For the last two years, my morning routine has been the same. As my phone’s alarm sounds, I reach not to disable the noise but to look for validation. The first app I open is Oura, where I’m thirsty for its merciless, momentary verdict on my health. The ring rates my sleep, but I’m more obsessed with my Resilience ranking. That’s the wearable start-up’s own summation of whether or not I’m a biohacking hero. Without fail, I score poorly—worse than Uruguay at the World Cup—on its five-point scale: Limited, Adequate, Solid, Strong, and Exceptional.
I rarely manage to scrape up to the middle of the table, relishing the occasion it deigns to deem me Solid. Mostly, I bump along the bottom, at Limited, and can only dream of soaring to the elite heights of Exceptional. I’m baffled as to why. I’ve always slept easily and deeply, I eat healthfully, and exercise near-daily. How can the Oura be so unwilling to extend its full-throated approval to a fiftysomething like me? And if I can’t score full marks the right way, can I hack—or, let’s admit it, even cheat—my way to a perfect grade?
