The Strange Case of the Clicking Pedometer 

 

 

About six months ago, a doctor told me that if I lost ten pounds, I'd decrease my risk of heart disease by 32%.

 

Well, let me tell you, if I could extend my life expectancy from 104 to 127, I'm for it. (Life expectancy is how long you expect to live, isn't it?)

 

Five months later, despite much vigorous fussing with food, I hadn't lost an ounce. Of course, I hadn't gained much, either, and I consider maintenance during the winter Festivus months, a major victory.

 

Doctor number two said, if you can't lose weight by cutting back calories, why don't you exercise it off?

 

This, dear reader, is what led me to pull my dusty gray plastic pedometer from the depths of a bureau drawer and clip it on my waistband.

 

Boy did I feel virtuous. The goal: 10,000 steps a day. I should do that in a (you'll excuse me) heart beat.

 

The pedometer clicked with every step. Click, click, click.

 

The first day I racked up 2,000 steps; the next day, 3,000. Then one incredible day walking with a friend at Lauritzen Gardens I actually racked up 12,000 steps.

But the day after that, only 31. I accidentally hit the reset button as I was getting ready for bed.

 

After I'd walked a week or two with this grey little plastic box clipped to my waist, I noticed that sometimes it clicked and sometimes not. When I chased the cat, for instance, every boom of my shoes produced a click. But when I was dancing to some radio tune, whirl whirl whirl around the living room, the pedometer was quiet. I was picking up my feet and putting them down, but apparently not hard enough to register. Even more upsetting, on days when I expected to see 7,000 or at least 6,000 steps, the pedometer registered only 2,000 or 3,000.

 

So I Googled "pedometer" to see what I'd find.

 

The first thing I learned was that the price for pedometers ranged from under $10 to over $600 (for the really serious walker). Who'd of thought? But then I'm often amazed at the amount of money people are apparently willing to spend for just about anything.

 

The second thing I learned was that pedometers fall in three categories: cheap, moderate and high priced according to how the gizmo is made. Mine, I knew, was cheap, probably a nickel to make and $0.99 to buy. It had a hairspring in it. The next higher category had a coil spring. And they both clicked. But the top category, made by some strange aerodynamic process I couldn't begin to fathom, didn't click. So if I'm clicking my way around Lauritzen Gardens and pass someone wearing a high-end pedometer, he'll know I'm counting steps but I won't know he is.

 

A silent pedometer appealed to the snob in me.

 

The third and most awful thing I learned was this: (oh, I'm almost loathed to mention it. It involves a confession I'd rather not make but must if I'm to explain this to you). The third thing I learned was that cheap clicking pedometers sometimes tilt. They don't tilt for walkers who faithfully do their sit-ups or their sit-backs so their bellies are flat as washboards. They only do it for overweight people like me (only six pounds over, but still....) whose bellies (this is the part I hate to confess) arch over their waistbands and sometimes tilt those little clicking pedometers. And a tilted pedometer fails to click.

 

Oh, my.

 

So that's why my number of steps was so inconsistent. The tummy tilt. Oh dear.

 

So I ordered a new pedometer, folks. Am waiting for it to arrive. It doesn't click, so you'll never know whether or not I'm wearing it. It promises never to tilt. And it even boasts a clam-shell style so I can't hit the reset button accidentally.

 

Oh, and it not only counts my every step, but it remembers the number of my daily steps and even of my weekly. I couldn't find one which did the division necessary to figure out my weekly average, but I guess you can't have everything in $50 range. Maybe the $600 models do that.

 

Oh, and it's cute. Mostly all black, and it had a metal/plastic clip that won't fall off my waistband even when I'm doing jumping jacks or rocking climbing or rolling over and over with someone on the floor.

 

I think I'll name it. I can't name it Clicker, because it doesn't. Maybe I'll check my book of baby names (for naming characters). Or maybe I'll search the comic strips. Or maybe you'll think of a name. If you do, let me know.