(Note: In order to do this PROPERLY, I have my email at the end of this post. If you want to be FitBit friends, that’s apparently how you have to do it).
So, a week ago, my husband brought up the idea of getting FitBits. Thrilled that he wanted to take some action in improving his health, I pushed for us to get them that very evening. We ended up getting the Charge HR’s, because if something is going to be on my wrist, it should do more than blink lights at me (though I am jealous of all the fancy wristbands the other ones have).
So, how’s it been going?
So much data!
I’m a data nerd. In a different life, I’m pretty sure I would have gone into research or statistic analysis, because boy, do I love playing around with numbers. Even as a developer, I find myself spending way too much time digging into our analytics and talking about how we’re big in Iceland.
So, I love all the data. This thing tracks how many floors I climb, how many steps I take, and what my heart rate is, and what I was doing at any one moment. From that, it extrapolates what my calorie burn is. When I log that in the website, it gives me an idea of how I’m doing that day, input- / output-wise. I now obsess over how many steps it is to take the dog on a walk, and which is the most rewarding route to take.
From the data comes strange motivation. I get excited when I realize that I need something that’s upstairs because, hey, that’s at least 50 more steps and two floors! After dinner last night, I insisted we stop at the grocery store to get some dried fruit and my reasoning was “The store is big, and that’s some good walking!”
The movement data has helped me NOT focus on gaming the food system, which has been my downfall before. Back when I was trying to follow Weight Watchers, I obsessed about getting every single ounce of pleasure out of what few points I had. Now? All of that energy is focused on getting my 10k steps in, and filling in my fitness goals for the day.
Competition is real
My husband and I are friends on FitBit. This has caused some serious competition.
We can see when the other went for a walk or how many steps the other one has taken. It’s not uncommon for one of us to go out for a walk JUST to catch up to the other one.
Part of this is hard for him, because he’s less fit than I am. Considering that I’m not really that fit, that says something. It’s simply harder for him to move, and I can tell that this is a bit discouraging for him. The other day, I got my 10k steps beep, and I could tell he wasn’t happy that I hit that goal first.
I’m walking a fine line, because part of me wants to coo and tell him that it’s okay and that he’ll get there eventually and that I don’t have as much extra weight weighing me down. The other part of me wants to say “If it bugs you, stop pouting and go walking.”
OMG, I forgot what dieting with a spouse is like
I previously posted about dealing with the diet police. Well, yeah, it’s like that.
I’ve been in the middle of dieting culture since I was six, and I’ve dieted many, many times in my life. Mr. Cunning is going full-on Instant Expert Due to Googling, and feels the need to tell me about how to manage myself. I finally snapped the other day, informing him that yes, I know that I should weigh myself at the same time every day, that I should do it naked, that I need to keep water at my desk, that fruits are good for me, and that I should actually enter in my food. YES, I KNOW, THANK YOU FOR THE DIETING 101 REMINDERS.
He stopped, though, after an incident that still has me giggling. We made Alton Brown’s overnight oatmeal. It wasn’t in the database, so I looked up the details on it and added it myself. According to the website, it was around 300 calories.
Later, he came down and casually informed me that my bowl of oatmeal had been 600 calories.
“What?! No. It was 300. The site said so.”
“What site?!” I show him. “Oh, well, I calculated it on my own, and it’s really 600.”
“How exactly do you figure?”
“I subbed cream for the half and half.”
“Dude, you could have subbed BACON for the half and half, and it wouldn’t be 600 calories.”
He relented, with a pout. He tried once more to ‘calculate’ the calories for another meal, once again doubled it, and he’s given up being Mr. Calculator for now. I’m dreading the next area he decides to be an expert in.
Apparently FitBit requires you to give out your email to make friends, because lol what’s privacy. For a limited time, here’s mine!
Add me, friends!