Achievement: First day back to the gym in months
Exercise today: One hour of spinning
Exercise calorie burn: 728
Measurements: Right Arm-18 7/8
Bust-53 1/4
Natural waist-51 3/4
Fattest part of belly/hips-56 7/8
Right calf-17 7/8
Thigh-29 1/8
Neck-29 1/8
Pant Size: 24
Shirt size: 2-3XL

Here are the things I know today, without a doubt:

  • I weigh 310 pounds. 3-1-0.  Three hundred and ten pounds.  140.9 kilos.  I just effectively told the world that I weigh 310 pounds, I have lost my mind. Holy Whopper with Cheese, Batman, I’m extremely large and I’m telling the truth about how large I am.  Really large.  Like 3XL, yo mama so fat jokes and seatbelt extenders large.  I just wish I was kidding.
  • My BMI is 47.1 if you use 5’8” as my height.  I prefer to think of myself as 5’9” but I suspect that reality does not agree with my desire to be taller or my desire to instantly have a lower BMI.
  • My BMI puts me in the “extreme obesity” category.
  • To be “normal” I would have to weigh 158.  190 means overweight.  256 for plain old obesity rather than morbid or extreme obesity.
  • I will die young if those numbers do not decrease dramatically.
  • Everything I have tried, to date, has made things worse.  I’m within ten pounds of my highest weight ever, and things are not heading in the right direction.
  • If this continues, I’ll weigh 400 pounds in the next ten years.
  • I have so much to live for and to accomplish in this life, a shortened life span–directly caused by me–is not acceptable.

I need a goal, something to work toward, with a clear finish line.  I’m a goal oriented kind of person, and being 120 pounds OVER overweight, well, I think we can safely call fixing that a major goal.

Here’s the problem: I’ve had that goal many thousands of times, every damn day in fact, and it hasn’t worked out so well for the ever expanding size of my butt.  “I want to lose 100 pounds” is the harbinger of weight loss goal doom for me, because it always leads to weight gain.  So, I’m ditching weight as a measure of goal achievement.  Done.  I’ll track it, sure, but the goal is not 199 lbs, as nice as Onederland sounds.  (Onederland is weight loss secret code interwebz girl language for a weight that starts with a 1 instead of a 2 or a 3). Tonderland really doesn’t have the same ring to it. In fact, tonderland sounds like I’m about 1700 pounds heavier than I currently am.  Will have to figure out some new and creative name for 299.

For me, the goal must be something else entirely and weight loss is a side effect, not the reason for being.  Sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it? Kick the scale to the side and figure out something more meaningful? Now we are getting somewhere I want to be.  The end goal could be anything.  A 5k.  Climbing a flight of stairs. Walking around the block. A marathon. Hiking to the observation deck at Clingman’s Dome. Being able to walk around Disney World without feeling like you are dying.  There are millions of goals, pick one that fits you and get to it.  The picking is happy-horror, because the more epic the selection, the harder the work.  On the happy-horror scale of 1 to ten, I feel like I picked 42, and that’s half the fun of this giant mess I’ve gotten myself into.

See, I’m tired of being reasonable.  I’m tired of doing this diet or that diet and falling off the diet and going to the gym and not going to the gym and paying for the gym while not going to the gym. I’m tired of doing this cycle of failure and having no one to blame but myself.

Today, I am being completely unfreakingreasonable.  Enough of reasonable, of niceness and failure. It’s time for epic-crazy-possibly-insane unreasonableness.  A heretofore unrecognizable level of kick this into gear and make the crazy dream reality.

Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the most unreasonable of them all? Who are the crazy people, out there getting it done, kicking some bootay?

Is it the ultramarathoning through death valley people? Maybe.  That’s an unreasonable goal.  That could be my goal.  Uh, no.  And no.  Just no. NO. ‘Fraid not.

Is it the people who swim from Alcatraz to San Francisco? Nah, not crazy enough, and not a big enough goal.  Bucket List for sure.

Skydiving? Basejumping? No. Neither option requires mega fitness and I’ve been to Bridge Day in West Virginia and I’m never going to be putting my butt in the Red Bull human catapult.  Yes, there is one, I’ll try to find a video to share.

Mountain climbers are some unbelievably unreasonable people, especially those Everest climbing people.  People tell mountain climbers that they are nuts, and still they go and they conquer and they climb and they make a lifestyle out of unreasonable.  I admire that. But I don’t want to die, I want to live.  I don’t want to go to the top of Everest, but Everest.  Everest?  EVEREST!

Mother of all mountains, the tallest on earth, Everest.  Oh baby, oh baby, oh captain my captain I’m talking Mt. Freaking-Hike-Above-The Clouds-Everest here.  The great grand daddy.  The big Kahuna.   The giant enchilada in the sky.

I’m going to Everest.  I sit here, as a 310 pound person, and I’m telling to you that I’m going to trek to Everest Base Camp (EBC) in 2018.   Why then? It’s going to take about 18 months  to get fit enough (with a side effect of taking off enough excess weight) that the trek is doable.

I also need to lose enough weight that I no longer have sleep apnea and I don’t have to carry a CPAP machine with me–or, let’s be honest here–have a porter carry it up the mountain for me.

I won’t just be losing weight for the next 18 months,  I will be getting fit enough to trail run up and downhill prior to leaving for Nepal.  That’s my goal.

So that’s my story.  I’m morbidly obese, I need to change, and I’ve decided to trek to Mt. Everest Base Camp.  Oddly enough, telling the world how much I weigh seems a lot weirder and a whole lost scarier than flying to Nepal to hike uphill for 8 days and hang out at 17,598 ft.

I’m going to Mt. Freaking Everest in 2018, what’s your new Everest?