Those who know me know my Fitbit has been as much a part of me as my fingers and my toes, and I can sincerely say, that up until Monday, I hadn’t gone a day without it since the day I received my first one.
Every step, every workout, every drop of sweat was obsessively documented until I was satisfied with the numbers that came up on the screen every day.
This was the evolution of the Fitbit styles I’ve gone through in the last 3 years.
Unfortunately, though I bought my Fitbit to coincide with the start of my weight loss journey, it followed me through my illness and I used it as an excuse to do even more exercise than I was supposed to, and to keep track of every single calorie I burned.
Guilt would tear me apart if I didn’t hit the prescribed number of steps a day, and I would feel completely and utterly disappointed in myself if I wasn’t able to log a workout.
People told me the Fitbit wasn’t helping me. That while it helps people who are trying to stay conscious of their health and wellbeing, I was using it to fuel an eating disorder that was destroying me.
Anyway, that’s not the point of this blog post. I’m not here to hate-bash Fitbit, because I genuinely think it’s a really good brand that helps a lot of people, and really did help me along when I started getting into fitness.
The point of this post is that I, through no fault of my own (except that I literally throw all my money away as if I’m coming into an inheritance larger than the Queen of England’s net worth) had to sell my Fitbit.
That’s right. I spent all my money on unnecessary sh** and now, less than a week until the big move, I’m flat out broke and had to get Mr Onebigstressball to put my beloved Fitbit Blaze (with it’s two extra very stylish straps thank you very much) on eBay to try and get me some spending money to tide me over until I move.
Right now, yes, I need the money, but jeez, it’s ridiculously difficult to start new habits cold-turkey… to no longer have something to take off straight before a shower and put on right afterwards; to check every half an hour or so how many steps have been taken in the day so far; and to do a workout that isn’t accounted for and to not have something there to create a weird tan line that you’re kind of proud of.
For goodness sake, you might be thinking, it’s just an activity tracker. But this thing had become a comfort blanket to me. It’s so hard to explain, but even at my worst, during my darkest days of suffering from bulimia nervosa, I always felt like it was the only thing keeping me sane. Right enough, not having enough steps or logging a workout would lead to negative thought patterns which ultimately became what is now normal for me, but I genuinely feel, if I hadn’t had it as physical evidence that I’d done a tough workout, or that I had indeed moved around enough in a certain day, my eating would have been much more restricted, and I would have spiralled even quicker into even darker days.
Going to the gym for the first time without it was so weird. First, I had to actually use the clock on my phone (or actually use the analogue clock on the wall – yeah I know, they actually do still exist) to make sure I wasn’t spending more time than necessary in the weights area. It was disconcerting not being able to check my calorie burn count once every few minutes to ‘make sure’ I was getting a decent amount of work done, and, for the first time in a long time (the first time ever since I started weight training) I listened to my body to determine whether or not it was time to go home, rather than my stats.
I didn’t know how to feel the first day, and I’m still getting used to it. The Fitbit has sold, so there’s no going back. So, maybe with the move next week and everything else going on, this was the best time for me to get rid of it.
I bought the ticket to Australia to take time for myself. To explore the world uninterrupted by my existing responsibilities I have here in Scotland, and, I need this fresh start to give me an extra boost in the recovery process. I need to learn to listen to how I’m feeling, rather than give myself certain numbers to work towards, and perhaps holding on to the Fitbit wasn’t allowing me to give myself that self love that, at the end of the day, I know I deserve. Everyone deserves happiness, and I was, in refusing to let go of my ‘blankie’ refusing myself the chance to be truly free from my illness.
Some things are healthy to obsess over. This one wasn’t for me.