Kvetching, PSAs

My Bra Is Stuffed (But I’m Still Hungry)

***DISCLAIMER: This post was not sponsored (except by my growing bum). All opinions expressed are my own.***

I’ve got something special in my bra, Chipmunks.

Also a Fitbit.

What the sugar-free fudge is a Fitbit? Thanks for asking. It’s basically a pedometer on crack.

The only thing I HAVEN'T tried to lose weight.
The only thing I HAVEN’T tried to lose weight.

Two weeks ago, a colleague showed me a nifty little device, about the size of a money clip, attached to her belt. “It tells you how many calories you can still eat for the day! It even monitors your sleep!” she said. Much like how Anna made pickle juice sound delicious in my last blog contest, the seed was planted. I wanted one. Bad.

fitbit

“It costs about 100 bucks,” she continued.

Yeesh, never mind, I thought. Surely with my 40 mile/week fitness regimen, I can lose weight for free.

Except I couldn’t. I’d been stuck in a plateau, halfway to my weight loss goal, for almost two years.

I was sick and tired of taking blog photos from only certain angles.

Do you think Adam finds this acceptable?
Do you think Adam finds this acceptable?

Of not wanting my profile captured.

Ah, those carefree, go-ahead-take-a-picture-from-any-angle days!
Ah, those carefree, single-chinned days!

Don’t even get me started on full body shots and bathing suits!

Back in 2005, I thought I could even get away with a fanny back.
Back in 2005, I thought I could even get away with a fanny back.

To make matters worse, I couldn’t throw a Twinkie without hitting someone ridiculously fit. My sister just finished her ten thousandth triathlon in first place, my oldest friend voluntarily ran up a mountain in Colorado, Rachel’s Table did Insanity, Girl on the Contrary signed up for The Betty Rocker Challenge, The Byronic Man ran two half marathons, and Truth and Cake completed Tough Mudder. Just to name a few.

Just... just try it again. It'll go through.
Just… just try it again. It’ll go through.

On Thursday morning, I hopped on my whore of a scale and the writing was on the wall. An hour later, one thing was already lighter. My wallet.

And now this little piece of black plastic between my breasts tracks my every move, dictating my remaining caloric allowance based on activity, height, weight, age and gender. (Provided I honestly report my food intake using my Fitbit online account.)

Thankfully, for the project manager in me, it displays all of these goodies in some pretty neat dashboards and charts, which I can view on my computer or smart phone.

Fitbit-dashboard

It wasn’t long before I realized I was a walking stereotype (pun intended). Despite my self-proclaimed diet savvy, I was severely underestimating my calorie consumption.

Yikes. Guess I should cut back on the zucchini.
Yikes. Guess I should cut back on the zucchini.

I even signed up for a trial premium subscription to check out how I compared to other Fitbit users in my country.

Competitive? Moi?

So now that I know every calorie going in and out, how am I doing?

Super!

I'm not even sober, hungry and cranky!
I’m not even sober, hungry and cranky!

Have you ever used any fitness gadgets? What are your dieting pitfalls and how do you cope?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~