I got a Fitbit a few week’s ago. Okay, so the real truth is that Sauerkraut surprised me with one because I am just so darned cute. Okay, so that is only partially true. I think he bought it because he just wanted me to “Stop. Talking. About. It.” I had been prattling on and on about one for a long time, probably to the point that all he heard was “blah, blah, blah, FITBIT!, blah, blah, blah, FITBIT!” Poor guy, it’s not easy being him.
If you’ve never heard of Fitbit, you’re not alone. The only reason I know about it is because a friend of mine was wearing one and I made a comment about her funny looking watch over dinner one evening last summer. I also thought her big rock-like, square cut stud earrings were real diamonds so you can imagine the fashion accessories tutorial I received that night. I blame cubic zirconia for everything. Nobody knows what’s real anymore.
Anyhooooo, a Fitbit is an activity tracker. It is a wearable wizardry-like gadget that does all sorts of magical things. It measures the number of steps you’ve walked, your heart rate, quality of sleep, the number of steps you’ve climbed as well as a whole other bag of magical tricks. Fitbit had me at technological gadget cause y’all know I love me some techy gadgets; to hell with the whole fitness thing.
I’ve been wearing my Fitbit for about a month now and the good news is that I’m still
alive. I’m still not entirely convinced that my
husband Fitbit isn’t secretly trying to kill me. But I have learned some things about myself since wearing it and, because we are all in this together, fake diamond stud earrings and all, I thought I would document my journey to pain wellness just in case you’re thinking of getting one. I also thought it would be good to have some documentation left behind in case my husband Fitbit does succeed in killing me. See, I am a planner after all.
- I suck. Okay, so I really don’t think I suck but it was my first thought when I put my Fitbit on and acknowledged just how out of shape I am, so in that moment, I truly believed I sucked. No need to leave me any uplifting messages in the comments section about me not sucking. I’m okay about my sucking in the exercise department because that’s how I affect change.
- Killing me softly with a poisonous drink would be more humane that starting me off with a 10,000 step Fitbit goal. 10,000 steps! For someone who’s been as
sedentary as me, 10,000 steps is monumental and suicidal. Thank goodness, Fitbit goals can be changed into more manageable and easily achieved stepping goals. And I’m not sharing my itty bitty stepping goals with you right now because that it is between my Fitbit and me. I’ll brag about them later when I finally reach 10,000 steps like maybe in the year 2020.
- My husband is
a madmanwonderful and must be in cahoots with Fitbit. After watching me trying to get in my extra steps in by doing laps around the house which entailed me walking in front of the t.v. several times an evening, Sauerkraut flexed his muscles and hauled the treadmill up from the basement, parking it in the living room for me. It’s not HGTV decor approved but it’s keeping us happily married for a while longer anyway.
- I jiggle when I
wigglewalk. Self-explanatory but not meant derogatory. When you
step up your intensity, those rolls gotta do something while you’re moving. Jiggling like a bowl full jelly is to be expected. I prefer to think I am cherry flavoured. Lemon would be a close second.
- I have been a dirty rotten lying scoundrel. I have been lying to myself and making excuses about why I don’t exercise. ‘I don’t have time. I’m too tired. I have MS. I don’t want to pee myself. I don’t want anyone seeing my thunder thighs. My big square rock-like fake diamond earrings would blind you if I moved my head too much.’ You know the drill. It’s easy to get caught up in what we can’t do than what it is we can do. If it’s a bad MS day, there are other things I can do if walking is not feasible. There’s a way around everything.
- I know diddley squat about my heart rate. All I know for sure is that my heart beating = alive. My heart not beating = dead. Since I’d like to live a while longer, I think it’s rather convenient that I work for a doctor because I plan on pestering him for explanations about this whole heart rate business thing. He’ll be sooooo glad he went to medical school just to educate me about this.
- I am neither a giraffe or a camel. Those suckers don’t need to drink water like we humans do. So, increasing my daily water intake is the order of the day which, ironically, makes me pee myself a little. Sigh.
- Fitbit is better than drugs. Prescription drugs, that is, and probably recreational ones, too. I wouldn’t know because I’ve never tried any recreational drugs nor do I plan on it. I’m loopy enough without bringing anything else on myself. Focusing on stepping, drinking more water and eating healthier is actually helping me feel and sleep better. AND the most amazing part about that? My depression is lifting. I can’t tell you how good that feels other than to say it’s the real cat’s
- Skinnamarinky dinky dink, Skinnamarinky do isn’t going to cut it anymore for my music playlist. Music is a wonderful motivator and adds fun to any exercise program. However, it’s been years since I made a playlist, probably when the cabbages were small little darlings, and, somehow, Sharon, Lois and Bram just aren’t doing it for me. Note to self: create a high energy play list.
- I am a cheesy sap. I like it when my Fitbit sets off fireworks on the screen when I achieve my stepping goal. My personal favourite was the day my Fitbit told me I was an overachiever. Took me all the way back to my high school days. A+ baby!
- I can adult. Every time I look at my Fitbit app, I need to see that I’m being a good girl who has good looking chart results. For example, eating two clementines after some brisk stepping is way better than scarfing down a handful of Ruffles chips. (Hey, don’t judge me, okay? It only happened that one time.) Clementines look way better on your food chart than do Ruffles chips. It’s all about the right type of calories, y’all.
- I’m not swearing as much. Instead, I’m saying “but I need more steps”. Okay, so maybe that’s a lie but it sounded good while typing it. Maybe it’s more like saying “I need more motherclucking steps, Sauerkraut!” more than I’ve ever said in my life before. Yeah, that’s more like it.
So there you have it. Fitbit is good for me. It would even be better if I was getting paid for this review but, since I’m not, you can accept this as the Fitbit gospel according to Linda and leave it at that.
Oh and, in case you were wondering, my life insurance policy is paid up to date. Oh, oh, and, in case I don’t make it out of this Fitbit experience alive, I want to be buried wearing a pair of big rock-like square fake diamond earrings as well as my Fitbit. Clothing can be optional because I’ll likely be stepping my way through Fitbit hell anyway.
Today’s something new: I’m a Fitbit genius.