According to Dr. Brian Drachman, director of Penn's coronary care unit, "Heart failure is extremely common, but it's also underappreciated." In other words, the warning signs are so commonplace (high blood pressure, fatigue, etc.), it's sometimes hard to pinpoint. "There are plenty of young people out there who have it and don't realize it," he adds.

"Once heart failure is in its late stages, it becomes extremely difficult to treat," added Drachman, who has a Zack Morris-sized cell phone. Great, I thought: Since some of the causes of HF are excessive drinking, smoking and poor diet, I'm probably the dopest candidate in the land.

When I finished the paperwork, a young woman led me to a small booth containing a cockpit chair facing a flat-screen monitor. There were two large pedals, like in a car, at my feet. The attendant strapped me in with a Velcro vest and handed me headphones. Before the simulation began, I couldn't help but recognize the creepy similarities between the heart failure machine and ExtraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter, this ride at Disney World that made me poo myself when I was around 7 or 16 or so.

According to the recording, I was Hank, an overweight 62-year-old. I soon found myself pumping the pedals, er, taking a leisurely virtual walk through a park. I passed a guy in khaki shorts who I think was a swimmer, because he had a pretty lean build. Unfortunately, my dulcet, totally-not-gay meanderings were soon cut off by Hank's inner monologue—basically him bitching about his health problems. It was extremely hard to sympathize with the guy, especially since I was struggling to lug the dude's fat ass up a hill that wasn't even that steep.

That's when class-one heart failure kicked in. The Velcro flak jacket thingie tightened around my scrawny chest, and the pedals started resisting more. The flat-screen flashed and blurred, and all the leaves on the trees turned blood red, kinda like that scene in Hero where the one girl kills Zhang Ziyi in the forest.

I trucked on, only to experience class two: the Velcro constricted some more, a labored heartbeat began emanating from the chair, and the pedals got so tight, it felt like I was leg-pressing Oprah in chain mail. Class three was the absolute worst, but not because of the physical strain—it was here that Hank started lamenting his lack of libido. "One affliction at a time, Hank," I reassured him, because Hank is a real person.

Dr. Drachman shared the overall motivation for the event: "to broaden the message that this disease is out there, and to show that it's important that we treat it."

Any health care professional worth his weight in catheter bags could tell you that I live an unhealthy lifestyle—I drink, smoke, love mayo and am constantly under extreme levels of stress. Since there's about a 97 percent chance that I'll experience premature heart failure in the next week or so, I'm glad Drachman thinks it's important. I'll see you in ICU.