I Hate You, Dearest Fitbit

The struggle is real.

Do any of you own a Fitbit?  

Does it own you?

It's crazy.

Yeah, so this is my normal "WPP" rant about technological issues.  Everyone who buys a Fitbit is probably looking for some accountability, a marking stick of their fitness milestones.  That is why I bought one...to help me stay on track of hitting 10,000 steps every day.  In the beginning, it was noble.

Then the badges arrived.

Why the badges?   This only resurrects memories of second grade Brownies and me not able to achieve my "camping" badge.  Apparently, camping in one's one bedroom doesn't count toward a badge.  

Dammit.

Why do I work so hard for imaginary, shiny badges that mean absolutely nothing?  Once I earned the "penguin march" badge, I was hooked.  And I just "walked Italy" so that is fabulous, right? I guess it would mean more if I earned Italy while actually in Italy.  I mean, wait.  No.

The struggle is real.

So in our mini-marathon training, we keep our Fitbits close to our being.  Our long walk yesterday was 12.34 miles, or about 25,000 steps.  Anyone living in Fitbit Land knows that 25,000 steps earns you the "Classics" badge.  Add some daily walking, a trip to the store, and some laundry?  32,000 steps, baby.

I cannot remember the last time I walked 32,000 steps in a day.  I used to measure my immature exploits by hours awake...was I awake 19 hours? 24 hours?  40 hours?  

Nope, now it's steps.  

I know this is not exactly healthy.  That is why I am plotting my break up with Msgr. Fitbit.  Jack and I walk the half-marathon in two weeks and I will wear the FB for these two weeks.  Then I go to Rome (exasperated hand wiping brow) for a week and know I will log about 100,000 steps.   The day I return from Rome?  I'm burying the Fitbit.  

RIP, Fitbit.  You're history.

As great as logging all this mileage is, I'd like to return to working out for me, to feel well.  Trust me, it's given housework new meaning; I can log about 1,500 steps cleaning the kitchen and living room.  But who cares?

I didn't care before this system of imaginary, shiny badges.  It's been a good ride, dear Fitbit, but it's time to leave you on my nightstand (or buried deep in my drawer!) and not worry about my steps.  Thanks for the memories!

Rain and Butter

Today ushered in two new firsts.  One, that Jack and I walked 10 miles in one fell swoop.  Well, 10.12 miles because we can't decide which activity tracker is correct.  Fitbit said 10.09 miles.  Runtracker said 9.94.  The iPhone said 10.04.  So we went the conservative route and chose the "slowest" one to make sure we weren't gyping ourselves out of mileage.

Masochism lives, I guess.  

We went with Runtracker.  The app emailed me at my work address.  Yay.  I think.

The other first was that I cooked dinner.  Just kidding.  Knew that would throw ya!

The other real first was that Jack and I sat and watched rain fall for almost 2 hours today.  From the garage.  We are garage dwellers, apparently.  

After the 10 miles, we made "dinner" (at 3 p.m.), of loaded baked potatoes, filet mignon, and wild mushrooms cooked to a lovely submission in butter and wine.  [Holy crap...channeling Julia Child with the amount of butter we are using lately....the mileage cancels it out, right?  Riiiiiiiiiight?   Bueller?].  About 20 minutes after we returned home from our epic training session, it started raining.  Like, Amazon rainforest raining.  With monkeys screeching.  So we did what most suburbian people would do and pushed our gravity loungers to the edge of the garage, poured glasses of Bailey's on ice, and watched it rain.  

It's not unlike watching paint dry.  In a relaxing, zen way.    

We had French jazz playing in the background and no one else was outside.   We had the rain to ourselves.  Except for the stray cat someone named "Carson." 

All this rain talk masks my feelings.  My work life is miserable.  I can't hide it any longer.  I realized the other day that if I am successful or have any measure of success (which I did this week; organizing, running, and speaking at an ethics conference for our system execs).....so if I have any measure of success, my "mentor" thinks it takes away from his greatness.  The more I succeed, the less his legacy carries on.  It's like there is a "recognition pool" at stake; if I take 1/23 of the recognition, it only leaves my mentor 22/23 of the glory.  

It's not an easy situation.  Excuse my French, but it sucks.  Il est suckage.

I'm not really sure what to do.  I took a few days off work to think about it, pray about it, and replenish my soul.  I've heard (and used) the phrase "mental health day" before.  I wasn't sure what to call tomorrow...."soul refresh day?"   "Soul health day?"   I settled on "Soul rebuilding day."  

SRD

When you need to rebuild your soul from whatever happens at work, in your professional life, call it an SRD.  Soul Rebuilding Day.  Because that's what happens....when the world takes chunks out of your soul, who you are in this world, you have to regain that ground.  You have to heal.

Healing is a priority.    

I've started playing the blues.  Jack received an unexpected bonus and bought me a bass.  And a crazy amp that our neighbors are already complaining about.  But it's so much fun...it's like painting with sounds.  

So I guess I'm in "soul rebuilding."  And maybe "soul rebounding."  The verbs don't really matter; the important part is that I'm not giving up and I'm not giving up on my calling.  

Even if I just walked 10 miles and my ankles are in pain.

Or if it's raining. 

My spirit is tough...I'll get through this, too.