I might have given the impression in my last post that I have done nothing but stand transfixed before my ipad watching episode upon episode of Friday Night Lights.That is, more or less, accurate. Or so I gathered a few nights ago as I went to my bedroom to grab the ipad and found the professor…..had hidden it.
‘You have a problem,’ he pronounced as he watched me search for the blue-plastic-covered-rectangle.
A suspicion confirmed when I received a text from a friend that said something along the lines of: ‘do you think you can tear yourself away from Friday Night Lights long enough so we can have coffee.’
And I do have a problem. Did. Because, glory be, I [may] have finally reached the point of saturation where I find myself caring less about Tami and Coach Taylor (what is his first name, anyway) and Saracin and Riggins and the rest of the gang.
But my reason for writing all of that was actually to say I’ve not devoted every waking moment of 2015 to watching the Taylors and the Panthers in Dillon, Texas.
I’ve also been tapping a little gadget attached to my belt to see how many steps I have (or haven’t as the case may be) walked each day. Yes, for Christmas my gadget fairy (aka my mother) gave me a fitbit zip.
I spent the first week alternating between forgetting to wear it, being too lazy to wear it, and being appalled about the lack of steps on my display. To be clear, I was not surprised by the number. We live in a small house and I tend to spend most of my time at home standing in one spot – usually the kitchen. Also the bathroom scale had taken to displaying a number I normally associate with the second trimester of pregnancy. Thus it didn’t require impressive deduction skills to suspect my ‘step-number’ would make David Sedaris wither in horror.
Still, it was disheartening to have confirmation that, when left to my own devices, I only take about 3000 steps on a typical day at home. Mostly because it meant I’d have to put a fair amount of effort into producing the other 7,000 steps mr. fitbit demands, err ‘suggests’.
Hence my 2015 has unfolded in the following manner: walk boys and neighbor girl to school at 8:05am, check fitbit upon return. Pick Percy up from Kindergarten at 10:54am, check fitbit upon return. Pick the Hen up from school at 2:38pm, check fitbit upon return. Meet the Gort at the bus stop at 3:12pm, check fitbit upon return.
Thanks to the zip displaying the time – along with calories burned and kilometers walked – I have precise times for all of these forays into the outside world.
Unfortunately, these jaunts, brisk and deliberate though they may be, are not sufficient in getting me to the coveted 10,000 steps. And, to that end, I’ve had to resort to walking at night, after the boys go to bed. Or in the morning while Percy’s at school. Which really cuts into my potential coffee drinking time.
The thing of it is, I actually like walking. It might well be one of my favorite things to do. Being outside in relative peace and quiet, thinking (?!), feeling the air and (occasionally) sunlight on my face.
But with all these – clearly important – tasks vying for my time, I have a bit of a mental block when it comes to stepping outside and walking around for more than fifteen minutes, just so I can reach a certain number on my fitbit.
And it’s why I have another mental block against going beyond the suggested 10,000 number. Instead of being intrinsically motivated to keep going, to achieve some higher level of fitness, or finally beat my fitbit friends (even just for a day), once I notice I’m at 10,000 steps, I head home. Immediately. Unable to summon the motivation or desire to keep walking for more time than absolutely necessary.
This is probably what sets me apart from the Bill Gates’ and Hillary Clintons of the world; what distinguishes the slackers from the succeeders.
That’s probably not even a word. But I like the alliteration and I’m too lazy to ask Google for another. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go outside and walk approximately 15,531 steps.
Somebody came up a bit short yesterday.