Punches and duels

All is fair in love and war, it’s been said, so when B and I now both have Jawbone fitness bracelets I’m pulling no punches. Along with tracking steps, heart rate, calories burned and sleep, the app also comes with ‘duels’ – basically you connect with friends or whoever who also has the Jawbone fitness tracker and challenge each other to beat each others’ step count over a set period of time.

To be fair, I was already at advantage as I walk Monkey to school and then home again via my own route to work, so without trying I already clock up a fair proportion of my daily target of 10,000 steps compared with B who just gets in the car. No wonder B hopped around the bed for a good ten minutes the other night – naked, I might add, which was ever so delicious to watch – to get a few more steps added to his score. But I’ve been an absolute con artist. Due to a hangover on Monday (due to another fun weekend – I mean, when was I last NOT hungover on a Monday?) I didn’t walk (let alone RUN) much beyond from home to Kew Bridge and then the back the same distance at the end of the day, so by Tuesday we were pretty much head to head and I was leading the duel by a fraction.

Not having that!

B got ready to head to the gym last night and I put in an Oscar winning performance intended to make him believe he would surpass me by FAR by pretending I was just going to stay on the couch and watch TV. As he was getting ready to leave, I even walked around with the TV remote in my hand to further cement his misguided belief he might beat me. As soon as he was out the door, I got on the treadmill and I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed his horrified reaction when he smugly went to check the app tracking us both to see how much he’d beaten me by only to discover he was done for.

Yep, I’m an evil genius.

This morning I walked Monkey to school, then despite rain and wind whipping the shit out of me I kept on marching all the way to Richmond (utter waste of make-up, it has to be said) to make sure I kept ahead of him. This afternoon I got on the treadmill as soon as I got in to get another 35 minutes of running on to my step-count and even sent poor B a photo of my sweaty boobs to goad him further. What can I say, I’m a very bad girl. Wore my Hooters top and everything to make it even worse for him.

So now that he’s on his way home, he is 12,000 steps behind (which roughly equates to an hour long run), I’ve poured myself a glass of wine and he has no way of catching my round ASS! Yeah!




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