I'm a big John O'Meara fan. In my years as journalist, John was always very accommodating, always friendly, always really interesting. He's humble and gracious, even though he has much to be proud of as one of Metro Parks' most successful directors. Before his retirement in 2014, he more than doubled the size of Metro Parks during 16 years at the helm, adding a bunch of cool sites for Central Ohioans like me to enjoy. And I do.

I'm a big John O'Meara fan. In my years as journalist, John was always very accommodating, always friendly, always really interesting. He's humble and gracious, even though he has much to be proud of as one of Metro Parks' most successful directors. Before his retirement in 2014, he more than doubled the size of Metro Parks during 16 years at the helm, adding a bunch of cool sites for Central Ohioans like me to enjoy. And I do.

But I also must confess: I hate him a little, too. O'Meara has this bad habit of making me feel inadequate. It's not intentional, mind you. In fact, it probably has a lot more to do with my own insecurities than O'Meara himself. See, O'Meara turns 61 in a couple of months, making him almost exactly five years older than I am. And while he's flying to Nepal to begin his ultimate man-vs.-nature adventure of climbing Mount Everest this month (see Chris Gaitten's fabulous story about O'Meara's journey here), here I sit, still winded after climbing two flights of stairs to my second-story office. O'Meara is headed to a place known as the "death zone," where oxygen is so scarce that nothing can live for any length of time. And I'm eating a roast beef and Swiss wrap from Broad Street Bagels, about 15 steps from my office door.

I bring this up because a week or so ago, I overheard a conversation in which someone asked one of my co-workers whether she liked the new digs. As anyone who cares already knows, we moved offices recently, abandoning our home at the Columbus Dispatch building at 34 S. Third St. for a new home at 62 E. Broad St., about a block and a half away. My co-worker answered that, yes, the change of scenery was nice. And besides, she said, the move helped amp up her daily step count recorded by her smartphone.

I have the same thing on my phone. I don't know how it got there, or how it knows, but my phone keeps track of my steps every day, too. And man is that thing a nag. Every day I get little prompts like, "Don't fall back," and "Be more active." It shames me with messages like, "You've achieved less than 50 percent of your daily activity goal," or, "It's been 43 days since you reached your target activity level." Here's a news flash-we journalists sit a lot.

So yesterday, with O'Meara's story and my smartphone both ridiculing me, I decided to see just how much fitter I'll be now that I'm walking a little farther to work each day. I put my step counter to good use and determined that I'm now taking about 200 extra steps to my new office than I was to my old one.

Curious, I Googled, "How many steps to climb Mount Everest?" and found some fitness-challenge site claiming it's about 58,000 steps to reach Everest's summit. Thus, at my rate of taking an extra 400 steps a day to and from work five days a week, I figure that if I start now, I'll have added enough to my newfound so-called fitness regimen to have climbed Everest by late October.

Take that, O'Meara.