What to do if your Fitbit report depresses you

My weekly Fitbit report has made depressing reading for the last two weeks. This week all numbers - steps, distance, stairs, calories used - were down on the week before, which in turn were down on the week before that. I would blame the heat for my lack of exercise but most of our sunny days weren't even included in my Fitbit week.

The first half of my week is usually busy so on Thursdays, after Rubies (women's bible study at Zac's) I like to come home, lie on the bed and read. But not this week. Today I decided to walk to Mumbles. To Verdi's to be precise with the added attraction of calling in to see GrandSon4 on the way.

We - George was with me - set off and got as far as the beach. 'Oh, it's a long way,' I said. 'Or rather it'll be a long way back.'

George suggested we could see how far we got. Perhaps we would only get as far as Ripples ice cream parlour. 'Their ice cream isn't as nice as Verdi's,' I said. George shrugged.

So off we went. 11,656 steps later we were back. 

We got as far as GrandSon4 (who lives almost opposite Verdi's) but I didn't have an ice cream. Playing with a little boy took my mind off it.

You may just be able to see the steps down to the sea in this photo. That's where I learned to swim as a child. The bay is tidal and twice a day the sea laps at the foot of the wall, give or take a foot or two. As a child I'd come down here with my mum on those sunny summer evenings when the tide was high and have a wonderful time. And sometimes it would be a family outing.

In those days you were supposed to be responsible for your own health and safety. So clambering along the rock-studded top of the wall was just good fun and not a hazard from which you had to be protected by railings.

Also we didn't realise at the time but the water in Swansea Bay wasn't entirely clean. A century of industry spewing its by-products into the river Tawe and thus into the bay plus poor sewage treatment led to the bay being, well, toxic is too strong a word but signs eventually went up banning the collection of cockles from the sands because of the health dangers posed by eating them.

But, hey, I'm still alive and perfectly normal!

I have walked the Serengeti

I have my Serengeti badge!

Forgive me, I was never a girl guide so any kind of achievement rewarded by a badge gets me excited. And today FitBit told me I had walked the equivalent of the distance across the Serengeti, one of the seven natural wonders of the world.

So how far is that I hear you ask. Five hundred miles. Yes, 500 miles. Which sounded mighty impressive until:
a) I looked up Serengeti on a map and saw how small it is on the grand scale of things; and
b) I realised it's taken me six months.

But it's still as good an excuse as any to re-post this video clip.

What? No honeycomb?

You'll notice that this blog is sub-titled 'The thoughts of me and my dog etc.' but you may have also noticed that George doesn't say much. I have come to the conclusion that he is less articulate than Harvey although it may be his age: he may still be in the bolshy teenager stage.

Why speak when you can stare sullenly? 'Of course I'm not speaking to you. What do you expect? you made me move off my rug.'

I'll try to get more contributions out of him - when he's in a better mood.

* * * * * * * * *

I was in a bad mood yesterday. Or rather I was downhearted. A setback we hadn't been expecting in our Zac's initiative. What I needed was ice cream.

Ice cream is always good but I was just a tad disappointed with this. I wanted apple crumble ice cream but the girl at the till said they didn't make it in winter. That would have been okay if I hadn't later seen it in the freezer selection.

My praline pecan was nice but the honeycomb ice cream I had with it didn't contain one tiny piece of honeycomb! Which, let's face it, isn't what you want. I think I may email Verdi's in fact.

Anyway, as my fitbit was reading less than 3,000 steps I decided I'd walk home, a distance of about two miles along the prom. Nuora joined me and the walk went so much faster with company. I shall miss them both very much.

And then I went to Thrive circuit training as well! (Which was a clever trick I played on myself telling myself I wouldn't go and then only deciding at the last moment so not giving myself time to be miserable in anticipation.) (I do enjoy exercising - after it's over. Just not the looking forward to it. Or the pain of doing it.)

Fitness freak

George went for a walk with Nuora and his best friend, Willett, on Friday so I decided to take advantage of having a free (of course I could have been cleaning ...) morning and walk to the library.

Not a bad way to get to the library

Going there was fine; coming back into the wind that was howling and the sand that was swirling was a little tougher until I left the beach and went onto the prom. Where they have a fitness trail! Needless to say I had to have a go at some. Well, at those I could work out what to do with.

This was my favourite. You stand on it and sort of swing back and for - at least that's what I did. Very good for the hip joints I'm sure.

This one ... maybe to have a rest on?

And fun as it is to pretend to be a bus driver there's only so long you want to do it if you're not actually sitting upstairs in the front seat of a bus.

And as I crossed the threshold upon reaching home my Fitbit on my wrist buzzed excitedly as I'd reached 10,000 steps.

Phoebe and me

I should be in the hairdresser's now. I would be if my hairdresser's wife hadn't gone into labour. I mean, seriously, like she couldn't have waited until the weekend?

So, instead, I'm going in later on to be cut by Andrew. Andrew is rather more avant garde in his styling. I may return with shaved bits. 

(A pigeon is trying to work out how he can reach the fat balls without falling off his perch. It's all we get on our front garden bird-feeder: fat pigeons. 'Don't let the pigeon eat the peanuts!' A phrase recognisable by parents of small children.)

So I've been wearing my Fitbit non-stop since yesterday afternoon (apart from when I was in the shower). It begins counting again each day at midnight; so far today I have taken 1,374 steps. It's 30 from bed to the toilet - I know because I counted - so it must add up quite quickly. Slightly worryingly though is the fact that it thinks I slept for 16 undisturbed hours last night. Oh and the fact that when I woke up it already registered 11 steps. I know i wriggle a lot in bed but I'm surprised it's enough to count as a step.

I'm hoping that the Fitbit - I know, let's call her Phoebe - will magically make me lose weight without me having to do anything. Now the woman who invents that machine will be onto a winner.

And don't worry; I'll soon lose my enthusiasm for reporting every detail from Phoebe. She's already making my wrist feel itchy ...

Inherent Vice

So, to clarify: I think the covered cage was something to do with Roman Catholicism. The parrot was just my imagination. But a better idea I like to think.

Fitbit. It's took 24 hours for me and then Husband when I gave up to set up my Fitbit, to wirelessly sync it. (Don't ask me what that means.) It's still sitting on my desk looking at me in an annoyed fashion. Okay, I'll put it on, shall I? ... Right, it feels okay, quite soft strap, but the display seems to be a bit too far around my wrist but you can't adjust it because that's the way the gubbins is set up. Once I accept that and don't go to change it each time I look at it I'm sure it'll be fine.

Well, my heart rate is 65 and so far Fitbit is proving accurate in that it records my steps as 0. I've already argued with a till today so I can see me and Fibit having a few show-downs. The trouble with arguing with a machine is that you can never win. Even if you're right the machine won't admit it. I'd better decide on a name so when people say, 'Are you talking to yourself?' I can say, 'No, I'm talking to Hermione.' Or whoever.

I was going to take a photo of Fitbit on my arm but then I noticed how hairy my arms are. Dark hairs too. It's one thing to bleach your top lip, quite another to tackle two arms.

* * * * * * * * 

One of my Christmas presents from Husband was a dvd called Inherent Vice. Apparently it was on a 'recommended for over 55s' list. We watched it last night. The main character is a private eye called Doc - I only know that because I just read the write-up on Amazon. Prior to that I thought he was called Dug or Dog. In fact I should probably have read the synopsis on the web before watching the film: I may have known what was going on then. Here's an excerpt from one of the reviews:
Doc's journey takes him through a dead biker, Mental Asylum (Straight is Hip), Chinese smuggling, Dentist pedophile, massage parlor, and government conspiracy involving the FBI, DOJ and the Aryan Nation. Try to keep up.

I failed to keep up but having said that it's not an entirely bad film. To its credit you can't fall asleep while it's on; you have to concentrate. Younger Son just said we should have had subtitles on and I do think that would have helped because they did mumble so. And, apart from his sideburns, Doc was a reasonably nice person.

I see Netflix will be showing House of Cards season 4 this year. Husband is a big fan but we watched the first season just after Breaking Bad and I couldn't cope with any more horrid people so gave up. I like nice.

I can understand the cover-up but why a parrot in church?

My style of driving Alfie Porsche is best described as 'Pick a gear, any gear'. Don't tell Husband though.

Today it was sunny. Good. But it meant I had to pull the sun visor down. Bad. It hits me on the head and covers most of the front windscreen meaning I can see very little of what's ahead. I also couldn't see what was behind me as the mirror was adjusted for Husband and if I move it it falls off.

So pity anyone following me on the road today. Still I got home in one piece. 

To play with my new Fitbit! Having said that, after the initial 'oh, isn't it pretty?' excitement I haven't touched it. I thought I could just put it on and hey presto that would be that but no, it seems it has to be charged and then, quite possibly, linked up to NATO HQ.

While it was charging I visited Sainsburys (how many times can one woman go to Sainsburys in one week? Better add on another once as I've just remembered what I forgot) and child-minded. I bought chicken nuggets and oven chips to try and tempt grandchildren to eat something other than bread and hummus or 'yellow' i.e. with butter, toast. 

The chips were cast aside as being too thin and crunchy and the chicken nuggets weren't even tasted. So I had finish off everything. As well as eat my dinner. I did intend to have a smaller dinner, honest, but the cheese and coleslaw just seemed to creep onto my plate.

Oh yes, the parrot.

In RC mass with Uncle on Saturday - a special mass was said for him in honour of his 90th birthday - and I couldn't help but notice the covered cage just behind the altar. Obviously you wouldn't want a parrot  - or maybe budgie - to be talking away during mass so the cover I can understand. It's just why have a birdcage on the altar at all?