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Broke Wife, Big City
I’m a Fitbit
person now
By Aprill Brandon
Guys, it’s been nice knowing you. You’re all swell, really. But
eventually all good things must come to an end. So, while I enjoyed our
time together, it’s a new year and time for me to move on. Time for me
to leave you in the dust as I walk exactly…*checks wrist* …6,101 steps
away from you.
I’m a Fitbit person now.
Yes, dear readers, thanks to my husband and a very merry Christmas, I
am now the proud owner of a Fitbit, those magical little devices that
shoot laser beams into your arm and let you know just what a lazy sack
of human pudding you are on a near constant basis.
What a time to be alive!
Needless to say, I instantly fell in love. There is something weirdly
intoxicating about having every single movement and moment of your day
logged by a tiny robot who gives you electronic stickers and trophies
when you do good. I should hate it. The lazy me terrified of Big
Brother that I have been for the past 30-odd years should absolutely
loathe it. But I don’t.
Because I’m a Fitbit person now.
And don’t worry. It’s not like because I have a Fitbit now that I’m a
better person than you or anything.
Except I’m a better person than you now.
Just look at how this magical little watch has improved not only my
life, but the life of my family. Our house is now filled with
health-conscious conversations such as this:
Me: Guess how many steps I’ve taken today!
Husband: Is it much different from the amount you told me 15 minutes
ago?
Me: 879! Wanna know how many times I was restless last night while
sleeping?
Husband: I haven’t even had my coffee yet, babe.
Me: You only have yourself to blame.
And this one:
Husband: Hey, can you run upstairs and grab me the tape? I don’t know
where you put it.
Me: No.
Husband: Um…please?
Me: I can’t. My Fitbit is charging.
Husband: …
Me: I want credit for walking up the stairs.
Husband: …
Me: You only have yourself to blame.
And this one:
Toddler: Momma, can you carry me?
Me: I wish I could, sweetheart, but then my Fitbit doesn’t log my steps
when you’re in my arms.
Toddler: …
Me: You only have your father to blame.
I mean, can I help it that I’m pretty much the healthiest person alive
now? I have a resting heartrate of 55, thanks to lugging around two
adorable children (who I’m pretty sure are made up of chicken nuggets
and quark-gluon plasma, the densest material ever created) all day
around the city. And thanks to living on the second and third floor of
our rented house, I climb on average 18 flights of stairs a day. Shoot,
I burned 43 calories just in the time it took me to eat half of a
leftover holiday cheeseball.
And, AND, I managed to get in 15,000 daily steps in last Wednesday,
enough to earn me the Urban Boot badge, thankyouverymuch. I can’t
believe I spent all those years walking around without a computer
logging every step like some kind of idiot. What a waste!
Alas, clearly, my family doesn’t understand.
I guess I can’t blame them. I mean, I’d be bitter too if I had never
earned the Happy Hill badge or the Weekend Warrior trophy.
But I’m hoping, my dear readers, you do. That you do understand why my
health has become my top priority and why I only want to talk to other
people who know at any given moment know exactly how many steps it took
them to walk to Starbucks in their fancy athleisure wear.
So, please, by all means, keep reading my blogs and columns. But if you
see me in person, let’s just ignore each other and awkwardly avoid eye
contact. Which should be easy enough. I’ll likely be looking at my
wrist anyway.
I’m a Fitbit person now.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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