. You know. I know it's silly; life is silly, isn't it?
Do I eat better to lower my cholesterol so I can live longer without health problems? I don't know. I could certainly eat more olive oil, red wine and exercise to boost my HDL. I like to exercise; it makes me feel good and boosts the effect of my antidepressant; that's a good thing.
My risk of cardiovascular disease, according to the Framingham Study, is only 6%. Could be lower if I had a higher HDL: more red wine. Works for me.
Statistical risks. What about my grandfather who lived, quite healthy mind you, until he was 100. Served in WWI in the Czar's Army -- calvary. Abandoned his horse somewhere east of Poland and hopped on a train to meet his wife. Boy, those were fun times. Not. So, he had some stress. But, he lived until he was 100. I've got some of those genes, don't I? Don't die genes I call 'em.
What did I start writing about? Oh, yeah, living long. Longer. Living past today. I've had a good life; I'm pleased with what I've gotten to do (I'm not at all suicidal today; my self-esteem is up about 80 points) but I don't feel like I gotta hang around for another 30 or 40 years. Yikes, that's a long time. (I can't say "shit" because I think I rated this a "G" blog.) Yeah, that's a long time. Shit isn't such a bad word, is it? Kids hear it all the time, don't they? Hey, kids, if you're reading this blog, you should get off: this is for old farts. Go play in the freeway. And, yes, now I feel better.