When The Bossy One recently suggested I get a Fitbit to track my activity level, I thought it seemed a good idea. I’ve learned to follow her “suggestions” having learned a long time ago that she’s right about most things. Bossy, but right.
Over the past eight years, I’ve somehow allowed seven pounds to attach themselves stubbornly to the old bod. This I’ve attributed to getting a bit older and the ensuing slower metabolism while conveniently ignoring the consequences to frequent chocolate-inhalation.
I like to imagine myself an active person. I walk briskly around this field a couple times a day with Max.
I am up and down these stairs, well, constantly it seems.
I never hover in parking lots, buzzard-like, waiting to get the closest parking space. I make healthy, home-cooked meals, avoid soda and junk food, and generally try to do all the right things to stay healthy and still have a little fun in life. And yet those pesky seven pounds hang on like barnacles. Dash it!
So I was eager to get the Fitbit and start tracking my activity level. It would be good to know my baseline and just how much I might need to pick up the pace.
And this is what the wretched thing reported on day one….
Surely it must be defective. Eleven active minutes? 3653 steps? Ahem. One begins to entertain the possibility the metabolism is not solely to blame here….
All kidding aside, I was shocked to see just how inactive this busy person really is. My activity level was about one-third what it should be to meet the recommended 10,000 steps a day. Clearly changes need to be made and pronto.
Getting on a treadmill and tediously trudging away is my idea of hell on earth. But getting outside in the fresh air is not, even if I have to bundle up like Nanook of the North. Lucky for me then that my fair city of Richmond has done an outstanding job of developing trails and paths along the James River. Come with me on the little stomp we took last Sunday on the most glorious January day imaginable.
First we crossed this scary pedestrian bridge over the James River:
We ended up on Belle Isle, site of the notorious Civil War Confederate POW camp. I will refrain from musings on the ghosts of the past intermingling with joggers which is, of course, where my mind was going. You’re welcome.
Do you remember my post on Hollywood Cemetery? That’s it up on the hillside:
Evidently a geological scar of solid granite runs 1000 miles from New Jersey to Georgia and these boulders popping out of the James are part of it.
A view of Richmond from scary pedestrian bridge on the way back:
And a not-so-scary view of my Fitbit daily report at the end of the day:
How about that? An exception, to be sure, but that’s okay. My usual day is logging in anywhere from 5,000 to 8,000 steps lately. I’m pretty happy with that.
There is one member of the family, however, not the least bit interested in increasing his fitness level. A certain little Westie boy has had quite enough of the increased trotting around the field.
This is where he sits after two laps and waits for me to finish.
And speaking of The Bossy One, aka Hurricane Mary, she is blowing into town from Colorado later today. So if you notice my absence from your blogs in the next few days, don’t heave a sigh of relief. I shall return! After you- know- who whips me into even better shape!
Have a great weekend everyone,