My Fitness Tracker is The Devil

Hey, you guys!

Quick confession: I’m one of those people who used to have/still struggles with/occasionally kicks the ass of an eating disorder. I used to compulsively weigh myself and take my measurements several times daily. It was like I was looking for proof that the Chipotle burrito I’d annihilated was taking root in my hips and thighs, the beans forming some sort of super-cellulite that smelled faintly like the end of that lovely rhyme about legumes.

You know what I’m saying.

Honestly, there’s no way for me to caption this and make it funnier. It’s already the funniest goddamn thing on the Internet.

Over the years, my need to weigh myself several times a day has fallen to the weigh-side (ugh, Dad Pun). Then I go shopping at Target and I stare at the scales for twenty minutes until I realize I’ve been staring at the scales for twenty whole minutes and I run away. Far, far away. And fast, because it burns more calories.

Lately, I’ve even toned down how often I measure myself. I really only do that now to see if I’m getting #swole because I want to beat my mom in an arm wrestle and FOR FUCK’S SAKE THE WOMAN IS FIFTY-FIVE AND I GO TO THE GYM LIKE FIVE DAYS A WEEK HOW CAN I NOT BEAT HER YET?

It makes me mad.

For a Christmas present (that ended up not arriving until April because the company is hilariously bad at what they do, minus customer service) I received a Jawbone UP3. It’s like a shittier-working, prettier-looking version of a fitbit. Kind of like how a Kardashian is a shittier-working, prettier-looking human that manages to make money for only being good at being okay looking. I don’t like to insult women, but the Kardashians are an exception because I think all they stand for is detrimental towards any girl hitting/entering/leaving puberty. Minus Caitlyn Jenner. That bitch is solid gold awesome.

Sometimes my tracker will lose like 2,000 steps for no reason other than to drive me bananas. A fitness tracker is supposed to do all the work for me, so I don’t have to worry about being active. It TRACKS how much I move, and I rely on it to tell me that I’m not the laziest motherfucker around.

When I received it in early April, one of the first things I started doing was counting my steps. That’s right, you guys. I got a fitness tracker, a thing that’s supposed to count my steps for me, and I would take atreyu for a four-mile walk and count my steps the ENTIRE time.

Like honestly I have to adjust my stride to make this shit even.

Like honestly I have to adjust my stride to make this shit even.

So when it malfunctions and I take the pups for a walk around my complex, I know that from the door to my condo to the entrance to the parking lot of the fitness center it’s 700 steps. I know a lap around the lake to where I loop around and go backwards is 400 steps. I know my normal morning walk with Atreyu around the complex is 1300 steps and if I add an extra lap and then leave the complex and walk a few blocks in a certain direction I will get a total of 3300 steps. I don’t stop my walks until I end at a 100 or a 50, because obviously.

I know this because sometimes, SOMETIMES, my fitness tracker doesn’t know it. And I like to be one hundred percent sure.

I also like to be 100% crazy, apparently. Ah, well, such is life.

12 Comments

I do that with license plates. I add the numbers and it has to divide down to 2 or end in a prime number. Preferably 3 or 7. If I can’t make it go to 3 or 7 or 2 then I say a little prayer because I’m certain they are going to die in a fiery car wreck. And I would be forced to say, I told you so…..

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