How did I love thee, oh great and powerful motion sensor?
Let me now count the steps.
I didn’t know how much I needed you, how much I relied on you.
Until I drowned you.
I will miss you, my dear Fitbit.
I never knew how little I moved until you showed me.
I never knew how big of a couch potato I was until you explained it to me in vivid graphs and diagrams.
I had no idea how important ten thousand steps were to me until you showed me the love.
I still reach for my waistband, hoping to move you closer to my hip, to record every step.
I come up empty now.
Because I took you with me into the ocean.
I believed you to be invincible, not realizing just how non-water-resistant you were.
I was selfish to want every last step, not heeding my beloved’s advice to leave you in the hotel room.
“But, what if you accidentally take her into the water with you?”
“Don’t worry. That won’t happen.”
Famous Last Words.
I walk alone now.
No one monitoring my every movement.
Unable to count my own steps.
I usually get to about ten and then lose my train of thought.
I will miss you, my friend.
When I’m on a beach, I will think of you.
Because that is where I held you underwater until all your circuits fried.
You were my first and the best.
You made me accountable.
You made me move when I didn’t really want to, because I didn’t want to see such pathetically low numbers.
That’s what I loved about you: you were brutally honest and in my face about my movements (or lack thereof).
You made me yearn to help your plant grow.
I made it grow to eleven leaves once!
I’m sorry, my beautiful Fitbit, for my selfishness and lack of a perfect memory.
I will stride (sic) to remember you, my little friend.
FYI – On a happier note: I’m getting a new Fitbit Flex! In the interim, I’m a serious couch potato now. I’m kinda glad my Fitbit isn’t around to see this shameful exhibit.