I feel qualified now to report on my Fitbit and how it’s positively affected my well being, now I’ve walked 2,500 miles, 5,862,000 steps, over 10,000 steps a day for one year, five months and a few days.

Freddie gave it to me two birthdays ago and I started using it on the very first day. The nomenclature mentioned 10,000 steps in a day and I did that. From then on it has been at least that, often 12,000, and sometimes 15,000—but always the ten, never less.

I’ll go so far as to say it has, if not saved my life, at least lengthened it. I put this black watchlike device on every morning and take it off at night before showering or bathing. I was getting sedentary, sitting and writing, something I love, but it needs a counterweight and now there is one. Sculpture doesn’t provide all that much exercise, but it’ll work up a good sweat, welding and grinding. This walking is the ticket, like the counterweight in a 1938 Indian four. Out of balance, that Indian would fall apart. In balance and in fair shape it would command fifty grand plus. I’m a ’38 model, in fair shape. 

Every so often I’ll sync the device with my computer to check my resting heartbeat, my intense walk heartbeat, a few things like that. Last week, holiday time, I noticed, while syncing, that my resting heartbeat had crept up from 63, 64, to 66, and my intense walks were less than intense, about 110 bpm. I’d gotten lazy. Human failing. The dreaded humanness had set in. Plus those days from Christmas to the New Year were deadly full of crap ingestion—donuts, cookies (Christmas cookies don’t even taste good, they are made for looks, but I went after them like a Shark vacuum, shortbread covered with sugar icing and little sprinkles. Gag me with a creme brulee)

Chocolate covered coffee beans. Pound cake. Cinnamon rolls. Brownies. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. Hey it’s only once a year, you know the refrain.

If it wasn’t for the daily walking I’d be a little round guy. And after I noticed my resting heart beat creeping up, I put the brakes on most of the between meal junk. Tossed a bunch. Kept a few treats for good boy status. “Who’s the good boy?” Pop in a chocolate chunk cookie. Walk faster. Jog some. Heart rate up.

Do I recommend Fitbit? Hell yeah. You feel that ten grand moment on your wrist (it buzzes and fireworks go off on the screen) and you feel like you’ve done something. Every week or so, a bag of Fritos (“Who’s the good boy?”).

I should mention diet here after all that other good boy stuff: speaking for me only, I eat a lot of broccoli (stalks and all) and carrots every night with some protein, chicken usually, maybe some pesto. Morning: just cheerios, banana, blueberries. Lunch: apple, orange slice, maybe a sausage link. A handful of vitamin supplements which may do nothing, or may help. The wellness industry is largely bullshit.

Hydration: Coffee (I know, I know, screw that—it’s wet), RC, Powerade in the summer, some water, but not the water torture recommended by Men’s Health and those rags. Thirsty? Drink something. My advice, free and probably worth what you pay for it.

So, there you have it. The Guinotte Wise Institute report on Fitbit Charge 2. Five stars. I understand the Apple iwatch has a lot of the same bells, but Fitbit costs mucho menos. And mine is black all over, so I wear a watch with it sometimes. The Fitbit tells time but you have to rotate your wrist sharply to activate the white on black screen. And in the sun, the screen is all but useless.

Oh, and this: rain, snow, blizzard, July heat, I walk. If I’m alive, I walk. And every week or so I look at the metrics on my macbook. My dogs love it, the walks. I switch it up to include some wooded areas, a pasture or two, the hard surface road around the square, through brush and tangle. mud and marsh. Sometimes I wear boots, most times Timberlands with special insoles. Sloggin’ up and down again, thank you Rudyard Kipling. Thank you Fitbit. Thank you Freddie.