Disclaimer—This post is tongue-in-cheek. If you are highly sensitive or will take offense and hate me forever, do not read further. Read this post instead! If you continue to read and think this post is about you, then you’re so vain.
Dear Active Human,
Sit down, we need to have a chat. Or on second thought, let’s talk and walk.
I’m not sure you and I are the right fit anymore. I feel off. Wait, I am off. Our issues are definitely about you, not me.
I remember the day you took me home. You were so excited—we were about to embark on a new life together. A healthier one full of adventures and activities and travels. I saw such potential in our relationship. We were going places!
And we were so great at first. A match made in heaven. I was the first thing you thought about in the morning and the last thing you touched at night. We did everything together.
But over time, something changed. We still did things together, but it felt…different. I felt like a burden, an afterthought, a ball-and-chain.
And then eventually, we fizzled out. You stopped telling me all about your day, you didn’t fill me in on what you ate, I was no longer invited to sleep with you.
What gives, Human? I understand I’m clingy. Obsessive. Stalkerish. But you knew what you signed up for. I was always upfront about what I would give to you, and what I would expect in return.
After months of mistreatment, I am fed up. I am done playing nice and lying and telling you what you want to hear. So here it goes.
Stop lying to yourself. You’re not foolin’ anyone, me especially.
I feel you tapping me against your leg, banging me on your desk, bouncing me down the stairs. You do know they call me a “smart watch” for a reason. Those “steps” don’t mean jack shit.
Do you feel healthier? No? Gee, I wonder why. Maybe it’s because you marched up and down the hallway a few times, did a few laps around the store, and called it exercise. No, that’s called doing normal human things. And then you blame me for not working? Please. Check yourself.
I see what I really am to you now. A glorified bracelet. Another useless piece of expensive technology you just had to have. A way to show your friends, “Look at me! I do fitness things!”
I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt—maybe you bit off more than you can chew. Maybe you don’t really want to be more active. Maybe my sexy data crunching doesn’t light a fire in your running tights.
But you and I both know that’s probably not the case. So let’s call a spade a spade. I’m a trendy fashion statement, and you are $100 poorer and not any fitter.
I’m sorry if this has taken you by surprise. But if you take a step back and look at yourself, you’ll see I’m kind of right. And if you’re really mad, get up off that couch and pace the floor until you reach your daily step count. You’re welcome.