Do I Look Fat In This Fitbit?

Have you ever received a gift and tried your best to like it but just couldn’t bring yourself to keep it? I’m there post-Christmas.

I feel really bad about this, but I’m returning the one big gift my husband Kevin got me for Christmas this year. I usually don’t want anything “big” (meaning more than $100). I’m really a low-maintenance, easy-to-please girl who asks for books, scented candles, bubble bath, Panera gift cards and a bottle of my favorite red wine. Oh, and a MacBook Pro.

I’m practically hanging my head in ungrateful shame as I return Kevin’s gift, because isn’t it all about the thought that counts? What does this say about me if I’m returning a gift, not because it doesn’t fit or it’s the wrong color, but because I just don’t like it? What kind of monster am I?

And yet, I’m ready to be branded with a scarlet letter as I return my fitness tracker to Sports Authority (that Kevin scored at 20% discount on a Black Friday deal, no less!).

Let me preface this by saying that Kevin is not passive-aggressively telling me to shed a few pounds. He’s just tired of hearing me complain about my tanking midlife metabolism and not doing much about it.  I’m the kind of woman who wants to know the honest truth when I ask, “Do I look fat in this?” Kevin knows better than to feed me sugar-coated BS (although anything with sugar sounds yummy).

So, tapping into the latest trend, my well-intentioned husband bought me a Fitbit, one of those omnipotent fitness tracker wristbands. The Fitbit monitors your every move (literally) with a built-in GPS and loads of features, making it a top-seller that (supposedly) fits every lifestyle.

That is, every lifestyle but mine.

For starters, I’m just not into exercise. I mean, I occasionally walk and do yoga, but only because I know I should. (You might recall my failed attempt to train for a Color Run.) And I’ve given up trying to master the Dance Off the Inches Hip Hop Party DVD I bought a few years ago, foolishly thinking I could do complex choreography “so simple anyone can do it.” Well, thanks for making me feel like an idiot, girl-with-rock-hard-abs-on-the-DVD-cover. When Fit Blonde Girl instructs her hip-hop wannabees to “pop it,” the only thing that pops (and cracks) is my arthritic hip.

And I do try to incorporate movement into my daily life. I kick butt in word games, throw a fit when my teen mouths off to me, run daily errands, jump to conclusions and dance around uncomfortable conversations. These activities don’t really burn many calories, but, hey, at least I’m not totally sedentary.

But the fitness tracker is a little too Big Brother for me, with my every movement being monitored 24/7. To get the most out of my Fitbit, I need to wear it all the time, even when I’m sleeping, shackling me like an I’m-on-house-arrest ankle bracelet. It just dangles on my wrist all day, recording every arm swing as I walk or reach for another glass of wine. Who needs that judgment all day long?

I feel like I should be wowed by this “wonder product” chock-full of features that track not only your exercise, but also your sleep patterns, your water consumption, your calories and your heart rate.

High-Tech Features for a Low-Tech Girl

• I don’t need a Fitbit to monitor my water intake.  When I can feel the cotton in my mouth, I know it’s time to take a drink.
• I don’t need a Fitbit to tell me I was restless 35 times last night. I looked at the clock 14 times during the night, feel exhausted in the morning and can see the dark circles under my eyes, so I’m well aware I had a crappy night’s sleep.
• I don’t need a device that’s waterproof up to 10 meters, given my penchant for never going scuba diving.
• I don’t need a Fitbit to vibrate every hour to tell me I’ve been inactive for too long. When I feel my ass going numb from sitting at the computer too long, I know it’s time to get moving.

And then there’s the whole guilt factor. On days when I think I’ve been fairly active, I check my Fitbit only to discover that I racked up an unimpressive 415 steps today, and it’s already 3 p.m. This sets off a mini-rage, as I yell at my wrist monitor, “Why are you silently judging me? Who are you to tell me I’m below my goal today?”

On top of all this, I’m always just a few steps behind what’s trending. Case in point—Breaking Bad was three seasons old before I even heard about it. And I just read a fashion article that pantyhose are coming back in, which made me wonder, when were they out? So it feels a bit premature for me to jump on the Fitbit bandwagon just yet.

I’m also not what marketing experts would could an “early adopter.” I don’t upgrade my cell phone every year. I have zero desire for an Apple Watch. I don’t want a drone. And, after great resistance, I finally forced myself to get on Twitter now that it’s almost 10 years old. I’m always late to the trend party by choice.

Now, if Kevin can find me a Witbit to monitor my sarcasm, I’d be all over that. But a Fitbit? Thanks, but I’m good.