Fitbit Hell!
5409, 5410, 5411
Every step, closer to a higher number, however, further from who I want to be. A, "relapse" by every use of the in the word. In terms of poor, inefficient behaviors, I am revisiting them, reabsorbing them as my own. The numbers on an electronic, overpriced pedometer, counting steps have been around for a long time. Now, the fitness industry has made it even easier to identify success, if you have done enough or not. Little do the producers of such devices realize, people like me, our mind, is always counting. Our mind is always aware, unlike the electronic device in lieu of a traditional watch, nothing we do is passive....
6302, 6303, 6304
I can't help but glance. I cannot help but be curious if the progress I feel I have made, determined by an intrinsic value, transfers to the outside world, in these numbers. Have I done more or less than I thought? Unfortunately, it is almost always less, for man does tend to over assume fitness activity and under assume food consumption, contributing to the obesity epidemic. So, I am living in times of under performance and over eating, continuing these steps, striving for more, this is a good thing, right?
7432, 7433, 7434
Motive is what makes an act efficient or not. My motive here is to gain these numbers, ultimately to fulfill a fragile self. To bank-up good things for one of those days I am not doing so well, when I am struggling with self-worth. I read something the other day in my Creative Nonfiction Magazine, a literary journal I have submitted to multiple times. The writer is a PhD, a doctor, and now apparently an award winning writer? Well, that part isn't fair. You get one or the other, not both. You get left brain or right, for a combination is too much. That corpus callosum must be in overdrive as it connects two powerful entities. The words laid out by this physician selfishly remind me that I am not prestigious, I am nothing of significance to the world, so why would anybody read me? My motive in words at times is to produce significance, a motive as flat as the paper words are written on, as shallow as the thin computer screen on which I type. A motive that is disgusting to admit to, even after all the work I have done to self-improve, here I have failed.
9045, 9046, 9047
Just a few more. I know we are going to bed soon, but I might as well wander around the house a little bit, casually go up the stairs to grab something, go back down, go outside, get this, pick up that.
9702, 9704, 9705
Now I should be close enough that the natural steps of parenting will get me to the bright and flashing LED display of a wrist device I am indebted to look at throughout the day. I cannot relinquish these behaviors to simply be present. I know I relapsed in my need to do this, my motive to find value, but today is over. When the goal is achieved I convince myself that tomorrow will be different, better. Like when I overate as a child only to have the convincing high of candy still lingering in my mouth, "This is the last piece." I have relapsed in my obsessing of external achievements versus simply being "enough."
9954, 9955, 9956
Brushing teeth somehow counts steps. I assume the simple movement of arms would mimic that of a body moving when walking. I assume that this still burns the same amount of calories as walking right? I assume that through the shoulder stabilizing, bicep contracting, triceps antagonizing, is mostly equivalent to the calories used by the glutes, hamstrings, quads, calves, core to take a step, right? Dang, what if most of my steps are simply arm movements? What if my numbers, the very foundation on which I rely to determine my success in a day, is "off?" I guess the placebo pill of electronic numbers uploaded to an online community works. It does keep me moving. It does keep me aware of my activity levels, and yes, it does have me simply move more. However, for me, people like me, we cannot merely, "move more" we must move the most. The hell of numbers are that they are never achievable, never done. There is always one more, literally. To a mind incapable of merely settling, to take, just "one" more is the relentless pursuit of a fragile inside to determine it's value, something never grasped, not here, not on this device.
10003, 10004, 10005
I lay my head down, luckily the steps, the long days, they provide an environment of needed rest. I have no trouble sleeping. I have trouble accepting, trouble being, those are my works, my daily projects. I pursue a balance in things, like an alcoholic taking a drink of wine only to sit there, craving, searching for the peace that others must know...
My book, Castle-Broken is more of my own story on Male Body Image Disorders, depicting some of my relentless obsessive steps to fulfill what I believed was required to obtain an ideal body. For this publication and resources for treatment purposes, click HERE.
God Bless.
Every step, closer to a higher number, however, further from who I want to be. A, "relapse" by every use of the in the word. In terms of poor, inefficient behaviors, I am revisiting them, reabsorbing them as my own. The numbers on an electronic, overpriced pedometer, counting steps have been around for a long time. Now, the fitness industry has made it even easier to identify success, if you have done enough or not. Little do the producers of such devices realize, people like me, our mind, is always counting. Our mind is always aware, unlike the electronic device in lieu of a traditional watch, nothing we do is passive....
6302, 6303, 6304
I can't help but glance. I cannot help but be curious if the progress I feel I have made, determined by an intrinsic value, transfers to the outside world, in these numbers. Have I done more or less than I thought? Unfortunately, it is almost always less, for man does tend to over assume fitness activity and under assume food consumption, contributing to the obesity epidemic. So, I am living in times of under performance and over eating, continuing these steps, striving for more, this is a good thing, right?
7432, 7433, 7434
Motive is what makes an act efficient or not. My motive here is to gain these numbers, ultimately to fulfill a fragile self. To bank-up good things for one of those days I am not doing so well, when I am struggling with self-worth. I read something the other day in my Creative Nonfiction Magazine, a literary journal I have submitted to multiple times. The writer is a PhD, a doctor, and now apparently an award winning writer? Well, that part isn't fair. You get one or the other, not both. You get left brain or right, for a combination is too much. That corpus callosum must be in overdrive as it connects two powerful entities. The words laid out by this physician selfishly remind me that I am not prestigious, I am nothing of significance to the world, so why would anybody read me? My motive in words at times is to produce significance, a motive as flat as the paper words are written on, as shallow as the thin computer screen on which I type. A motive that is disgusting to admit to, even after all the work I have done to self-improve, here I have failed.
9045, 9046, 9047
Just a few more. I know we are going to bed soon, but I might as well wander around the house a little bit, casually go up the stairs to grab something, go back down, go outside, get this, pick up that.
9702, 9704, 9705
Now I should be close enough that the natural steps of parenting will get me to the bright and flashing LED display of a wrist device I am indebted to look at throughout the day. I cannot relinquish these behaviors to simply be present. I know I relapsed in my need to do this, my motive to find value, but today is over. When the goal is achieved I convince myself that tomorrow will be different, better. Like when I overate as a child only to have the convincing high of candy still lingering in my mouth, "This is the last piece." I have relapsed in my obsessing of external achievements versus simply being "enough."
 |
| Do my steps add value? Do they contribute or interfere? Can they be more than a number? |
Brushing teeth somehow counts steps. I assume the simple movement of arms would mimic that of a body moving when walking. I assume that this still burns the same amount of calories as walking right? I assume that through the shoulder stabilizing, bicep contracting, triceps antagonizing, is mostly equivalent to the calories used by the glutes, hamstrings, quads, calves, core to take a step, right? Dang, what if most of my steps are simply arm movements? What if my numbers, the very foundation on which I rely to determine my success in a day, is "off?" I guess the placebo pill of electronic numbers uploaded to an online community works. It does keep me moving. It does keep me aware of my activity levels, and yes, it does have me simply move more. However, for me, people like me, we cannot merely, "move more" we must move the most. The hell of numbers are that they are never achievable, never done. There is always one more, literally. To a mind incapable of merely settling, to take, just "one" more is the relentless pursuit of a fragile inside to determine it's value, something never grasped, not here, not on this device.
10003, 10004, 10005
I lay my head down, luckily the steps, the long days, they provide an environment of needed rest. I have no trouble sleeping. I have trouble accepting, trouble being, those are my works, my daily projects. I pursue a balance in things, like an alcoholic taking a drink of wine only to sit there, craving, searching for the peace that others must know...
My book, Castle-Broken is more of my own story on Male Body Image Disorders, depicting some of my relentless obsessive steps to fulfill what I believed was required to obtain an ideal body. For this publication and resources for treatment purposes, click HERE.
God Bless.
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