Girlfriend Garmin

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

“Are you EVEN kidding me?!,” I annoyingly ask out loud to the flat round screen on my wrist. Having just completed a two-hour sweat fest, I feel as though my efforts have gone somewhat unnoticed by this feisty fitness “friend.” Based on the data she has collected, her smug determination that I have merely maintained my fitness, and not improved it, tweaks my ire. Rolling my eyes, I cave to her assessment, vowing to train a tad smarter with the next workout.

Girlfriend Garmin came into my life sweetly enough as a Christmas gift from my husband. I had requested such a device, having researched several options for a wearable exercise tracker. Our relationship started out swimmingly as this little cheerleader applauded my daily steps, counted ascended stairs, and high-fived my hydration goals. When I got frustrated, she tossed out an occasional first place medal emoji to keep my spirits up. But after this brief honeymoon, she started showing her sergeant stripes.

As I increased my training, the little forearm commander began ratting me out to my triathlon coach and internist, tracking, and then showing (in her glaring little metrics) just how high my heart rate climbed. Fudging numbers was clearly not part of her programming, and with complete disregard for my delusions of grandeur, she repeatedly pointed out that I had more work to do.

One triathlon stood out, as Girlfriend Garmin casually displayed what I feared seeing. Waiting for me to step into my self-inflicted data debacle, she had recorded every shred of evidence from my dangerous and all-too-frequent overachievement. Staring at the information, along with her mandate to rest for 64 hours (nearly three days) before resuming further training, I finally decided that maybe I should take her sass more seriously.

After a good tongue-lashing from both my coach and doctor, I made peace with this ballsy wrist warrior, and pledged my faith in her ability to keep me from killing myself out of stupidity. She returned my repentant gaze with her unemotional clock face, and, together, we set off in a new direction. A recovering bootstrapper, I am now in hot pursuit of a new athletic reality – one that includes SLOW. Garmin, it seems, is in vehement agreement. Go figure.

Once I realized this plucky pal was more than just another sporty screen, I began to deliberately seek her advice – delivered with her unfailing attention to detail –  on a variety of my forays. After registering for a half marathon this July (when it is too hot), I consulted my human coach for a reasonable training plan that embraced gradual progress. 

I now cultivate patience as well as acceptance of my abilities in this moment, both still difficult concepts for a recovering perfectionist. One successful run does not necessarily guarantee another. Ever the straight shooter, Girlfriend Garmin keeps me in check and now offers a few accolades when I toe the line, sometimes even telling me I am improving. My portable cheerleader, despite her military predilection to abruptly and unapologetically point out when I have fallen short, has also, graciously obliged my need for some positive reinforcement by showing me that each session brings something positive, albeit tiny. It’s a gradual rebuilding process, much like how boot camp strengthens its recruits.  

Girlfriend Garmin is the best kind of friend. She helps keep me safe, hold me accountable, and call “BS” when my ego gets in the way. And though we still have occasional spats, usually due to my impertinence, her GPS faithfully continues to track my trajectory and progress. It’s a blessing and a curse, really. On one hand, I am grateful and willing to receive and digest her data-driven wisdom and guidance. On the other hand, once riled, Girlfriend Garmin, like it or not, has no trouble highlighting all of my human malfunctions. 

Consider yourself warned.