The other morning, I looked at my wrist to see what time it was because I thought I was running late. But my fitness device wasn’t there.
That’s unusual, because I never take it off, except to charge it. It’s waterproof, so I wear it in the shower, and I wear it in the pool when I swim laps. But it wasn’t on my wrist and it wasn’t on the charger.
It wasn’t on the bedside table, either. Nor was it anywhere else I looked. I looked under the bed. I checked the pockets of the pants I wore the night before. I looked around outside to see if it had fallen off when I took Milly, the liver and white springer spaniel who lives at my house, out before going to bed.
I even looked between the cushions of the sofa. I didn’t find the fitness device, but I did find 34 cents, a paper clip, a AAA battery and a dog treat, which Milly promptly ate.
I was becoming resigned to the fact that I was going to have to shell out for another fitness device. I’ve become dependent on it. Chelsea the Trainer turned me on to it, and with her in Texas finishing up at physical therapy school, I need it to keep me honest. It counts my steps each day. It monitors my heart rate, so that I’m certain to get it up where Chelsea says it needs to be during exercise.
I also sync my fitness device with my health insurance company, and I earn points that give me a rebate each month on my premium and points that allow to buy gift cards, which I’ve used to buy rocking chairs for my deck.
But the thing that really bothered me was the watch function. When I want to know what time it is, I look at my wrist. Force of habit. I’ve worn a watch since I was a teenager.
Of course, I have dozens of other ways to find out what time it is. I have a clock on my cell phone, a clock on my laptop, a clock on my iPad. I also have an alarm clock in my bedroom, even though I use the alarm on my phone. I have a mantel clock that was built for me by my Uncle Raleigh. I even have three clocks in my kitchen – on the stove, on the coffee maker and on the microwave.
Still, when I want to know what time it is, I still look at my wrist. Like I said, force of habit.
I never found the fitness device that morning, and according to all of the other clocks in my house, I was running late. So I went to work. With a bare wrist. Which I looked at a couple of hundred times during the day.
I did finally locate my fitness device. It apparently came off my wrist in my sleep, and it fell between the box springs and the bed frame. Needless to say, I was relieved. But I was upset about the 15,000 or so steps that didn’t get counted. And embarrassed about the number of times I looked at my wrist.
But now it’s back. And I know that it’s 9:33 a.m. as I write this column. I think churning out one of these columns is a good day’s work. So I think I’ll take the rest of the day off.
