They decided to have a Fitbit contest here at work.  It is part of our Wellness initiative.  If you don’t know what a Wellness initiative is, let me define it for you.  Wellness initiative is code for “you people are too fat and are likely to cost us money due to future health problems so we are trying to goad you to lose some weight.  Lardos.”

Prior to this contest, I had no Fitbit.  I was happy in my ignorance.  Sure, I knew what a Fitbit was, but I didn’t really understand what it meant to be Fitbitted.  On the first day, I did 27,000 plus steps.  Not too shabby.  And pretty cool.  My team was in the lead.  This was good.

It did not take long for me to realize the dark side of the Fitbit.  First of all, you must wear the Fitbit everywhere.  You don’t want to miss any hard-earned steps, do you?  It is like a tiny, blue remora.  And, like the shark, you must keep moving.  When you wake in the morning, you go scrambling for your Fitbit.  Those steps to the toilet cannot be recovered.  If you forget to put on the Fitbit, they are lost forever.  Gone to step purgatory.  Meanwhile, the engineers in Building 2 are stepping away, trying to erode our lead.

I crested the 30,000 mark on day three.  Not only had it become a contest between Buildings, it had also become a contest with my coworkers.  I began to get suspicious of them.  How did they manage to get that many steps during the day?  They aren’t in that good of shape.  Did they tie the Fitbit to their dog?  I’d check my status after supper.  In fourth place?  Unacceptable.  Time to walk some circles around the house.  Must get steps.

At the end of the week, exhaustion had set in.  The Fitbit was a succubus, draining the life from me.  Yet I managed to run 8 miles on back to back days.  Pow.  Sons-of-bitches.  You can’t defeat me!  The problem, however, is that all steps are not created equal.  Walking a mile is equivalent to 2000 steps.  Running- only 1500 or so.  Being a runner was punishing me.  It seemed so unfair.  A conspiracy, led by fat, walking-oriented people.  Short legged, reasonably conditioned bastards.

I trudged on despite the unfairness.  The numbers were all that counted.  Seven thousand by lunch.  Seventeen thousand by the end of the workday.  Need at least 25,000 before I go to bed.  And how in the hell did Deb do 34,392 steps?  How is that possible?  One more lap around the house.  Out of my way raccoon.  The Fitbit must have its pound of flesh.  I thought about putting the Fitbit on the raccoon.  After all, the masked bandit doesn’t seem to mind eating my bird food.  I wondered how many steps a raccoon takes in a day.  Probably more than you think.  They have short legs.  Those tiny footfalls would add up.

The Fitbit went with me everywhere.  The Constant Traveler.  It became a kind of moral compass, coaxing me from my inherent laziness.  The steps became all.

After 15 days, the challenge came to an end.  I awoke a free man, suddenly unchained from my Fitbit.  As I got ready for work, I looked at the Fitbit.  It was lying on my dresser.  It seemed to mock me.  I picked it up and put it into the change jar.  “Pussy,” I thought the Fitbit said.  I didn’t bother to respond.

On the bright side, our team won the contest.  In your buccaneer face, engineers.  And people in California and Minnesota.  Suck it, Remote workers.  Tough break, Building 4.  You tried to mount a challenge, but failed.  Pow.  Pow.  Pow.

Meanwhile, my Fitbit is waiting for me at home.  I know it is bad for me.  Yet, I can’t stop thinking about it.  How many steps have I taken today?  I don’t know.  I just don’t know.

Those steps are gone forever.