I’ve hit a fitness plateau, where healthy eating and my typical levels of belligerent self-motivation don’t seem to be cutting it any longer. Maybe it’s turning the corner out of my twenties. Who knows? All I can say is that for some reason, the bright glowing numbers on an elliptical machine display at the gym motivate me like no other, so I got something to turn my daily activity into numbers.
Another marathon of barbecuing and day drinking. In a fit of unintentional American-ness, I accidentally just typed a slew of food emoji instead of letters because “let me tell you about my diet” comes out like BANANA BANANA ICE CREAM PIZZA SOUP when your fingers are covered in barbecue sauce apparently (I kid, we used a dry rub– We’re not savages). It feels like I exercised because I was on my feet cooking all day, but that could also be the cumulative effects of my hangover.
I REGRET NOTHING.
Fitbit, I don’t think you appreciate how difficult it is to perfectly brown comically oversized marshmallows without touching the coals. Also, Brian named my fitbit today. I think it was Howard. Should I be concerned that he has assigned it a masculine persona? Does this mean I’m only getting in shape because a man (Howard, obv) nagged me?
Also, I’ve acquired my first fitbit friend!
It’s going well.
As you can see, I am exercising both discretion and maturity to foster healthy interpersonal relationships while achieving my fitness goals. It really is more fun with friends!