After 237 days, that High Fat Carnivore Streak is over. It was time. Oh, don't get me wrong: carnivore remains what we should eat as a species. For the past handful of days, I tried to do what everyone else does. How did my body react? Inflammation. My right foot injury from the move back in March returned. My knee injury from August blew in with a winter storm of its freeze-up, shocking shards of anguish. Even my nose got stuffy! I feel miserable, the weight piled up and I just feel lethargic. I lost that "I can take on the world with one-arm" feeling and felt very much...old. Icarus fell. "So THIS is how the other side lives."

You can count me out on that.

I'd eat carnivore even if I did not lose a single more pound. It just makes me feel good.

This time also marks a threshold: it is the end of the Expeditions. I am no longer Running Up That Hill in a race down the scale. Oh, I still have my weightloss targets, but my thoughts at 39 are no longer the same at 45. My objectives have changed...maybe they never were.

The Expeditions served me well. I learned how successful weightloss works; I learned how easily one can fail. Many memories came from these Expeditions, I'll forever remember that Stranger Things summer in '19, even if I lost that year's entire set of diary entries. Who couldn't have loved The Lost 7th Expedition with its new wave ties into retrowave?

All of this stems from my last post, when I had AI summarize my longest diaries of each year. While I felt I wrote a LOT about fitness, it just is not a theme on the things that I wrote the most. The focus on fitness is a waste of resources.

On that day, I brainstormed: "What’s the Point of It All?" This is the curse of my life. I remember when I hit my lowest weight in 24 years; I felt no different than I had at my heaviest weight in 2017. I just had different hobbies. And my hobbies at 336 lb are of greater interest to me today than running in a park.

There is a disconnect there; why do I spend an exorbitant amount of time on physical fitness? It is not my chief end. It is not even a passion of mine. I would just say that it is a worthy analog.

I continue to shape Destination '23, my New Year's resolutions. Of note, it is not plural. As opposed to New Year's Fervid Tasks, I want to view it as to where I want to go. And the thing about travel is how it changes us.

So, it cannot be plural. We don't see it as singular things. The next step is to imagine how everything works together, how that collection of tasks invests toward the person we will be down the road.

And as we evolve, I suppose we don't recognize the change, that when we're down the road, we forget we are that person down the road. It's always the next waymarker for us. From our perspective, we always just see ourselves as Present Me with some faraway place marked off on a map.

And I suppose the whole construct is inherently flawed. It is a bit mindless, isn't it? Again, it is New Year's Fervid Tasks

Why do I write in this thing? I suppose that's my reply to that everpresent prompt, that blinking, ever-unblinking cursor. I nearly punted the whole thing—I did for a few days. But, there is value, even if that remains veiled.