Category Archives: Fitness Trackers

Poking My Toe in the Water Again

A couple months ago, I blurted out, during a “get to know you” exercise, to a colleague that I have a blog (although I didn’t tell him what it was called). Then I remembered I hadn’t written in said blog in quite some time. To give you an idea how long it’s been, when I tried to log in today, I wasn’t even sure I knew the password.

Since this all started with activity trackers, I will pick up where that left off, or would have left off had I left off there. About, oh, like, um, a year ago, I decided that the Next Big Thing for the Featherstone family would be the Lumo Lift. This little device was so tiny and subtle that it would be worn on the – for me, anyway – bra strap. Not only would it track footsteps and all that, but it would – get this – vibrate every time I slouched. (Well, not just me, but the user….anyway.) At last, today, I took mine out of its package (there are two others unopened) and gave it a test run (after I spent about 20 minutes trying to figure out how to attach the thing). I also plugged in my Jawbone UP to see if the two were in synch.

The Jawbone was DOA. Didn’t track a thing, and didn’t respond to my iPhone’s request for data. Fail. The Lumo? Well, it didn’t buzz once unless I set it on “coach” mode, in which case, it didn’t stop buzzing (and I am telling you, I wasn’t slouching that whole time, either). I spent a good part of the time checking to see if it still was attached, or catching it when I fell. Finally, when I was in the mud room getting more paper towels (gotta love this color commentary) it fell off, and it remains there now. It lasted a good, say, seven hours, and I am being generous. Good thing I got it at the advanced sale rate of like $69.

Meanwhile, I had charged up the Fitbit, and found two of the three bands I have for it. Now it’s charged up, tucked into its pink (magenta?) band, and wrapped snugly around my non-dominant wrist. I’ve gotten about 25 steps in before settling into bed and beginning this entry.

Meanwhile, my boyfriend is having an intense Facebook conversation with a woman who found him after 15 or so years. It’s 11:33 pm our time. Whatever.

Anyway, more to the point: I am back on the devices and therefore back here. I’ve also started (four weeks ago, to be exact) a new eating plan, and I am down 17 pounds (insert cheering emoticon here). That feels pretty good. Besides, if I am going to blurt out that I have a blog, I may as well populate said blog. Let’s see what happens.

Taking Paws

A couple of days where I spent less time on my tush than usual, and man, are my feet sore! Today, with minimal intent, I racked up the following stats:

* Jawbone – 9,577 steps, 4.4 miles
* Fitbit – 10,647 steps, 4.74 miles

Seriously, I can’t figure these things out.

Even more seriously, today marks two weeks since Lizzie, my beautiful cat, died. Miss Lizzie was 10, a long-haired calico diva, and, weird to say, a little friend. She joined our family when she was about five weeks old, fluffy and confused. Little R Featherstone (who was about 7 1/2 at the time) named her after Lizzie McGuire (at the time, her favorite TV show).

Lizzie was a loyal cat. She had her favorites, and when someone not on her list came into the house, she let them know about that list with a hiss and a swipe. One snippet of joy I received every day was the sight of her at the top of the stairs when I came home from work. There she sat, lovely and majestic, waiting patiently for her cuddle or scratch behind the ears. When I had sad days – and these were more frequent than I’d like to admit – she snuggled, allowing herself to be held far past the normal limits of a cat’s tolerance.

I think our move did her in, causing her enough stress to stop eating, which in turn messed up her liver. She went from 18 pounds to 13 in a matter of about a month (I never said she was svelte), and she retreated from socializing, preferring instead to hide under R’s desk. It took every ounce of strength she had to try to jump up to sit with us on the couch, and really, she couldn’t do it without my help. She stopped grooming herself, and her silky fur became matted and blotchy.

Two weeks ago, I had had a kick-ass day. Work went well in the morning, and I tackled a bunch of tasks that really needed to get done. Got to spend a little extra time with Bob that day. Things felt terrific. Then, I looked behind the couch, and found her.

In the end, she couldn’t stand the pain, I imagine. It was too exhausting to go on any longer, so she went to her favorite pillow in a quiet spot and simply went to sleep.

Three years ago, during Hurricane Irene, Lizzie and I evacuated to my parents’ house. My two kids were away, safe and dry in another state, so I scooped up Miss Liz and her supplies and camped out with my parents for a couple of days. My parents, who hadn’t had a cat for many years, welcomed her. Ever since, whenever I visit my parents, I see a flicker of Lizzie out of the corner of my eye. Over the past two weeks, I periodically catch a glimpse of her in our house. Gone, but never forgotten.

Farewell to sweet Lizzie. She touched our lives, made us smile, protected us with her bad self, and trusted us to care for her. We loved her and will miss her greatly.

Robin Williams and Me

From the output of my fitness tracking devices, one might perceive that I have spent a little too much time not being active.  With my best day over the past week being 6,077 steps on the Jawbone, and 6,571 steps on the Fitbit, one might be right. (The Jawbone reported 965 steps last Wednesday. Really, 965. I mean, several trips to the bathroom should add up to more than 965 steps, yet here we are. Small consolation, though: the Fitbit logged 4,812 steps. Same wrist.)

What do we think about people who sit around all day? Have we ever looked at someone who was overweight and thought, they’re lazy, they have no self-control, don’t they know what they’re doing? They aren’t even worth looking at; they’re the only still acceptable punch line. We see the outside, but we cannot see what’s happening on the inside. Maybe that person who hasn’t taken any steps just can’t, that day, take another step. Perhaps the act of getting out of bed and putting on a brave face is simply too much. And maybe they already think they aren’t worth looking at.

Yesterday’s passing of Robin Williams brought forth a slew of social media posts along the lines of:

  • Reach out if you need help
  • Don’t give up
  • I’m here for you
  • It’s never that bad

I read these posts with a mixture of heart-swelling gratitude and a scoop of fuck you. Hey, I know these posts are genuine and kind, and I am really not knocking the sentiments. It’s just…well, what would really happen if someone (I) started a conversation like that? Would people laugh derisively? Be repulsed? Would the handful of people who care suddenly not care any longer? On paper, things couldn’t look better. I work in a field I enjoy, and get paid semi-OK for doing so. The man I love and I share a home, and we bring to the party four awesome kids. We’re healthy. We’re reasonably attractive (well, he is, minus the “reasonably”). We appreciate a good pun. My parents and brother are nearby and supportive. So what, Emily, what could possibly be the problem?

Robin Williams is the epitome of a guy who had it all. Smart, successful, funny, adored. Three kids. Money.  Fame. I could go on, but we know, especially now, that these don’t conquer the depression. Underneath a sparkling veneer like his or that woman over there or maybe yours or even mine lives a colony of demons, each one with its own mantra: You’re no good, you’re fat, you’re ugly, you’re stupid, your friends don’t even like you, you’re a terrible person, why bother anymore, you suck in more ways than anyone can ever describe. On a good day, they’re quiet, and you can see the sunshine, and you know you’re loved, but on a bad day, you can’t see beyond the darkness in front of you, and you wish everyone would disappear while simultaneously holding you tight, keeping you safe from yourself. And then on the worst days, you don’t even care that it’s dark or that anyone’s around or not. You’re numb. You can’t see past your own wish not to wake up.

Robin Williams, who brought so much light into people’s lives, couldn’t see beyond the darkness. He will be missed and mourned. He can also be a reminder – you simply don’t know what’s happening underneath, and you don’t know when people need help.  I’ve lost a bunch of people I once held dear because, in large part, I never let on what was happening underneath. What the next step will be will be determined at some future moment of clarity. Right now, I share the grief that the demons’ victory has caused.

Needs a title

This has not been the most prolific blog experiment, I do realize. Nevertheless, here I am again, trying to see if anything grows.

Ok, on the subject of moving, an excellent walk today, again with my friend J. (I’m already sensing a little theme here.) At only 1:18 pm:
Jawbone says 11,032 steps, 5.1 miles
Fitbit says, your battery is low, and also, 10,784 steps, 4.81 miles

Same wrist and all that.

More on moving. As previously noted, we’ve moved. Two months here, and we haven’t totally moved in. At what point is a house a home? My room sorta feels like home, mostly because I’ve got my stuff semi-set up in there, and because BBL is there, too. As far as the rest of the house? Not moving, but feeling stuck. Where do all of these things go? Do we need two sets of silverware, pots and pans, and dishes? (Actually, we need more dishes. A full set that we all could use would be nice.) Or does it just not matter, about the stuff, that is? This I need to figure out. It shouldn’t matter, the stuff, that is, when determining if a house is a home.

On a separate note, I am looking forward to the return home, in three days, of the littlest Featherstone. Not only do I want to give him the world’s most enormous hug, but he can also help me (he promised) make this whole thing more visually appealing. Hey, every little step helps, am I right?

Step Count, 22 May 2014

Missed the goal of 10,000 steps by a significant amount. As in, really need to get my tush in gear. Aside from that, explain this:

The Fitbit claims I took 5,867 steps today. The Jawbone tells me I took 4,625 steps. Same day, same person, same wrist, same amount of actual steps taken.

I can see this is going to be an interesting (to me) exercise (heh).