Work B*tch.

Well... This is a story all about how, the Fitbit changed my life forever, and how.

 (Read that like the start of the Fresh Prince theme song)

I know, I know, I just wrote about the Fitbit Flex, what more could there possibly me to say??

This is just a story about my day, specifically for you Fitbit "Non-Believers". I am not naming names, but I know people who only like to walk when they have a set destination, and I used to be one of those people. Not anymore. 

Usually during my day I reach my 10,000 steps without issue. I do some walking with work, and also to get to and from work, as many Torontonians do. I often take the kids to the park, or the long way home, and find it easy to each my goals. However, today was a different kind of day. Old me would say today was awesome. I didn't have to do the school runs, or even walk to and from the streetcar at the end of the day. My work day was super easy, and barely even work if you can even call going to the beach with the cutest almost 3 yr old in town, and watching TLC with your boss, actual work.  Ol' lazy me would have been in her glory to come home, still energetic, and pop-a-squat on the couch to do absolutely nothing. 

Here comes the fit part. 

My friendly little Flex was only sporting two out of five dots when I got home. This means I was somewhere over 4000 steps, but not yet at 6000. This was depressing. So far away from my goal. So, I ate a tiny, child sized dinner, strapped on my runners and went for a walk. I walked a large city block, and a bit, until 4/5 dots were lit up and the last dot was blinking. I was over 8k steps, but still under 10k. So close, but still, so far.

Yum.

Happy with where I was, considering the day, I headed back home where there is a gigantic chocolate bar waiting for me right here on the coffee table. I am on day two of severe chocolate cravings and I told myself I could NOT have this this bar until I reached my goal...But it looks soooo tasty.

Why not cheat? Mike isn't here to catch me. Old me would have mowed that sucker. But I looked at that last blinking dot, synced my Flex to my computer and found out I still needed 1300 steps. My heart sank. The guilt would eat me alive if I ate that chocolate. So I ran on the spot.

I ran, and ran and ran. I ran up and down the stairs a few times. Then it started getting tough, and I found myself chanting in a whisper. This is embarrassing. My chant was "You want that treat?? You better work B*tch!" I guess I call my inner Britney when I need a push because I conquered every last step with perseverance. When I felt the gentle buzz of the Flex celebrating 10,000 earned steps, I did a happy dance and stared at that chocolate bar. "I am going to eat you." I whispered before peeling it open and enjoying every last bite.

Not only did I earn this chocolate bar, but I made myself really proud. I would have never done the extra work if it weren't for my new fitness partner, and I am so thankful for that. (Even if I am a tad obsessed). 

Bahaha.

I don't believe in never having treats, or wine, and when a girl has her lady-times real bad. She can have one, or both, without any judgement. (Its a true fact)

xo

Me

<3

Write about your neighbour, they said.

Developing and refining my writing tools will be a life long journey, and a process I am thrilled to be living out. Many days, I practice writing by using a random subject prompter found here: 

Random Subject Prompts 

Today is one of those beautiful writing energy days, but while clicking the big green “Generate a Subject” button, I found myself getting annoyed. I even began hitting the touch pad on my laptop with force, angry that my precious energy was being wasted.

No, I don’t want to write about "the last thing that made me angry", or I would be writing about this damn generator!

I don't want to write about the very first memory I have. I don't even know what that would be. UGH. “Calm down Lauren” my inner voice spoke slowly.

Then, like magic, I came across one that sparked a true story hiding within me, a story many of you know, but some of you do not. It is hilarious, awkward, disturbing, and is part of one of my longest running friendships. A story we will have for the rest of our days until we are little old ladies giggling like we’re ten. The subject generator told me to “write about a neighbour”. 

Okay, Mr. Prompter, I will write about a neighbour. 

The most memorable neighbour of all time, and I don’t even know his name.  

Take that, for trying to steal my writing mojo.

Let us go back in time a little…

Jenna (the other little old lady), her then boyfriend, now fiancé, Brad, and I, had just moved into a basement, two bedroom, apartment in Kingston that was part of a six unit building. They were both really amazing at remembering important things like when garbage day was, and to lock the door before bed. I was not. I don’t think I was a bad roommate, but there was definite room for improvements, and Mike would agree that there still is. Ha!

After getting settled in for a few weeks, we were all up late watching TV and generally hanging out. Roughly at the same time, we decided it was time for bed and went our separate ways. I can actually remember thinking about the door and assuming that Jenna, or Brad, locked it up behind them. Obviously, because they always did. Silly me.

Sometime in the early morning, I awoke to a strange noise. Running water?... No.

Someone peeing in the toilet?... Not quite. 

Liquid splashing on the floor?... Yes.

That was it and my thought process was along the lines of “Oh My God, one of my roommates are sleepwalking and peeing on the floor. I can’t wake them up, it will scare them and you’re not supposed to do that.”

So I picked up my cat and held her close and listened. Like she would protect me, cats are experts at the flight part of “fight or flight”. 

As I listened intently, the noise seized. Walking sounds followed and then the thump and squeak noise you hear when someone falls on a bed happened. Now, I think that whoever peed on the floor has indeed gone back to bed. Holding onto my poor Parker, I opened my bedroom door and walked into the hallway. Turning my body so I am facing our front door, I noticed that it was wide open. Along the same thought train I am now petrified that one of my roommates is now sleep walking down the street!

Panicked now, I walk to the door with Parker held tight in my arms and happened to look towards our living room to the right of my body. That’s when I see him. At this time, I have never seen this man. This man that is in his boxers and currently asleep on our futon couch. My insides tighten up, and so do my arms as I squeeze Parker even harder. Slowly, and without a noise, I backed up into our hallway and knocked softly on Jenna and Brad’s bedroom door. A sleepy Jenna said something like “What?!”

To which I replied in a frightened whisper, “Jenna.. Jenna, there is a stranger on our couch!”.

“WHAT?” Jenna said still groggy, but alert now.

“There is a strange man on our couch” I whisper louder into the crack of her door.

WHACK. Jenna hits Brad awake “BRAD. There is a stranger on the couch.”

I wait while they both come out. Jenna has her cat, Rox in her arms too. Her and I are standing in the hallway as Brad (poor Brad) walks up to the stranger, wakes him up and avoids getting punched in the face. Narrowly. He tells the obviously intoxicated man where he is and offers to get him a cab home. The man looks around confused, and then tells Brad that he lives across the hall. 

Nice to meet you, neighbour. He stumbled home, maybe a 10ft walk, total.

Now I know you’re wondering about the noise that originally woke me up and don’t worry, I had not forgotten.

“Ummm guys, I am pretty sure he peed somewhere.”

“What do you mean?” Jenna questioned, ready to head back to bed.

“I heard the noise of liquid hitting the floor. The splashing noise.”

Someone turned on the light, and sure enough our lovely neighbour relieved himself in our remote basket, and all over our living room floor. F&^%.  We just looked at each other, and then went to the kitchen and grabbed paper town, rubber gloves, and disinfectant. We were up for what seemed like ever cleaning our neighbours pee off our floor. Despite being frightened, disturbed, and severely grossed out, I can remember Jenna and I cracking up into full laughter at the situation. Either we are able to see the humour in any situation, or we were delirious from the fumes. Ew.

People usually ask me two things after hearing this story:

     1.  Lauren, why didn’t you confront him and make him clean it?   

At the time, I didn’t want to further aggravate a drunk, disoriented person. After the fact, it was just as embarrassing of a situation for us as it was for him, so we let it be.

     2.  Lauren, do you lock your door now?

 Most of the time, yes. Yes I do. I have forgotten here and there. The second most scary door issue happened a few weeks ago when I must have gotten side tracked with my new clothes, or something, and forget to lock it. Where I live now, the wind blows our front door open when it’s not locked, so poor Mike came home at 3am to a wide open door. Thank goodness no one saw and decided to help themselves to our belongings. So, now I double, and sometimes triple check. Lock your door peeps. Lock. Your. Door.

Brad, Jenna, myself, and our remote controls, have not been the same since.

Jeremy

Dear Jeremy

I don’t know you, well, not all that well anyways. We met one extremely early morning on the streetcar. I was the, not-yet-caffeinated, zombie on her way to work and you were the wasted bartender on your way home. Although you were clearly more than intoxicated (as if the half empty wine bottle in your hand didn’t prove it), you were also kind, intelligent, and most of all, truly honest (as most of us are with a little help from alcohol).

You told me a lot about yourself, things that I bet you only really share with complete strangers. Things I will not share here. The purpose of this open letter to you, stranger, is to give you my honest opinion of you (a first impression, if you will). At the time, my brain wasn’t functioning even at half speed to tell you what I thought about you. Not that I would have told you fully awake and caffeinated either. You see, I needed time to process you, and all that I feel you should hear, especially from a complete stranger. Right here, and right now, I am making myself (and you) a promise. If this letter doesn’t somehow magically reach you via the internet, I promise that if I ever see you on the streetcar again, I will say these words to you. I will reach deep within my semi-shy self and tell you this:

Jeremy, you are charismatic. Your smile is both endearing, and inviting. You are polite, and considerate, (even in your drunken state). You have a ton to offer the world both in personality, and social skills. Unlike the many, and I do mean many, creepy transit dwellers, you are friendly and definitely approachable. 

Yes, you work at a bar, but your life does not have to start and end with that, and you certainly do not need the help of alcohol to be your amazing self, I can tell. I can see that underneath your goofy, easy going exterior, and through our conversation, that you care. You care about what others think of you, and you care about what they mean to you.

I am saying these things, Jeremy, because years from now (and not many years), you will still have the booze, if you want it, but the rest… The looks, the charm, and the lead in life will disappear the closer your relationship with that booze becomes. You are a good person, no, a great person and all I can do is tell you this, and hope that one day, before it’s too late, that you see it too.

I see many people in my day-to-day streetcar travels, and no one has left such a lasting impression on me. You have a similar, outgoing, humorous personality that many of my most-cherished friends sport, and if they shared with me the candid things you have shared, I would say all these words and more. 

You are awesome, Jeremy. Don’t ever forget it, and please… Don’t give it away.

Sincerely, 

The (almost) stranger on the streetcar.

Love Letter to Fitness

Dear Flex,

Nearly two weeks ago, you were given to me as a wonderful early birthday gift from the world's best boss and I have to say, although I knew I would definitely like you, I did not expect to fall in love... and so soon. 

For a few years now I have been focusing on, and off (Yikes!) of my overall fitness by trying different work out strategies, eating suggestions, and countless other "techniques", if you will. There was a phase where I abided by the not-so-loving guidance of Jillian Michaels, as well as times were I fasted once a week (that did not last long). Although I have slimmed down a touch here and there, I have never come close to my goals (No, I do not want a perfect body, I just want to be healthy for me). Within my heart of hearts, I know that this is changing. Now.

Unlike Jillian, you, my lovely Fitbit Flex are a gentle reminder to walk, walk, walk without making me feel like a useless sack of potatoes (Thanks, Jill). The ability to track my distance, calorie burn, steps, food intake, sleep patterns and more, through your clever dashboard, has me smitten. I can watch the dials daily and know I am making progress to my goal. I feel better, healthier, and most importantly, willing to do the work. Just yesterday, I would have liked to stay in and catch up on shows, but I chose to get out and walk. Completing my ten thousand step goal on a day when I would normally only finish five.

Perhaps it is the way you smile and call me "Champ" when I have reached a daily goal, or the way you gently vibrate on my wrist when I have hit 10,000 steps (total happy dance...every time), or maybe, just maybe, its because you make me believe in myself and my ability to take strides towards an even happier (hard to imagine), healthier, me. Thanks to you, I no longer feel useless, I feel captivated, motivated and empowered.

Needless to say, there are so many reasons I fell in love with you, and this love (or possible addiction?) will only grow the closer I get to being my ideal level of fit. 

With love and countless steps,

Lauren

P.S. I am only at 6,000 steps so far today—lets get to work.


For information on the Fitbit Flex, and other awesome Fitbit products, please visit Fitbit.com