How to Compete With Yourself and Still Lose
Dear Journal: Today began like every other Sunday, with my husband lacing up his $200 “stability” shoes while syncing three different fitness trackers to his phone. He says they “calibrate each other.” I say it’s like asking three drunks for directions—you’ll end up in a ditch either way.
He marched out determined to beat yesterday’s step count by 14%. Don’t ask me why 14. Last week it was 12, but apparently his body responds better to prime numbers. He came back forty-five minutes later limping, declaring victory, and Googling “can a meniscus be optional?”
Yesterday, he ordered a subscription to a “performance coaching app.” $39.99 a month to be told by a robot that he should drink water. The day before that, it was compression sleeves “like the pros use.” On Friday, he installed a pull-up bar in the kitchen doorway, which is now serving mostly as a concussion test every time he forgets it’s there. (Three times. Today.)
I admire his tenacity. Truly. But in the great battle of Man Versus Himself, I’m not sure who’s winning anymore. His calves are shredded, but so is our bank account. He used to go jogging. Now he “activates” his “core sequence.” He used to stretch. Now he’s “optimizing fascia elasticity.” Whatever that means, it cost us $120.
Still, he’s convinced progress is progress—even when he’s hobbling around the house with ice packs Velcroed to each knee like some kind of middle-aged RoboCop.
Note to self: Hide the credit card before he discovers “altitude training masks.” We live at sea level. The neighbors don’t need that kind of entertainment.