Fitbit Sex

A couple months back I got a free Fitbit from work for filling out some health survey. All I had to do was log in 30 consecutive days and lie about how healthy I am and — voila — a Fitbit shows up at my door.

When it arrived my wife — as many wives d0 — immediately asked if she could have it. It took me all of half a second to reply: “I just lied about how healthy I am to get free shit. Do you think I’m actually going to use something that encourages exercise? No thank you.”

Little did I know that silly little wrist band was going to turn my wife into an insane person.

For starters, she’s always in these challenges with her friend to see who can get the most steps in during the day. As a result, it’s not uncommon for me to go upstairs and find my wife standing next to our bed in her underwear marching in place. Foreplay, you ask? No, she’s just trying to pound out 500 more steps before she hits the hay.

Ah yes, “steps,” a currency in my household which is now more valuable than money. I’ll come home from work and ask her how her day was and she’ll just convert her answer into steps.

“I had 8,000 steps in before lunch!”

I of course have no idea what this means.

If it was a particularly easy day for her I’ll have to go into the backyard to talk to her because she’ll just be walking circles around the fence like an overanxious dog.

Eventually her Fitbit addiction grew so much that she upgraded to a model that also records her heart rate and monitors her sleep. Now each morning I’m greeted with a synopsis of her previous night’s slumber.

“I slept six hours and 42 minutes and was restless 14 times for 22 minutes. How did you sleep?”

“I slept like a fucking bear.”

Unexpectedly, though, I started to get an urge to try out a Fitbit for myself. I started to wonder how many steps certain activities would be like playing basketball in the morning or going to the fridge every commercial break while watching football. Well, for that one I wouldn’t need a Fitbit. I’d need a Fatbit.

So last Friday I broke down and went out and bought one, completely disregarding the original free one I earned in favor of the same model my wife has. And like any guy, I didn’t immediately want to go for a jog or hike up a mountain to get my steps in. No, I had a much more entertaining physical activity in mind:

“I want to see how many steps I take having sex!”

At that point, my wife got 25 extra steps just walking away from me.

But like a true workout partner, she eventually let me satisfy my curiosity in what can only be described as the greatest Kinesiology experiment man has ever undertaken. And when it was over, I quickly pulled out my phone to check my stats.

“What the hell?!? It says I only took 33 steps!”

“That’s actually pretty good,” my wife replied, “Most guys can’t walk that far in eight seconds.”

I shot her an angry glance. “What about you? How many steps did it say you took?”

“Well, it doesn’t look like I took any steps,” she said, “But it did say that I slept for two minutes and was restless seven times.”

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