Has Fitbit become a verb yet? Everyone tells me not to get a Fitbit. They say I will obsess about how many steps I have taken each day. Not the way most people randomly check their wrists for progress toward 10,000 steps, but every few minutes – with a more zealous furrow to my brow. Waking in the middle of the night, striding purposefully around a dining room table to get a jump on the day; charting my sleep patterns; marching in place like a nutcracker….
Remember, even in my drunken days I was a big hiker. I am the person who sets off at Guana when they open the gates at 8 and plod along (with randomly spaced jogs, or lunges or upper body arm circles when no one is looking) for 5 or 6 or 9 miles like I have to. Invariably, I get to one of my pre-established turnarounds and find that the going was a lot easier than the coming. The balmy, facing breeze will be at my returning back, or the sun will blaze out from a protective cloud. I return to the car with shark teeth rattling in my water bottle, limping a bit – looking like someone who’s been lost on the Sonoran (I have been, by the way) and swearing I won’t do it again until the weather cools…
But I always do.
What happens if you don’t make your Fitbit quota? What if you’re not Fitbit enough? And when does 10,000 steps become too few? And measuring REM sleep? And calories in, calories out? And can I get a little, pointer finger rubbing, “Shame-shame-shame”, alert if I slack off? Can you sense the urgency in my questions?
Happy Monday. Happy walking. Happy Fitbitting (two T’s, right?) …
Today I’m not drinking because I’m taking 10,000 steps (it’s actually quite a lot of walking…)
