Lifespan

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● Attrition of the protective chromosomal endcaps, the telomeres

● Alterations to the epigenome that controls which genes are turned on and off

● Loss of healthy protein maintenance, known as proteostasis

● Deregulated nutrient sensing caused by metabolic changes

● Mitochondrial dysfunction

● Accumulation of senescent zombielike cells that inflame healthy cells

● Exhaustion of stem cells

● Altered intercellular communication and the production of inflammatory molecules

Researchers began to cautiously agree: address these hallmarks, and you can slow down aging. Slow down aging, and you can forestall disease. Forestall disease, and you can push back death.

Take stem cells, which have the potential to develop into many other kinds of cells: if we can keep these undifferentiated cells from tiring out, they can continue to generate all the differentiated cells necessary to heal damaged tissues and battle all kinds of diseases.

Meanwhile, we’re improving the rates of acceptance of bone marrow transplants, which are the most common form of stem cell therapy, and using stem cells for the treatment of arthritic joints, type 1 diabetes, loss of vision, and neurodegenerative diseases such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. These stem cell–based interventions are adding years to people’s lives.

Or take senescent cells, which have reached the end of their ability to divide but refuse to die, continuing to spit out panic signals that inflame surrounding cells: if we can kill off senescent cells or keep them from accumulating in the first place, we can keep our tissues much healthier for longer.

The same can be said for combating telomere loss, the decline in proteostasis, and all of the other hallmarks. Each can be addressed one by one, a little at a time, in ways that can help us extend human healthspans.

Over the past quarter century, researchers have increasingly honed their efforts in on addressing each of these hallmarks. A broad consensus formed that this would be the best way to alleviate the pain and suffering of those who are aging.

There is little doubt that the list of hallmarks, though incomplete, comprises the beginnings of a rather strong tactical manual for living longer and healthier lives. Interventions aimed at slowing any one of these hallmarks may add a few years of wellness to our lives. If we can address all of them, the reward could be vastly increased average lifespans.

As for pushing way past the maximum limit? Addressing these hallmarks might not be enough.

But the science is moving fast, faster now than ever before, thanks to the accumulation of many centuries of knowledge, robots that analyze tens of thousands of potential drugs each day, sequencing machines that read millions of genes a day, and computing power that processes trillions of bytes of data at speeds that were unimaginable just a decade ago. Theories on aging, which were slowly chipped away for decades, are now more easily testable and refutable.

Although it is in its early days, a new shift in thinking is again under way. Once again we find ourselves in a period of chaos—still quite confident that the hallmarks are accurate indicators of aging and its myriad symptoms but unable to explain why the hallmarks occur in the first place.

THE HALLMARKS OF AGING. Scientists have settled on eight or nine hallmarks of aging. Address one of these, and you can slow down aging. Address all of them, and you might not age.

It is time for an answer to this very old question.

Now, finding a universal explanation for anything—let alone something as complicated as aging—doesn’t happen overnight. Any theory that seeks to explain aging must not just stand up to scientific scrutiny but provide a rational explanation for every one of the pillars of aging. A universal hypothesis that seems to provide a reason for cellular senescence but not stem cell exhaustion would, for example, explain neither.

Yet I believe that such an answer exists—a cause of aging that exists upstream of all the hallmarks. Yes, a singular reason why we age.

Aging, quite simply, is a loss of information.

You might recognize that loss of information was a big part of the ideas that Szilard and Medawar independently espoused, but it was wrong because it focused on a loss of genetic information.

But there are two types of information in biology, and they are encoded entirely differently. The first type of information—the type my esteemed predecessors understood—is digital. Digital information, as you likely know, is based on a finite set of possible values—in this instance, not in base 2 or binary, coded as 0s and 1s, but the sort that is quaternary or base 4, coded as adenine, thymine, cytosine, and guanine, the nucleotides A, T, C, G of DNA.

Because DNA is digital, it is a reliable way to store and copy information. Indeed, it can be copied again and again with tremendous accuracy, no different in principle from digital information stored in computer memory or on a DVD.

DNA is also robust. When I first worked in a lab, I was shocked by how this “molecule of life” could survive for hours in boiling water and thrilled that it was recoverable from Neanderthal remains at least 40,000 years old.[39 - The authors discovered mitochondrial DNA in a Neanderthal bone in Croatia that revealed older dates of survival than previously thought. T. Devièse, I. Karavanié, D. Comeskey, et al., “Direct Dating of Neanderthal Remains from the Site of Vindija Cave and Implications for the Middle to Upper Paleolithic Transition,” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 114, no. 40 (October 3, 2017): 10606–11, https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/28874524.] The advantages of digital storage explain why chains of nucleic acids have remained the go-to biological storage molecule for the past 4 billion years.

The other type of information in the body is analog.

We don’t hear as much about analog information in the body. That’s in part because it’s newer to science, and in part because it’s rarely described in terms of information, even though that’s how it was first described when geneticists noticed strange nongenetic effects in plants they were breeding.

Today, analog information is more commonly referred to as the epigenome, meaning traits that are heritable that aren’t transmitted by genetic means.

The term epigenetics was first coined in 1942 by Conrad H. Waddington, a British developmental biologist, while working at Cambridge University. In the past decade, the meaning of the word epigenetics has expanded into other areas of biology that have less to do with heredity—including embryonic development, gene switch networks, and chemical modifications of DNA-packaging proteins—much to the chagrin of orthodox geneticists in my department at Harvard Medical School.

In the same way that genetic information is stored as DNA, epigenetic information is stored in a structure called chromatin. DNA in the cell isn’t flailing around disorganized, it is wrapped around tiny balls of protein called histones. These beads on a string self-assemble to form loops, as when you tidy your garden hose on your driveway by looping it into a pile. If you were to play tug-of-war using both ends of a chromosome, you’d end up with a six foot-long string of DNA punctuated by thousands of histone proteins. If you could somehow plug one end of the DNA into a power socket and make the histones flash on and off, a few cells could do you for holiday lights.

In simple species, like ancient M. superstes and fungi today, epigenetic information storage and transfer is important for survival. For complex life, it is essential. By complex life, I mean anything made up of more than a couple of cells: slime molds, jellyfish, worms, fruit flies, and of course mammals like us. Epigenetic information is what orchestrates the assembly of a human newborn made up of 26 billion cells from a single fertilized egg and what allows the genetically identical cells in our bodies to assume thousands of different modalities.[40 - A. S. Adikesevan, “A Newborn Baby Has About 26,000,000,000 Cells. An Adult Has About 1.9 × 10

Times as Many Cells as a Baby. About How Many Cells Does an Adult Have?,” Socratic, January 26, 2017, https://socratic.org/questions/a-newborn-baby-has-about-26-000-000-000-cells-an-adult-has-about-1-9-10-3-times-.]

If the genome were a computer, the epigenome would be the software. It instructs the newly divided cells on what type of cells they should be and what they should remain, sometimes for decades, as in the case of individual brain neurons and certain immune cells.

That’s why a neuron doesn’t one day behave like a skin cell and a dividing kidney cell doesn’t give rise to two liver cells. Without epigenetic information, cells would quickly lose their identity and new cells would lose their identity, too. If they did, tissues and organs would eventually become less and less functional until they failed.

In the warm ponds of the primordial Earth, a digital chemical system was the best way to store long-term genetic data. But information storage was also needed to record and respond to environmental conditions, and this was best stored in analog format. Analog data are superior for this job because they can be changed back and forth with relative ease whenever the environment within or outside the cell demands it, and they can store an almost unlimited number of possible values, even in response to conditions that have never been encountered before.[41 - C. B. Brachmann, J. M. Sherman, S. E. Devine, et al., “The SIR2 Gene Family, Conserved from Bacteria to Humans, Functions in Silencing, Cell Cycle Progression, and Chromosome Stability,” Genes & Development 9, no. 23 (December 1, 1995): 2888–902, http://genesdev.cshlp.org/content/9/23/2888.long; X. Bi, Q. Yu, J. J. Sandmeier, and S. Elizondo, “Regulation of Transcriptional Silencing in Yeast by Growth Temperature,” Journal of Molecular Biology 34, no. 4 (December 3, 2004): 893–905, https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/15544800.]

The unlimited number of possible values is why many audiophiles still prefer the rich sounds of analog storage systems. But even though analog devices have their advantages, they have a major disadvantage. In fact, it’s the reason we’ve moved from analog to digital. Unlike digital, analog information degrades over time—falling victim to the conspiring forces of magnetic fields, gravity, cosmic rays, and oxygen. Worse still, information is lost as it’s copied.

No one was more acutely disturbed by the problem of information loss than Claude Shannon, an electrical engineer from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in Boston. Having lived through World War II, Shannon knew firsthand how the introduction of “noise” into analog radio transmissions could cost lives. After the war, he wrote a short but profound scientific paper called “The Mathematical Theory of Communication” on how to preserve information, which many consider the foundation of Information Theory. If there is one paper that propelled us into the digital, wireless world in which we now live, that would be it.[42 - It is one of the most interesting and important papers I’ve ever read. C. E. Shannon, “A Mathematical Theory of Communication,” Bell System Technical Journal 27, no. 3 (July 1948): 379–423, and 27, no. 4 (October 1948): 623–66, http://math.harvard.edu/~ctm/home/text/others/shannon/entropy/entropy.pdf.]

Shannon’s primary intention, of course, was to improve the robustness of electronic and radio communications between two points. His work may ultimately prove to be even more important than that, for what he discovered about preserving and restoring information, I believe, can be applied to aging.

Don’t be disheartened by my claim that we are the biological equivalent of an old DVD player. This is actually good news. If Szilard had turned out to be right about mutations causing aging, we would not be able to easily address it, because when information is lost without a backup, it is lost for good. Ask anyone who’s tried to play or restore content from a DVD that’s had an edge broken off: what is gone is gone.

But we can usually recover information from a scratched DVD. And if I am right, the same kind of process is what it will take to reverse aging.

As cloning beautifully proves, our cells retain their youthful digital information even when we are old. To become young again, we just need to find some polish to remove the scratches.

This, I believe, is possible.

A TIME TO EVERY PURPOSE

The Information Theory of Aging starts with the primordial survival circuit we inherited from our distant ancestors.

Over time, as you might expect, the circuit has evolved. Mammals, for instance, don’t have just a couple of genes that create a survival circuit, such as those that first appeared in M. superstes. Scientists have found more than two dozen of them within our genome. Most of my colleagues call these “longevity genes” because they have demonstrated the ability to extend both average and maximum lifespans in many organisms. But these genes don’t just make life longer, they make it healthier, which is why they can also be thought of as “vitality genes.”

Together, these genes form a surveillance network within our bodies, communicating with one another between cells and between organs by releasing proteins and chemicals into the bloodstream, monitoring and responding to what we eat, how much we exercise, and what time of day it is. They tell us to hunker down when the going gets tough, and they tell us to grow fast and reproduce fast when the going gets easier.

And now that we know these genes are there and what many of them do, scientific discovery has given us an opportunity to explore and exploit them; to imagine their potential; to push them to work for us in different ways. Using molecules both natural and novel, using technology both simple and complex, using wisdom both new and old, we can read them, turn them up and down, and even change them altogether.

The longevity genes I work on are called “sirtuins,” named after the yeast SIR2 gene, the first one to be discovered. There are seven sirtuins in mammals, SIRT1 to SIRT7, and they are made by almost every cell in the body. When I started my research, sirtuins were barely on the scientific radar. Now this family of genes is at the forefront of medical research and drug development.

Descended from gene B in M. superstes, sirtuins are enzymes that remove acetyl tags from histones and other proteins and, by doing so, change the packaging of the DNA, turning genes off and on when needed. These critical epigenetic regulators sit at the very top of cellular control systems, controlling our reproduction and our DNA repair. After a few billion years of advancement since the days of yeast, they have evolved to control our health, our fitness, and our very survival. They have also evolved to require a molecule called nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide, or NAD. As we will see later, the loss of NAD as we age, and the resulting decline in sirtuin activity, is thought to be a primary reason our bodies develop diseases when we are old but not when we are young.

Trading reproduction for repair, the sirtuins order our bodies to “buckle down” in times of stress and protect us against the major diseases of aging: diabetes and heart disease, Alzheimer’s disease and osteoporosis, even cancer. They mute the chronic, overactive inflammation that drives diseases such as atherosclerosis, metabolic disorders, ulcerative colitis, arthritis, and asthma. They prevent cell death and boost mitochondria, the power packs of the cell. They go to battle with muscle wasting, osteoporosis, and macular degeneration. In studies on mice, activating the sirtuins can improve DNA repair, boost memory, increase exercise endurance, and help the mice stay thin, regardless of what they eat. These are not wild guesses as to their power; scientists have established all of this in peer-reviewed studies published in journals such as Nature, Cell, and Science.

And in no small measure, because sirtuins do all of this based on a rather simple program—the wondrous gene B in the survival circuit—they’re turning out to be more amenable to manipulation than many other longevity genes. They are, it would appear, one of the first dominos in the magnificent Rube Goldberg machine of life, the key to understanding how our genetic material protects itself during times of adversity, allowing life to persist and thrive for billions of years.

Sirtuins aren’t the only longevity genes. Two other very well studied sets of genes perform similar roles, which also have been proven to be manipulable in ways that can offer longer and healthier lives.

One of these is called target of rapamycin, or TOR, a complex of proteins that regulates growth and metabolism. Like sirtuins, scientists have found TOR—called mTOR in mammals—in every organism in which they’ve looked for it. Like that of sirtuins, mTOR activity is exquisitely regulated by nutrients. And like the sirtuins, mTOR can signal cells in stress to hunker down and improve survival by boosting such activities as DNA repair, reducing inflammation caused by senescent cells, and, perhaps its most important function, digesting old proteins.[43 - Research by the authors showed that mTORC1 signaling in cancer cells increases survival by “suppressing endogenous DNA damage, and may control cell fate through the regulation of CHK1.” X. Zhou, W. Liu, X. Hu, et al., “Regulation of CHK1 by mTOR Contributes to the Evasion of DNA Damage Barrier of Cancer Cells,” Nature Scientific Reports, May 8, 2017, https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-017-01729-w; D. M. Sabatini, “Twenty-five Years of mTOR: Uncovering the Link from Nutrients to Growth,” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 114, no. 45 (November 7, 2017): 11818–25, https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5692607/.]

When all is well and fine, TOR is a master driver of cell growth. It senses the amount of amino acids that is available and dictates how much protein is created in response. When it is inhibited, though, it forces cells to hunker down, dividing less and reusing old cellular components to maintain energy and extend survival—sort of like going to the junkyard to find parts with which to fix up an old car rather than buying a new one, a process called autophagy. When our ancestors were unsuccessful in bringing down a woolly mammoth and had to survive on meager rations of protein, it was the shutting down of mTOR that permitted them to survive.

The other pathway is a metabolic control enzyme known as AMPK, which evolved to respond to low energy levels. It has also been highly conserved among species and, as with sirtuins and TOR, we have learned a lot about how to control it.

These defense systems are all activated in response to biological stress. Clearly, some stresses are simply too great to overcome—step on a snail, and its days are over. Acute trauma and uncontrollable infections will kill an organism without aging that organism. Sometimes the stress inside a cell, such as a multitude of DNA breaks, is too much to handle. Even if the cell is able to repair the breaks in the short term without leaving mutations, there is information loss at the epigenetic level.

Here’s the important point: there are plenty of stressors that will activate longevity genes without damaging the cell, including certain types of exercise, intermittent fasting, low-protein diets, and exposure to hot and cold temperatures (I discuss this in chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)). That’s called hormesis.[44 - E. J. Calabrese, “Hormesis: A Fundamental Concept in Biology,” Microbial Cell 1, no. 5 (May 5, 2014): 145–49, https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5354598/.] Hormesis is generally good for organisms, especially when it can be induced without causing any lasting damage. When hormesis happens, all is well. And, in fact, all is better than well, because the little bit of stress that occurs when the genes are activated prompts the rest of the system to hunker down, to conserve, to survive a little longer. That’s the start of longevity.

Complementing these approaches are hormesis-mimicking molecules. Drugs in development and at least two drugs on the market can turn on the body’s defenses without creating any damage. It’s like making a prank call to the Pentagon. The troops and the Army Corps of Engineers are sent out, but there’s no war. In this way, we can mimic the benefits of exercise and intermittent fasting with a single pill (I discuss this in chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)).

Our ability to control all of these genetic pathways will fundamentally transform medicine and the shape of our everyday lives. Indeed, it will change the way we define our species.

And yes, I realize how that sounds. So let me explain why.

TWO

THE DEMENTED PIANIST

ON APRIL 15, 2003, NEWSPAPERS, TELEVISION PROGRAMS, AND WEBSITES around the world carried the story: the mapping of the human genome was complete.

There was just one pesky problem: it really wasn’t. There were, in fact, huge gaps in the sequence.

This wasn’t a case of the mainstream news media blowing things out of proportion. Highly respected scientific journals such as Science and Nature told pretty much the same story. It also wasn’t a case of scientists overstating their work. The truth is simply that, at the time, most researchers involved in the thirteen-year, $1 billion project agreed that we’d come as close as we possibly could—given the technology of the time—to identifying each of the 3 billion base pairs in our DNA.

The parts of the genome that were missing, generally overlapping sections of repetitive nucleotides, were just not considered important. These were areas of the code of life that were once derided as “junk DNA” and that are now a little better respected but still generally disregarded as “noncoding.” From the perspective of many of the best minds in science at the time, those regions were little more than the ghosts of genomes past, mostly remnants of dead hitchhiking viruses that had integrated into the genome hundreds of thousands of years ago. The stuff that makes us who we are, it was thought, had largely been identified, and we had what we needed to propel forward our understanding of what makes us human.

Yet by some estimates, that genetic dark matter accounts for as much as 69 percent of the total genome,[45 - Up to 69 percent of the human genome may be repetitive or derived from endogenous viral DNA repeats, compared to previous estimates of around half. A. P. de Konig, W. Gu, T. A. Castoe, et al., “Repetitive Elements May Comprise over Two-thirds of the Human Genome,” PLOS Genetics 7, no. 12 (December 7, 2011), https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3228813/.] and even within the regions generally regarded as “coding,” some scientists believe, up to 10 percent has yet to be decoded, including regions that impact aging.[46 - Just what do we mean by the word finished when it comes to the sequencing of the human genome? Turns out, more than we thought back in the early 2000s. Regions of the genome previously thought of as nonfunctional are now emerging as playing potential roles in cancer, autism, and aging. S. Begley, “Psst, the Human Genome Was Never Completely Sequenced. Some Scientists Say It Should Be,” STAT, June 20, 2017, https://www.statnews.com/2017/06/20/human-genome-not-fully-sequenced/.]

In the relatively short time that has come and gone since 2003, we have come to find out that within the famous double helix, there were sequences that were not just unmapped but essential to our lives. Indeed, many thousands of sequences had gone undetected because the original algorithms to detect genes were written to disregard any gene less than 300 base pairs long. In fact, genes can be as short as 21 base pairs, and today we’re discovering hundreds of them all over the genome.

These genes tell our cells to create specific proteins, and these proteins are the building blocks of the processes and traits that constitute human biology and lived experiences. And as we get closer to identifying a complete sequence of our DNA, we’ve come closer to having a “map” of the genes that control so much of our existence.

Even once we have a complete code, though, there’s something we still won’t be able to find.

We won’t be able to find an aging gene.

We have found genes that impact the symptoms of aging. We’ve found longevity genes that control the body’s defenses against aging and thus offer a path to slowing aging through natural, pharmaceutical, and technological interventions. But unlike the oncogenes that were discovered in the 1970s and that have given us a good target for going to battle against cancer, we haven’t identified a singular gene that causes aging. And we won’t.

Because our genes did not evolve to cause aging.

YEAST OF EDEN

My journey toward formulating the Information Theory of Aging was a long one. And in no small part, it can be traced to the work of a scientist who toiled without fame but whose work helped set the stage for a lot of the longevity research being done around the world today.

His name was Robert Mortimer, and if there was one adjective that seemed to come up more than any other about him after he passed away, it was “kind.”

“Visionary” was another. “Brilliant,” “inquisitive,” and “hardworking,” too. But I’ve long been inspired by the example Mortimer set for his fellow scientists. Mortimer, who died in 2007, had played a tremendously important role in elevating Saccharomyces cerevisiae from a seemingly lowly, single-celled yeast with a sweet tooth (its name means “sugar-loving”) to its rightful place as one of the world’s most important research organisms.

Mortimer collected thousands of mutant yeast strains in his lab, many of which had been developed right there at the University of California, Berkeley. He could have paid for his research, and then some, by charging the thousands of scientists he supplied through the university’s Yeast Genetic Stock Center. But anyone, from impecunious undergraduates to tenured professors at the world’s best-funded research institutions, could browse the center’s catalog, request any strain, and have it promptly delivered for the cost of postage.[47 - Dating back to the 1960s, every three or four years the center has published a catalog of its strains of Saccharomyces cerevisiae. R. K. Mortimer, “Yeast Genetic Stock Center,” Grantome, 1998, http://grantome.com/grant/NIH/P40-RR004231-10S1.]

And because he made it so easy and so inexpensive, yeast research bloomed.

When Mortimer began working on S. cerevisiae alongside fellow biologist John Johnston[48 - Yeast researchers have interesting names. John Johnston and my adviser Dick Dickinson are just two of them.] in the 1950s, hardly anyone was interested in yeast. To most, it didn’t seem we could learn much about our complex selves by studying a tiny fungus. It was a struggle to convince the scientific community that yeast could be useful for something more than baking bread, brewing beer, and vinting wine.

What Mortimer and Johnston recognized, and what many others began to realize in the years to come, was that those tiny yeast cells are not so different from ourselves. For their size, their genetic and biochemical makeup is extraordinarily complex, making them an exceptionally good model for understanding the biological processes that sustain life and control lifespans in large complex organisms such as ourselves. If you are skeptical that a yeast cell can tell us anything about cancer, Alzheimer’s disease, rare diseases, or aging, consider that there have been five Nobel Prizes in Physiology or Medicine awarded for genetic studies in yeast, including the 2009 prize for discovering how cells counteract telomere shortening, one of the hallmarks of aging.[49 - In 2016, Dr. Yoshinori Ohsumi won the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for his work on autophagy in yeast. That’s when cells stave off extinction during hard times by digesting nonkey parts of themselves. B. Starr, “A Nobel Prize for Work in Yeast. Again!,” Stanford University, October 3, 2016, https://www.yeastgenome.org/blog/a-nobel-prize-for-work-in-yeast-again.]

The work Mortimer and Johnston did—and, in particular, a seminal paper in 1959 that demonstrated that mother and daughter yeast cells can have vastly different lifespans—would set the stage for a world-shattering change in the way we view the limits of life. And by the time of Mortimer’s death in 2007, there were some 10,000 researchers studying yeast around the globe.

Yes, humans are separated from yeast by a billion years of evolution, but we still have a lot in common. S. cerevisiae shares some 70 percent of our genes. And what it does with those genes isn’t so different from what we do with them. Like a whole lot of humans, yeast cells are almost always trying to do one of two things: either they’re trying to eat, or they’re trying to reproduce. They’re hungry or they’re horny. As they age, much like humans, they slow down and grow larger, rounder, and less fertile. But whereas humans go through this process over the course of many decades, yeast cells experience it in a week. That makes them a pretty good place to start in the quest to understand aging.

Indeed, the potential for a humble yeast to tell us so much about ourselves—and do so quite quickly relative to other research organisms—was a big part of the reason I decided to begin my career by studying S. cerevisiae. They also smell like fresh bread.

I met Mortimer in Vienna in 1992, when I was in my early 20s and attending the International Yeast Conference—yes, there is such a thing—with my two PhD supervisors, Professor Ian Dawes, a rule-avoiding Australian from the University of New South Wales,[50 - Dawes’s delightful tour of his experiences in the world of academe and cell biology research is a refreshingly direct and personal account of a remarkable journey into yeast research over four decades. I. Dawes, “Ian Dawes—the Third Pope—Lucky to Be a Researcher,” Fems Yeast Research 6, no. 4 (June 2016), https://academic.oup.com/femsyr/article/16/4/fow040/2680350.] and Professor Richard Dickinson, a rule-abiding Briton from the University of Cardiff, Wales.

Mortimer was in Vienna to discuss a momentous scientific endeavor: the sequencing of the yeast genome. I was there to be inspired. And I was.[51 - I also learned, the hard way, that I should not drink copious quantities of yeasty beer.] If I’d harbored any doubts about my decision to dedicate the opening years of my scientific career to a single-celled fungus, they all went away when I came face to face with people who were building great knowledge in a field that had hardly existed a few decades before.

It was shortly after that conference that one of the world’s top scientists in the yeast field, Leonard Guarente of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, came to Sydney on holiday to visit Ian Dawes. Guarente and I ended up at a dinner together, and I made sure I was sitting opposite him.

I was then a graduate student using yeast to understand an inherited condition called maple syrup urine disease. As you might imagine from its name, the disease is not something most polite people discuss over dinner. Guarente, though, engaged me in a scientific discussion with a curiosity and enthusiasm that was nothing short of enchanting. The conversation soon turned to his latest project—he had begun studying aging in yeast the past few months—work that had its roots in the workable genetic map that Mortimer had completed in the mid-1970s.

That was it. I had a passion for understanding aging, and I knew something about wrangling a yeast cell with a microscope and micromanipulator. Those were essential skills needed to figure out why yeast age. That night, Guarente and I agreed on one thing: if we couldn’t solve the problem of aging in yeast, we had no chance in humans.

I didn’t just want