He needed a program.
So he built one.

Isaiah's transformation didn't start with motivation. It started with arithmetic — a doctor's appointment, a number on a chart, and the quiet realization that the years ahead of him were not guaranteed and not infinite.

What followed wasn't dramatic. That's the part he insists on. There was no montage. There was a program — one he built for himself, tested on himself, and revised for himself through more than 200 pounds of lost weight. There were early mornings that felt pointless, plateaus that lasted months, and a slowly accumulating body of small, boring, deliberate decisions.

The result was hard to ignore. Good Morning America told the story to the country. But the story Isaiah actually cares about is the one that came after the cameras left: friends started asking for help. Then friends of friends. Then strangers. And he noticed that every one of them was stuck on the same thing he'd been stuck on — not willpower, but information. Nobody had ever simply shown them what to do and trusted them to do it.

The mission

A gym where the knowledge is free and the work is yours

Memento Mori Fitness is the gym Isaiah wishes had existed at his heaviest. Every exercise guide is public — scan a code on any piece of equipment and it's on your phone, no account required. Every coach on the floor finished the program as a client before they ever coached it. And the membership is deliberately small, because the promise here is that someone will actually know your name, your history, and which rep of which set you tend to give up on.

The name is a promise too. You will die. So will everyone who has ever told you it's too late to start. In the meantime — and it is all meantime — you get to decide what to do with the body you're in. We'd like to help.