So I got me one of them there Apple watches. My trusty Garmin 10 was losing some of its juice, and I wanted to upgrade my running buddy. Also, I’ve been carrying an iPod Nano on my hip forever, and I thought it would be nice to have an all-in-one contraption, now that Bluetooth is a thing (yeah, it’s been a thing, but it wasn’t ten years ago). Also, the fam just switch to a new mobile provider and got iPhones (my first) so it was kinda fait acompli, as those ol’ Romans useda say.
Took it out on a maiden voyage this morning with an hour run, using the Strava app. Worked like a dream. A little too dreamy—I’m used to hitting a button and waiting for GPS to connect. This time, the connection was already there, so off I went. Of course I kept checking my pace for the first few minutes, and was dismayed to see that I was going super slow. Finally I realized that I was looking at my over-all average, which I had shot in the foot by starting off with a walk (a clumsy metaphor, but as a meta-metaphor, it aptly describe what kind of doofus I am).
And just now I went out for another foray, this one a long walk to find a Friday bar. But the bar I ventured for was closed when I arrived. Oh well. Got in a decent 4.25 miles and burned, what 400 or so calories. More than double what I would have consumed at the bar. Add that to the 600 or so from this morning and I should be one skinny feller.
But I’m not, which is why I need this watch. And this phone. Yeah, sure, “need” is a strong word here, and reeks of First World. But what am I supposed to do, just accept that at 47 my gettin-lean years are all well behind me? Nah. I’m too much of a doofus to do that. Yet.