I recently decided for the millionth time that I’m going to exercise habitually. I’m off to a good start, too. In the past five days I’ve met my 30-minute daily activity goal. On Monday, I even woke up early to get a yoga session in before work.
Those of you who don’t know me personally probably don’t know what a huge deal it is for me to get up before 07:00:37—the last possible second I can get out of bed and still not be late for work—so I’ll wait a moment for you to send me an e-card or something.
Saturday, I asked Dan if the Wii was hooked up. He assured me it was, so I pulled the balance board out of the closet and climbed on. It made a few harassing comments about how long it’d been since I’d done the Wii Fit thing, and then it jokingly called me Dan like it forgot who I was.
Borrowing one of Dan’s best lines, I put one hand on my hip and shook my opposite index finger at the screen while saying, “Oh, you!”
The Wii beeped and booped until it had determined my weight. I’m not going to disclose my actual weight, but I will say that I was up four pounds and the new number ended with a nine. Also, had I been just one pound heavier, forcing that number in the tens place to go up, I might’ve had one of my episodes.
Soon the Wii was cajoling me into setting a new weight loss goal. Perhaps, it suggested, one that was more achievable.
Dan saw the whole thing, because he was standing beside me. He also heard me swear at it, and we snickered together at my misfortune. “Oh, you’re doing this too,” I said. It had been just as long since he’d stepped on the balance board, and I was feeling petty. Laughing at his extra five pounds might be the pick-me-up I needed.
He stepped on the contraption. Of course, it remembered his name. It told him he lost 7 pounds, and then it cheered him on for having reached his weight loss goal. He did a little dance on the balance board.
“I hate that thing,” I said. “Seven pounds? How could you have lost 7 pounds?!”
“I call muscle atrophy!”