On our latest visit to Harvey Norman to buy things we definitely need with money we absolutely have and most certainly do not put on our credit cards, I bought myself a Garmin Vivofit. It was half price, a lovely colour, and offered the illusion of improved fitness.
After several weeks of use, I can report the following excellent features:
- Another username and password to remember, because of course you also need an account and app to view your data on. And no, thank you, I don’t want to use my Facebook account because I don’t want to bore my friends with details of my step count or daily caloric deficit or the fact that its fucking leg day because I don’t hate them.
- Sleep tracking. For reals guys, this is the ultimate proof of the “I’m the better parent” argument that occurs somewhere between 5 and 7am in households all around the world. I have actually, graphical proof of the fact that I’ve been up five times during the night to settle the kids, so you’d better believe its your turn to get up to the baby and give me a fucking sleep in. (Because between the hours of jesus-its-late and fuck-its-early, she’s always “the baby” and occasionally, “your daughter.”)
The Not-So-Good Stuff
- I haven’t actually lost any weight. I mean, sure, I haven’t actually improved my diet or significantly increased how much exercise I do, but I think the point stands.
- The Vivofit doesn’t capture other key metrics, like how many episodes of Nashville you binge-watched (four), how many donuts you ate (also four), or how many times you cried in the toilet as you realised that despite your best efforts you’re slowly turning into your mother (just the once).