Ain't One Bit-Fit

After reading a newspaper article about a product, Practical-Husband immediately bought one online. His explanation? “I don’t know- I just liked the idea.” He’s used it every single day for the past two years.

The object being a wearable device that monitors and records his fitness activity. It is a fancy pedometer that has accelerometer and altimeter measuring capabilities, and in some of the upscale newer models the ability to track heart, pulse and sweat rates, heretofore not readily available on just any old mobile sensor. Practical-Husband bought a Polar Loop. At the same time our younger son purchased a JawBone and soon after that his girlfriend/now fiancee bought one. And many of their millennial friends had soon purchased them. They come with many names: FitBit, Garmin Vivo, Nike-something-or-other, etc. It turns out that activity tracking is quickly becoming a billion dollar industry.

Oh and I forgot, as if we didn't have enough to worry about with proper activity levels, nutrition, world peace and all, the monitors also measure quality of sleep.

But, not me! No! I completely resisted any urge to track my physical activity or my inactivity for a couple of years.

***

About a month ago I was shopping for last minute Christmas bargains when I spotted a Polar A300 on the clearance shelf. "Polar A300, hmm," I thought. But, what really caught my eye was the bright red markdown sticker that Target uses and which conveniently indicates the percentage of price reduction. There it was, the elusive 70 percent discount! I quickly placed it in my cart, and soon catching up with Practical-Husband a few aisles later, we had a confab on our selections. I showed him my Polar A300. His only comment upon seeing the price was, “Where?" as he sped off in the direction I pointed to seek another. No such luck, buddy, I had the only one.

I’ve been faithfully wearing it each day and I must admit that I’ve been more physically active since getting one. For me it’s as simple as looking at the display and thinking, “Wait a minute! What the heck? I know I can do better than this!"

But…, another part of me says, “But, it oughtn’t have to be that way- oughtn't it be ingrained in me by now?"

***

I think of the Andy Griffith episode where Andy helps a female county nurse in getting a local farmer, Rafe Hollister, to submit to a tetanus shot. She feels Rafe's positive influence on other farmers will aid her in getting 100 percent compliance for shots.

Rafe, in his own words “ain’t never been to a doctor" in his life. "I came into this world with my mama, and I'll leave with the undertaker. I don’t see no use to cluttering things up in between".

***

Andy: [showing Rafe different medical tools from the nurse’s bag] This is a stethoscope. Know what it does? 

Rafe: Nah. 

Andy: It lets you hear your heartbeat. Wanna hear your heartbeat? 

Rafe: What for? I know my heart’s beatin’.

Andy: Well, I know but- 

Rafe: I'm alive ain't I? 

Andy: Well, yeah but- 

Rafe: Well, then my heart’s beatin'! 

Andy: Just listen to it. [putting the earpiece on Rafe's head and the bell to Rafe's chest] See? Now listen to mine. [Moves bell to his own chest] See, ain't that somethin'? 

Rafe: All right, now we know we're BOTH alive!

Andy: [showing Rafe a thermometer] Do you know what this is?

Rafe: Looks like something for syphoning cider. [I’m sure the censors substituted 'cider' for 'moonshine' here.]

Andy: It’s a thermometer.

Rafe: I got one on my hen house-  only it’s bigger.

Andy: This here's a thermometer for people. Lets 'em know when they got a fever.

Rafe: I know when I got a fever-  I'm hot!

Andy: This lets you know how hot.

Rafe: I know how hot I am when I'm hot- I’m dang hot!… Besides, being hot ain’t being sick. Sooner or later you’re bound to get cold again. If you get too cold, then you’re dead, but you don’t need no thermometer to tell you that.

***

My PolarFit has just informed me, via a vibrating message, as I sit typing that “IT’S TIME TO MOVE!"

“Ok, already,” I tell her. “I felt like a cup of tea anyway” as I stroll into my kitchen.

“Ha-ha! Not exactly what I meant,” she continues. “You’ll still need to walk 7 1/2 miles or jog 53 minutes to get that tea.” 

And then: “At least drink that standing up!” she sighs as I soon sit back down with my tea.

It was once a 50 percent reduction, but I caught it at 70!

***

I don’t get it. Since when did sitting and thinking become so bad for us as humans? I input all of the information correctly when I register and use the syncing app for my PolarFlow, you know like age, weight, height, usual amount of activity, etc. But she doesn’t even cut me one bit of slack for being a 63 year old woman. She sneers at me when I shovel the heavy snow from the walk, “Hah! You call that exercise?” I received only a few hundred “steps” credit for that half hour of arm, shoulder and back-breaking effort. Still, I meekly proclaim, “Wait and see, I’ll try harder tomorrow. I promise!”

I could swear I saw this in all caps!

And I do, strapping on the cross-country skis first thing in the morning and blazing my own path for at least 45 minutes. "That's it?!” I ask her. "A measly 4,000 of your so-called ‘steps'? Forget it! I'm going to finish reading that Ishiguro book about the buried giant. A half hour later she’s buzzing me again to get up and move, just like she does anytime I sit in the car for any length of time. Does she have any idea what it’s like to live in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of winter, where decent grocery shops are all 25-50 miles away? I wear her to ladies' bowling league, thinking I'll be on my feet for two hours and part of that time I'll be hurling a 12 pound ball, but when I check for "steps" I could swear she'd subtracted some. I check with Practical-Husband, who laughs, "Don't worry. There are ways around her. I put her on when I mow the lawn. (He uses a ride-on mower for a 3/4 acre lot) She gives me 20,000 steps just for sitting on a mower!" 

Okay, so I can’t walk or run outside as the streets are an icy-covered snowy mess and "Hello, Polar! Did I mention that I’m a 63 year old lady whose bones are probably osteo-something!?" I try 40 minutes of yoga, Steve Ross hatha yoga that leaves me perspiring and with my muscles feeling very Gumby-like - all for a lousy 678 steps. Fine, I'll pull out the Wii-Fit from the closet and set it up. And I do, doing 30 minutes of activity, but still do not meet my “goal.” I add 2x4 block risers to the underside of the WiiFit balance board and hop on for another session. Bingo! I reach my goal! But, where is the vibrating congratulations? I press a bunch of buttons and finally I see, “Goal reached.” Where is the confetti? the applause?

***

Anyway, my point is: I should be able, by this age in my life, to discern when I’ve had enough exercise. I know the near-breathlessness that comes from running, or from walking up a few flights of stairs. I know the good fatigue that follows long walks on the hilly land that surrounds our home and the even hillier Richmond, VA terrain; or fatigue from four straight hours of de-sodding a plot of ground in preparation of a new garden using only hand tools and my own manual strength. I know that I sleep better, I digest food better, my mind functions better, and all from lots of physical movement. And I oughtn’t rely on this  band and an app to help me stay motivated. -But, for whatever reason it works. And so I’ll continue to use it.

you've got a ways to go

***

I went for my annual physical check up with my doctor in December. A new nurse did my check-in. She’d forgotten to put me on the scale before she took me to the exam room, where I was now already clad in a paper gown. She couldn’t very well drag me back out into the hall to where the scale was, so as she input the data, she asked, “So how much do you weigh?”

Me: I have no idea.

Nurse: What do you mean?

Me: Well, I never weigh myself. I don’t even own a scale. I leave that nonsense for my annual check up.

Nurse: Well, okay. How much did you weigh at your visit last year?

Me: I don’t remember. I don’t pay much attention to my weight. But, whatever it was the doctor has never mentioned it as a problem.

Nurse: [shaking her head] How do you know if you are gaining or losing weight?

Me: I can tell by the way my clothes fit. But they always seem to fit and since I always wear the same size, I guess I’d say I'm about the same weight as I’ve always been.

***

I completely get Rafe Hollister... And I know that Rafe would never have worn an activity tracker. He knew when he was active, and he knew when he was asleep.

Christmas in Privatopia

This is our first Christmas in Privatopia. Although we’ve lived here full-time for four years, we've always celebrated the day either in Chicago or Virginia.

No coy-wolfs bayed last night as the clouds obscured the full moon. There is no wind present as I sip my second espresso and glance outside. And here’s one for the books, thanks to record-breaking El Niño and global warming our Privatopia golf course is still "officially" open. 

I open the back door to take a photo of the idled, from lack of wind, flag on the fifth green. I’m fairly certain no golfers will appear today, but you really never know around here. It seems eerily quiet outside. I turn to go back inside when I see that there is a whitetail deer near the flagstick. I hadn't even noticed her curiously eyeing me. In fact there are several deer spread about, all watching for any suspicious behavior on my part. I take a few snapshots then leave them in peace.

We celebrated the eve of Christmas Eve with our Chicago family, spending the night in our faux-condo, before heading home. Fatigued from the joyful festivities, last minute shopping, gift wrapping, Christmas-feast cooking, gift opening, overeating and clean-up we zipped straight home, making no stops. I awoke today with the realization that I'd made no plans for our Christmas dinner.  I never got around to thinking that far ahead. No grocery stores or restaurants are open within at least a 25-plus mile radius. Besides who wants to grocery shop on Christmas Day? I panic for a moment. But a quick check of the freezer turns up some short ribs with which to make a stock to which I’ll add vegetables and barley for a hearty soup. My larder contains everything I need to make delicious homemade bread. I also spied in the freezer the wild-caught sea scallops, and in the refrigerator the asparagus that I had planned on bringing to our Chicago celebration, but had run out of time and energy to prepare and thus dropped them from the menu. I have a taste for something with an Asian flair and those two main ingredients should serve me well to that end. With my main dish I’m picturing pan-fried dumplings, with which to start, and a zesty Thai cucumber salad on the side, in addition to some fragrant Jasmine rice. We have plenty of homemade cookies and candy left from our partying for dessert, plus a bottle of fancy “unoaked” Chardonnay we received as a gift. So we are all set for a proper celebratory meal.

***

What if you got everything for which you’d ever wished? What if you married the spouse of your dreams and the marriage took, took the way a healthy tree takes to fertile ground that receives appropriate water and sunshine, and perhaps a bit of fertilizer? What if you looked around yourself and saw a safe, sound, comfortable and warm home, with a great view to boot? What if you had, at any given time, all the food at your fingertips that you needed to make a nice meal? What if your marriage produced three great children who, as adults now, were in happy, strong supportive relationships, with in-law children you'd come to love as dearly as if they were your own, oh and then had the cutest, awesomest grandchildren ever - like I mean if you could hand-pick them from all the children ever, they would be the exact ones you'd select!? And what if every single one of your children and grandchildren were also comfortably housed, suitably well fed, educated and clothed? What if you wanted for nothing but still good things continued to come your way?

***

Dear Santa, 

We’re all good here in Privatopia. We want for nothing. And since we know you’re so busy and all, feel free to go ahead and bypass our house as you make the rounds this Christmas. 

Sincerely your old pal, Rae 

p.s. If you get a chance, you know later in the summer or sometime when things ease up for you, drop me a line and let me know - you know, from one senior citizen to another - just how you keep your locks so glisteningly white.

***

Like I said we have this record-breaking El Niño and global warming thing happening, so any dreams of a White Christmas have been dashed. But since I relish life just the way it is, here is my wish to you:

May your days be merry and keen

and may all your Christmases be green.

Flash Blogging

Every now and again I post something and remove it within a few hours, a bit longer than a “flash in the pan.” Not around as long as a Tibetan mandala (nor as painstakingly created), but something not meant to stay. Thoughts come and go, like the seasons. Sometimes it feels good to write it down, then figuratively tear it up, or toss it in the fire and watch the ashes rise.

Bye-bye to “A Bonfire, a Glock and Bunco." And oh boy, it was a good one. Too bad you missed it.