I haven’t had much time to write lately…what, with the holidays and having company and eating too much and New Year’s resolutions and global warming and Obama still being in office.
I also got a Fitbit for Christmas. People with obsessive-compulsive disorders who happen to be super competitive shouldn’t be allowed access to electronic step counters. Especially not ones that allow you to compare your daily activity online with that of your friends…
or those who used to be your friends before you got a Fitbit and made it your life’s goal to take them down. People like us should be in some Internet database that prohibits retailers from selling pedometers to us. Sort of like convicted felons and gun licenses.
Since December 25th, I’ve become an irritating, hyper-mode Forrest Gump. You’ll probably see me running past your house any time now. It’s not the act of running that I like so much. In fact I hate running. But seeing those numbers flying past on my phone screen is rewarding..and dangerously addictive.
Once I hit the daily goal of 10,000 steps, the device gives my wrist a congratulatory vibration that’s much like a cocaine lever for a lab rat.
“11,000 would be a breeze,” I think to myself.
10 minutes later and inching toward 10,999 steps, the idea of 13,000 seems perfectly reasonable. And then 16,000. And so on to 25,000 steps. Before I know it, I’m in some strange part of town four miles away.
I’m pretty sure the neighbors think I’m a meth-head.
Do the rest of you Fitbit wearers find that this little device is getting in the way of your daily activities because you can’t stop yourself from walking around, jogging in place or, at the very least, swinging your left arm around hoping the motion will register as steps?
It’s to the point where I can’t just stand there and have a conversation with someone because that would be lost step productivity time. So I wind up making all these weird unnecessary pacing movements, causing the person to wonder if I have to go to the bathroom really really bad or if I’ve been recently diagnosed with a spasmodic neurological disorder.
The other day while checking out at WalMart, I tried to explain to the cashier why I was jogging in place the entire time.
“Ya see, I have this Fitbit pedometer now and my friend from high school gets 500 more steps a day than I do. And she was always better at everything than I was. And I just want to beat her at this one thing!”
The cashier looked at me thoughtfully and responded, “do you want your milk in plastic bags?”
I’ve created a new people watching game called “Gotta Pee Really Bad, Neurological Disorder or Competitive OCD Fitbit Wearer.” Play it next time you’re out and report the results back to me.
If enough people are like me, addiction rehab centers will have to make room for “walking addicts” or “peddicts” as I call them. They’d have to come up with recovery methods specific to us. However, I think a 12-Step program would just be cruel and unusual punishment.
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