Greg bought me a Fitbit. It's a little device I wear on my person that tracks my steps, activity levels, calories burned and sleep. All that information is transmitted to my own personal fitness page where I can also enter what I've eaten. I can clearly see how food and activity directly effect my bottom line...you know, my weight. It's been a real eye opener.
Yes, moving from a three story house to a one story house had a huge impact on my fitness: I gained weight. So, Greg getting me this Fitbit helps track my heath and fitness. Since I've started using the Fitbit I have return to my normal weight.
I'd like to say that this miracle is due to a change of diet but I can't really say that. Since I dropped all hydrogenated oils from my diet nearly 15 years ago maintaining a healthy weight is pretty simple. I've made just a few adjustments to food intake but still get ice cream and organic peanut butter nearly every week. It's activity that has made the difference
Nope, it's not the food. It's Frankie.
Reviewing yesterday's activity level on my FitBit there was this huge spike of activity at 10:00 am. That was me raking all the leaves and branches from Frankie's yard. I gotta do this almost every day if there is ever going to be grass in his yard. I gotta water it everyday, by hand, to get that grass growing. Unless it rains. Then I get a day off.
And since there is so little grass in Frankie's yard I have to drive twice a day (2X!) somewhere and pull up grass and weeds enough to fill a plastic garage bag. According to Fitbit pulling up grass for 30 minutes every day is "high activity."
Does stress count? This last week I was at this empty lot next to a shopping center pulling up red clover (huge stalks!) when this beat up old Chevy pulled up next to me. I realize it must be a strange sight but why would anyone what to bother what clearly must be a scavenging homeless woman stuffing grass in a plastic bag?
This rough old guy leans out this his window and starts asking some really silly questions: "What are you picking?" What you gonna do with that clover." "Your feeding it to a turtle?"
All these questions were quite distracting from my real worry that I am not carrying a gun or even a knife to protect myself. I could throw the bag of clover at him if he makes one false move but then I would have to pick another bag of clover for Frankie. See. I am burning calories.
And if I don't have a bag of clover for Frankie then I have to take him on a walk. This is where the Fitbit goes through the roof.
The minute that gate opens Frankie trots toward what promises to be an hour of fun. Fun for Frankie. All work for me.
Headin ' out is easy because Frankie anticipates a Big Walk and grazing all around the neighborhood. All the way around the neighborhood is a battle of left-n-right, don't-eat-the-rock, not-in-the-street, don't-eat-the-flowers, not-under-the-car, not-on-my-foot and finely, please-lets-go-home. That Fitbit is steaming.
But that isn't everything. There is cleaning the pooped-in pool and poop-filled-cave. And poop patrol.
Last week Frankie ate a Nut N' Berry Bird Suet Square. The whole thing. Including the plastic build in hanger. Frankie isn't supposted to eat suet. He sure isn't suppose to eat plastic. I scoured the yard looking for the plastic build in hanger and couldn't find it. That means Frankie ate it. That means I have to pick through every poop until that plastic hanger shows up in his poop.
Yesterday the first of the seed shells showed up in the poop. No hanger yet. I will be discenting poop for a few more days.
It is amazing how much of my day is taken up with Frankie. What is more amazing is that nearly 60% of my daily activity recorded on Fitbit is directly related to Frankie. This shapely body is basically build by Frankie, including the aches and ouchs.
If my husband bought me that Fitbit to help me stay in shape he really needs to go out to the backyard and thank Frankie.
And I have to thank Greg for the Fitbit, for Frankie, and for 20 wonderful years of marriage: Happy anniversary, my love.
Yes, moving from a three story house to a one story house had a huge impact on my fitness: I gained weight. So, Greg getting me this Fitbit helps track my heath and fitness. Since I've started using the Fitbit I have return to my normal weight.
I'd like to say that this miracle is due to a change of diet but I can't really say that. Since I dropped all hydrogenated oils from my diet nearly 15 years ago maintaining a healthy weight is pretty simple. I've made just a few adjustments to food intake but still get ice cream and organic peanut butter nearly every week. It's activity that has made the difference
Nope, it's not the food. It's Frankie.
Reviewing yesterday's activity level on my FitBit there was this huge spike of activity at 10:00 am. That was me raking all the leaves and branches from Frankie's yard. I gotta do this almost every day if there is ever going to be grass in his yard. I gotta water it everyday, by hand, to get that grass growing. Unless it rains. Then I get a day off.
And since there is so little grass in Frankie's yard I have to drive twice a day (2X!) somewhere and pull up grass and weeds enough to fill a plastic garage bag. According to Fitbit pulling up grass for 30 minutes every day is "high activity."
Does stress count? This last week I was at this empty lot next to a shopping center pulling up red clover (huge stalks!) when this beat up old Chevy pulled up next to me. I realize it must be a strange sight but why would anyone what to bother what clearly must be a scavenging homeless woman stuffing grass in a plastic bag?
This rough old guy leans out this his window and starts asking some really silly questions: "What are you picking?" What you gonna do with that clover." "Your feeding it to a turtle?"
All these questions were quite distracting from my real worry that I am not carrying a gun or even a knife to protect myself. I could throw the bag of clover at him if he makes one false move but then I would have to pick another bag of clover for Frankie. See. I am burning calories.
And if I don't have a bag of clover for Frankie then I have to take him on a walk. This is where the Fitbit goes through the roof.
The minute that gate opens Frankie trots toward what promises to be an hour of fun. Fun for Frankie. All work for me.
Headin ' out is easy because Frankie anticipates a Big Walk and grazing all around the neighborhood. All the way around the neighborhood is a battle of left-n-right, don't-eat-the-rock, not-in-the-street, don't-eat-the-flowers, not-under-the-car, not-on-my-foot and finely, please-lets-go-home. That Fitbit is steaming.
But that isn't everything. There is cleaning the pooped-in pool and poop-filled-cave. And poop patrol.
Last week Frankie ate a Nut N' Berry Bird Suet Square. The whole thing. Including the plastic build in hanger. Frankie isn't supposted to eat suet. He sure isn't suppose to eat plastic. I scoured the yard looking for the plastic build in hanger and couldn't find it. That means Frankie ate it. That means I have to pick through every poop until that plastic hanger shows up in his poop.
Yesterday the first of the seed shells showed up in the poop. No hanger yet. I will be discenting poop for a few more days.
It is amazing how much of my day is taken up with Frankie. What is more amazing is that nearly 60% of my daily activity recorded on Fitbit is directly related to Frankie. This shapely body is basically build by Frankie, including the aches and ouchs.
If my husband bought me that Fitbit to help me stay in shape he really needs to go out to the backyard and thank Frankie.
And I have to thank Greg for the Fitbit, for Frankie, and for 20 wonderful years of marriage: Happy anniversary, my love.
