Confessions of a Startled Woman

When I investigated exercise monitors, idly at first, then with more interest, I found there were quite a lot of them, each stronger in some areas than others. I wanted more than a heart rate monitor, less than something that an Olympian would use. I’d seen the Body Bugg poster in my 24-Hr gym and thought the black armband a bit intimidating. A review mentioned it user interface was a little complicated.  That gave me pause. What did I want an exercise monitor to do for me?

Well, duh. Make me exercise. Make me love it. Make me a smooth, muscled beach number. Deep breath. Okay, since a piece of electronics can’t do that, I had to move on to other wants. Here’s what I came up with:

• Easy to use. No fumbling around with it while I was exercising or living life. Oh. I wanted it to turn my living life activity into something that counted? Hmmm. Okay.
• Not complicated when uploading to the website. Oh, I guess I wanted it to go somewhere so I could make sense of it all. Okay. We’re getting somewhere now.
• Small. I hate to carry a pocketbook. I have a small smart phone. Don’t give me something else to find a pocket for.
• No armband. This narrowed the field considerably. Although I am not opposed to wearing an armband in the gym, I wanted something to assess my functional fitness. You know, moving the molecules in real life, not just when I hit a scheduled (or, speaking theoretically, a potentially scheduled visit to the gym or road (with my bike)). And that did not include a “look at me” black armband in my normal life.

Oh, and a lot less money than a VitaMix. Although I have a 13-year-old VitaMix and esteem it highly, I wasn’t in the market to pay similar bucks for an exercise monitor. I didn’t even know if I’d use the thing. The DL is around a hundred bucks with the four-month subscription with a trainer.

What it is

I wanted small. It's small.

The Philips DirectLife calls itself an “activity monitor” which, as a recovering inertiate, I appreciated. Not just something for a trip to the gym. I’m not yet—nor may never be—the heart rate diva or tattoo  how many reps per set I can do on my upper arm. I am most concerned about getting moving consistently. As my little sister says, “movement.” DirectLife’s philosophy sounded like a connection. Plus—it’s waterproof. As in I can go into a water aerobics class and have it mean something. At least I thought it would mean something. I still wasn’t clear about how it would help me.

The fine print

Philips offered me, as a lifestyle blogger, the DirectLife monitor, to review it here. And here’s my disclosure. I didn’t ask them to give me a complimentary unit with the standard four-month trainer-by-email support. They offered it without any statement on what I was to do with it except use it and get more active. I am reviewing it for my blog and the good, the bad, and the really lame gets the same space as the raves and, if possible (oh, dear God, let it be) shrieks of joy. I have no pressure/hint/a Philips Guido-type relative showing up  to suggest I write a favorable review.

The beginning

To start off, there’s an 8-day assessment time in which I wore the monitor. Several

This is not actually my chest.

places to wear it: as a necklace outside clothing, inside my underpinning, in a pocket. I’ve elected inside and outside as a necklace. I charged it. I started wearing it. That was it. And usually forgot I had it on until I moved quickly and felt the nudge of a foreign object in my upper region. (That was a bit startling the first couple of days.)

My trainer

There’s a real Jen who is a real trainer via email. One of the first questions I asked her, while impatiently waiting for the unit to do its thing on my “normal” activity level for the assessment level, was “are you a real Jen or are there 20 women in a room and you all use the name Jen?”

“Fair question,” she responded promptly. (The speed at which she responded startled me. We’re talking less than a few hours.) “Yes, I am a unique Jen.”

Turns out, @foodiemcbody also has/had her for a coach with her DirectLife. @foodiemcbody says, “She rocks.” Thus far, Jen certainly has put in the time with all my questions and what ifs and what I will do and what I will not do. Yes, I unloaded a few rants about exercise.

It’s show time

At the end of the assessment period, which ended Tuesday, I stuck the unit into an adapter with a USB and plugged it into my laptop. At first, the site didn’t seem to like my Google Chrome browser and wouldn’t let me play, but I got it to work on Explorer and then the next day it very nicely logged me in on Chrome with no attitude. Who knows why.

It began to sync. I began to sweat. How low was I?

And the answer is

I am a level 2 activity on a scale of 6.

Level 1 showed an icon of someone sitting. A bit of the old competitive nature I hadn’t used much, stirred. At least my person was standing. At Level 3, the person is actually walking. I am above average (not much) based on country, gender, and age group, but lower than the World Health Organization (WHO) standard. Since the WHO has seldom (read that: NEVER) figured into my fitness paradigm, I’ll have to check out what they think is fit. I’ll let you know. Promise.

So the DL declared that my first goal was to bump up the 806 calories/day assessment activity level to 1036 per day for the 12-week stint. Okay. And that means…?

What that looks like

“Bump it up, bump it up” was the first thing I thought when I woke up this morning. I WILL INCREASE MY MOVEMENT TODAY. I WILL GET THE GREEN DOTS TO MARCH THROUGH TO 100%. Correction, I thought of the DL right after I wished I had closed the travel trailer blind so the early morning sun would leave me alone.

I put it on. I wore it all day. I made a point to move my molecules more. I was intentional.

I wogged with the dog. A wog is a walk with a spurt of a jog for people like me who can’t/won’t do a full jog/run. A word coined by either Becky Who Does Math, Trula, or Trula’s sister. After checking it out on the internet, you’d best only use it as we do, as a positive action verb and never as a noun. I’m just saying.

Startled

And then, about an hour into the new day, in the middle of a wog, I found out I was a Gimme Girl. Never saw it coming.

So, you ask, scrolling down for more, “Did the thing work? How did you know you did good? What the heck is a Gimme Girl?”

Slow down, turbo. Tomorrow. Let me just say there was a great deal of bickering between Gimme Girl and the Inertiate. Who won? Sigh. Tomorrow.