Adventures in Stupid, the idea: An entertaining read on a formerly supersized but still plenty plump guy dragging his fat ass through physical challenges aimed at more fit people. The stupid was to lie in the nature of the events themselves. Working out and training are smart. Pushing yourself is also smart. But there’s a hazy line where the utility of extra effort is limited by diminishing returns. Past that line, further effort creates a mountain of moronic. The first marathon was some Greek soldier hauling ass for 26 miles, saying his piece, then dropping dead. Marathons are stupid. A couple of thousand years later, some Navy SEALs thought it’d be great to swim 10 empire state buildings, bike half the way from New York to Boston, and then run a marathon (that thing where the first guy died). Ironmans are really stupid.
But why should I let there be a limit to my stupid?
Adventures in Stupid, the reality: At 33 years-old, I still haven’t absorbed the Marty McFly vs Needles lesson. Because someone called me a wuss a few weeks ago, I registerd for, trained, and ran a half-marathon in 19 days. Despite having lost 130 pounds in the last year or so and being able to run 5 miles, I’m still somewhere between 70 and 93 pounds overweight. How much exactly depends on whose science you believe and whether I’ve been to the can.
So now I've got a half-marathon behind me and I'm staring down 2010, already signed up for two triathlons, a pile of bike rides, another half-marathon, and who knows what else I'll beat my wide body into doing. Who's ready for an Adventure in Stupid?