In which Beeso and the Doc get busy with summer ales, backlash clickbait and "who is the Star Wars of football sides".
How totes ironical that after linking to the Power Paunch story, I get a nudge from Attendly that a long piece I wrote for them about the Fitbit has just gone live. Here's the opener:
I used to be a fat man. Not Biggest Loser fat, but fond enough of my bakery treats to have spent more than a decade on the wrong side of morbid obesity. It would have killed me eventually.
But about four or five years ago I got rid of most of the weight through a combination of brutal exercise and calorie control. (I know, who’da thunk it?) And since then I’ve (mostly) kept it off.
But it’s a struggle. It’s a hell of a struggle to change the habits of a lifetime in the first place, and even more so not to relapse. So anything which helps keep me out of the bakery and going to the gym, or the dojo, or just walking the damn dog a couple of times a week, is welcome.
That’s why I rushed to embrace the Fitbit earlier this year. It’s why I’m still wearing it right now, even though it’s not a magic device that melts fat and builds muscle like an action movie montage.
So, for those of you unfamiliar with the technology, what the hell am I talking about?
The Fitbit is just one of a whole bunch of wearable gizmos — digital pedometers really — which have been selling like the hotcakes I shouldn’t be eating anymore. I can’t speak to the usefulness of competitors like Nike’s FuelBand because I’ve never used them, but I’ve been wearing my Fitbit since getting it last Christmas. It’s basically a small black lozenge-shaped device, a little smaller than your little finger. You can slip it into your pocket, or put it in a clip-on holder and attach it to a piece of clothing. Your jeans pocket, a bra strap, whatever. It measures not just the number of steps you take, but the intensity of your movement. There’s also a quite sophisticated altimeter to keep track of the number of floors you have climbed—(although ‘floor’ is really just an estimate).
As somebody who works in front of a screen all day I can attest to the accuracy of the Fitbit in tracking how much energy I burn—or don’t. On days when deadlines see me slumped in front of my keyboard, it lets me know all about my complete lack of mobility.
6 Responses to ‘Fitbit review, sort of’
Woke up at five this morning with a migraine closing in on me. So I'm disinclined to spend much time in front of the screen for the next few hours.
Never mind. Mr Flinthart has all your Monday morning reading needs covered with this excellent post about taking three of his littl'uns to a tae kwon do tournament.
It was a well timed post for me, having spent an hour with Anna on the weekend laying down the basics of kumite. Not satisfied with the gnarlier street defence aspect of jujitsu she'd asked if we could do some 'regular fight' training, where the fighting is bound by rules and obigations of honor, unlke those methods in which she's being trained for self defence.
Flinthart explains how they do things in his dojo, which is pretty much how they do them everywhere children are taught in the Tokhon Ryu.
I expected my three players to get tagged out on points fairly early. After all, the ruleset actually precluded about eighty percent of what they know how to do: no grappling, no locks, no throws, no ground-fighting, no strangling, no knees, no elbows, etc. In the Scottsdale dojo, I break it up for them, of course. Sometimes they practice judo-style, trying to throw. Other times they wrestle on the ground. Sometimes they practice the standing/striking stuff. And there are games: with padded foam "swords"; games where they try to push one another out of a designated square. Learning games. And sometimes, for the fun of it, I ask them to put it all together: stand and strike until someone grapples. Then struggle for the throw. Then keep going on the ground for a submission of some sort.
That's what they think of when someone talks about "fighting" on the mat.
In other words, they went into this competition at something of a disadvantage. Not only were they barred from most of what they know, but they were competing with kids for whom the standing/striking stuff was all they did.
What happened next is well worth a read. Especially if you have your own littl'un and you're considering enrolling them in a martial art. (With one caveat. Flinthart's kids live at home with him. They live at the dojo, in other words. They live the art every day, whether they know it or not, whether they are on the mat or not. It's not the same as turning up once a week for an hour's practice).