I threw caution to the wind recently and purchased a Fitbit, partly at the urging of a gorgeous friend, and partly because after gaining 7kg since my heartattack almost 6 months ago I needed something to help stem, or rather turn, the tide. I was a little hesitant, because hey , it’s sort of pricey, and secondly, I’m about as far from a technonerd as you can get. I love it. I absofuckinglutely love it. It’s not so much that it’s technologically superb, measuring steps, pulse, and a multitude of other things, as well as linking to an app that provides personal stats that make me feel like I’m a world class athlete. (who hasn’t wanted THAT kind of pampering!) It lets me compete against friends! What better motivation is there then competing against friends? Okay that may make me sound horrible, but if it gets me off my fat ass (fat stomach more correctly, my ass remains pretty damned fine), it’s all good. I have turned into a walking madman! Today, while surging through the crowds in downtown Stockholm, walking to a friends for dinner after work, I seriously hit the zone. I had already taken a long walk at lunch and hit my 10,000 step daily minimum. So these steps were all gravy. I walked right through the heart of Stockholm, from Globen via Slussen, through Gamla Stan, and up to the top of Drottninggatan, where my friends Steve and Som live. I walked at top speed, weaving in and out of packs of tourists, reading the path ahead of me, slowing as little as possible. Whenever I was forced to slow down by zombies, in my head I became Dustin Hoffman’s character in Midnight Cowboy, “I’m walking here! I’m fucking walking here!” My legs and feet, after first struggling, finally replied “Fuck yeah!” and rose grandly and elegantly to the occasion. This is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, me and my Fitbit, and my ass is going to be seriously in shape. Well, not my ass, as we’ve established it’s primo, but the rest of me is going to catch up!