Some of my “cosmopolitan” friends may have already read David Sedaris’ New Yorker article about his fanaticism with his Fitbit.  (D. Sedaris New Yorker article)  Well, he Fitbit-shamed me into wearing mine again.  Here is my story:

Last year, after my co-teacher received a Fitbit Force for Christmas, I had to have one.  As I couldn’t afford that particular model, I bought the Flex.  I wore it for two weeks, then set it aside on my dresser after the novelity wore off.  I figured with my job as a Montessori teacher, between P.E. and doing my rounds in the classroom, I was easily reaching the prescribed, magical “10,000 steps” needed to be healthy.

David’s rambling story and walks inspired me to search my new house from top to bottom for my Flex and its charging cable.  Once found and charged, I moved the miniature computer into a turquoise bracelet and fumbled with the Fitbit’s clasp, donning it once again.

My adventure had begun.  First, the clear, plastic clasp on the new bracelet broke within a week.  “What the heck?” (or something to that effect) I exclaimed.  I thought it would last a bit longer than that for the price I paid.

Then, my sister, the one born with all of the common sense, rolled into town.  Katie purchased her own Flex at Dick’s Sporting Goods.  She also bought the extra pack of super cool bracelet colors, but didn’t notice they were size Large.  Little did I know, that was a fortuitous mistake.  As I was exchanging my bracelet for hers, I noticed that hers had a strange metal clasp.  Aha!  Dumb me, I was using the placeholder, clear plastic clasp instead of the sturdy, official metal clasp.  We had a good laugh.

Problem solved, I trudged ahead, keeping track of my daily amount of steps.  I was on a roll!  Once again, I was racking up the 10,000 daily steps with all of the unpacking of my moving boxes, washing many loads of laundry, and running after my boys.

However, once again, my sister proved my foil.  As we were “cheering” each other on and messaging in the Fitbit app, I noticed a “settings” section I had never perused.  I dug deeper, clicking on more links until I found a toggle for “dominant” or “non-dominant.”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” I yelled (or some such phrase since this is a family page).  So, I slid the toggle over to dominant hand and watched in anguish as I was walking fewer steps than I thought per day.

In the period I will call “after,” I was only reaching 6,000 steps max.  As with David Sedaris, it only spurned me farther.  I walked up and down our beach path, even in circles around my house, until I reached the magic number.

Lucky for me, I live on Hilton Head Island.  This is the view I have every morning and evening.  I thank God for this house, this life, and of course, for my sister and her common sense.  How else would I get by!