On March 1st, I got up, went into the bathroom and happily put my FITBIT back on my wrist.
Much to my surprise, after a month of NOT tracking my steps and leaving my FITBIT in the dark recesses of my bathroom cabinet, I was ready.
I thought letting go of tracking my steps would be liberating or, in the very least, calming. I pictured myself naturally going for walks because I wanted to be outside rather than to log steps. I saw myself enjoying my evenings, worry-free, because I didn't feel I 'needed' to get in another 3k steps before bedtime.
The reality is that I just moved less. I could feel it. I rarely went on walks. I worked out less in general. I didn't hop on my treadmill for little 10-minute bursts.
All of that would be fine, however, if I'd felt any better. In the back of my mind, though, I was more worried. I knew I was sitting a lot. I knew I'd slacked off. And I knew that, for me, it didn't feel good. I feel my best when I'm moving at a slow, steady pace almost all day long. I'm not a sprinter; I'm the marathon runner who barely makes it to the finish line before they wrap things up - but I'm still moving.
I'd like to note here I've never actually run anything more than a 5k, during which I was looped by a woman walking with a baby stroller.
Anyway, my point is, I realized the FITBIT kept me motivated and, perhaps more importantly, gave me little reward feedbacks for adding steps. Adding steps gives me energy and keeps me from flopping for several hours in the afternoon with a book or watching TV.
So, on March 1st, I slapped the green plastic band back onto my wrist and am happy to do it. I haven't taken 10k steps since then, but I'm up and moving. Perhaps it's that 10k number that is anxiety-inducing after all, not the FITBIT itself. So, the 10k steps, I'm letting that one go.
All movement, in my book, is good movement from here on out. But I'm still gonna track it.
For the month of March (FITBIT happily on my person), I'm going to track something that's been on my radar for years but that I didn't quite know what to think or do about.
I'm going to track my decisions.
I have trouble making decisions - a lot of trouble. I once spent over 20 minutes at the grocery store debating which tortilla chips to buy. Should I do organic? If I do buy organic tortilla chips, do I need to buy organic milk? What's the point in buying one organic item and not the other? What are the ingredients in non-organic chips? Are they dodgy? Is organic oil any healthier than non-organic oil? Is there really such thing as organic corn in the US, or do dodgy chemicals simply travel through the air, from non-organic fields to organic ones? Is this corn even grown in the US? How much are the non-organic chips? What is the percentage conversion on that cost?
That's just the tip of the iceberg, readers.
My husband (and the Army) calls it analysis-paralysis, and I'm not the only one with this problem. I see people regularly who can't make decisions and, therefore, don't make progress in their daily lives. I see people who, like me, end up leaving Target without the item them specifically came to buy because they couldn't choose which one to purchase.
This lack of decision making skill means we do not currently have bar stools in our kitchen, rugs throughout our house or plans for the kids' upcoming spring break. I do not have jeans that fit me or a set of three baskets to finish out the organization project in the laundry room. Nor do we have any curtains, at all, throughout our home. I simply can't decide between blinds, shutters or curtains.
Readers: I'm doing it.
The idea is to note consequential decisions, but I'll try to note any decision I seem to hesitate on or struggle with, even if it's tortilla chips.
This should be fun.
I'd like to note that since tracking my time, I've been on-time for appointments regularly, only running late twice that I can recall. I often think, as I'm about to do the dishes before leaving for an appointment: whoa...this is your pattern. Put down the sponge and head out.
It has worked. Awareness is an amazing little thing, no?