Last year, Steve and I began counting steps on our iPhones. Since I don’t carry my phone around with me all the time, it missed a whole bunch steps, and I felt gypped. If I clean the house, it’s easily 10,000 steps. I want those steps. They are mine. If I spend an afternoon cleaning showers and tubs, then I want something for it. I want bragging rights. So, I got a fitbit last spring before a vacation to Puerto Rico. I knew I was going to walk a lot. and I wanted to record all that goodness in one place.
We did walk around a lot during that vacation. I got some nice numbers and charts and graphs. (Yay, data!) But then the thing got put in a drawer for several months. I forgot to charge it. It looks kinda dorky. I see old people in the mall wearing them. It’s a huge fashion faux pas.
And then my friend, Susan, got one and started obsessively managing her steps and bragging about her steps. City Girl easily beat my old numbers, and I didn’t like City Girl to win. So, I started wearing it again in June, which was about when the kids finished school. Rather than go to the gym and leave Ian home alone for an hour and a half, I started running for forty minutes. Running three miles every morning meant that I sometimes beat City Girl’s numbers, which made me very happy. I even ran a 31 minute 5K a few weeks ago, which put me on the same pace as the basically-in-shape-octoginarians.
Three months later after all that fitbitting and running, I really should see a difference on the scale. I don’t. All those studies say that fitbits give you the halo of health, meaning you think you’re healthier, but if you don’t change what you eat, you won’t lose weight. I eat okay, but it’s hard to avoid pizza in a house with teenagers.
I haven’t lost much weight, but 40 minutes of outdoor exercise is a major, MAJOR life changer. I am fitting into jeans more smoothly. I’m happier. I’m more productive. I’ve gotten hooked on new music on Spotify.
I’m working a lot right now. I’m working on three articles simultaneously this week. But I’m determined to hold onto my halo of health.