Ultimate Ultralight Win: Losing 100 lbs Was My Best “Cut”
There’s a running joke in the backpacking world: we’ll spend hundreds of dollars to shave a few ounces off our tent, obsess over the weight of a titanium spork, and cut the handle off a toothbrush—all in the name of going ultralight. And yet we carry around extra pounds on our own bodies like it’s nothing.
I know, because I did. For a long time.
And then I didn’t.
This is the story of how losing 100 pounds didn’t just save my life—it completely redefined how I move through the wild.
The Wake-Up Call I Never Saw Coming
In December of 2023, I had a stroke. A lacunar thalamic stroke, to be exact. The kind of stroke that sneaks in under the radar, small but serious. I walked out of the hospital a few days later with no loss of motor function, no major deficits, but a whole lot of clarity.
Turns out, I had undiagnosed Type 2 diabetes and sky-high blood pressure. My blood glucose was over 300. My BP was 200+/117. That stroke was my body waving a massive red flag—and this time, I didn’t ignore it.
So I started walking. Every day, when I could. I changed how I ate. I took the meds. I tracked the numbers. And I dropped weight. A lot of it. By November 2024, I was down about 100 pounds.
But that’s not what this post is about.
This is about how that weight loss transformed the way I experience the backcountry. It’s about the unexpected crossover between health recovery and outdoor minimalism.
The Backpacker’s Dilemma: Ounces Add Up
If you’ve ever packed for an overnight trip, you know the struggle: food, shelter, water, layers, emergency kit, stove… and suddenly, your “lightweight” setup weighs 35 pounds.
I used to be the guy huffing up the hill, drenched in sweat before we even hit the first ridge. My pack wasn’t even the heaviest in the group—but I was. Every step was a grind. My knees hated me. My feet were toast by lunchtime. I’d still go, but the suffering was real.
And then the math hit me: I’d lost 100 pounds. That’s like removing an entire loaded expedition pack—plus a daypack—from my body. Every mile feels different now. Easier. Smoother. More possible.
And here’s the thing: I didn’t buy ultralight gear. I didn’t change my base weight. I changed me.
Weight Loss Is the Ultimate Gear Hack
I want to be clear—I’m not talking about aesthetic goals or some toxic fitness narrative. I’m talking about functional weight loss. Survival weight loss. The kind that means your heart isn’t working overtime on a two-mile loop. The kind that means your hips don’t scream every time you lift your leg over a log.
Cutting down on body weight—especially when it’s affecting your metabolic health—is the most effective way to lighten your load in the outdoors. Period.
You could spend $600 on a Dyneema tent and still be carrying around more internal burden than your gear ever adds up to.
When I dropped 100 pounds, everything changed:
- More stamina: I don’t burn out halfway through a hike.
- Faster recovery: Less soreness after a full day.
- Less joint pain: My knees are no longer my enemies.
- Smaller pack loads: Because I need less food and fuel to keep me going.
I even breathe better. No more stopping every 10 minutes to “enjoy the view” (code for I can’t catch my breath).
Minimalism That Starts With the Self
It’s funny. Outdoor minimalism is often about shedding stuff. But sometimes it’s about shedding habits, coping mechanisms, or years of accumulated survival strategies that no longer serve us. My weight was part of that story. I didn’t just drop mass—I dropped the inertia that kept me locked in old patterns.
Getting lighter didn’t just make backpacking easier. It made living easier.
I eat differently now—even on the trail. I walk more. I plan differently. I know what my body needs, and I don’t bring things I don’t. That awareness came from survival—but it’s helped me thrive.
Advice to My Heavier Self (or Anyone in That Spot Right Now)
If you’re reading this and you’re where I used to be—overweight, unsure where to start, maybe even scared because the stakes have gotten too real—I want to say this:
Start small. Start now. You don’t need to go full keto or train for an ultramarathon. Walk the block. Swap soda for water. Track your blood sugar if you’re diabetic. Learn how to cook food that fuels you. Ask for help. And yeah, dream of the trail.
Because every pound you lose isn’t just weight off your body—it’s weight off your mind, your heart, your future adventures.
The Dirt Path Forward
I’m not “done.” There’s no finish line to this work. I still take meds. I still have days where I don’t want to go for that walk. I still have some lingering numbness from the stroke to remind me where I’ve been.
But I also have a new relationship with the outdoors. I can hike farther. Pack smarter. Camp longer. I’ve become a true minimalist—not because I carry less gear, but because I carry less of what I don’t need, inside and out.
So, to all the gram counters and gear nerds out there—yes, I’ll still debate the merits of an alcohol stove versus a canister one. But if you really want to talk ultralight strategy?
Let’s talk about the weight we carry within.
Want to connect or share your own transformation story? Drop a comment or shoot me a message. The trail’s better when we walk it together.
Stay wild,
– Danny
