Hello.

Because this is my creatively titled introductory post, I feel obliged to include some (creative?you tell me) introduction as to why I am doing this. Does the world really need another suburban mom blogger? No. How about an indignant liberal blogger? No. A blog about the college search? A blog about the quest for perfect shoes? No, and no again. How about a blog comparing wearable fitness devices? Oh, that’s something that nobody’s ever delved into (save for David Pogue and others at the NY Times, and various experts at various tech and fitness oriented websites). Well, what if there were recipes? And the occasional meltdown? OK, now we’re talking.

This was born out of me suddenly finding myself with two wearable fitness trackers and only one non-dominant hand. My boyfriend, Bob, who is probably kicking himself right now for even suggesting this, casually mentioned starting a blog about it. So, I did. I’ve never written a blog before, so I don’t know where posts should start and where they should end. I’ll wing it and hope for the best, or at least, for not the worst. And away we go.

Just over one year ago, I put on my first wearable fitness tracker, the then newly minted Fitbit Flex. I got matching ones for me and Bob with the full expectation that wearing this unsnazztastic (albeit much less clunky than the Nike Fuel Band, which had been gaining popularity at the time) piece of rubber would be just the thing to whip us into stellar shape. And at first, it kinda did. There’s something motivating about moving around knowing that each step is being tallied, and something even more motivating about trying to get more steps than someone else. We spent a lot of time those first few months tapping on our wristbands and synching with our phones and generally keeping tabs on how many steps each other took.

So cool I thought this was that I got one for my brother for his birthday. Then I got another two for my kids. At this point, Fitbit should be giving me a commission, but I didn’t press them on it. Soon all five of us were connected and cheering or taunting one another, as the mood dictated. Through the “friends” portion of the iPhone app, I could tell if my brother had an active day, or if my daughter got a ride home from school, for example. And I started noticing it all over. That telltale slate blue band on the non-dominant hands of colleagues, shoppers at Whole Foods, or the receptionist at the doctor’s office. It was like being part of an exclusive club. Whatever that club was, it got me moving, at least for a few months.