Hear nah allyuh, I’ve been involved in a health and wellness challenge my employer launched this month and I’m convinced this is some POW torture technique used by the Vietcong back in the days of great patriots like John J Rambo (all the man wanted to do was pass through the town and get something to eat inno). The whole concept is that people can form teams and compete to see which team ends up with the most steps. Yes, steps as in walking left foot, right foot. Not steps as in being in a relationship with someone whose child wants to kill you in your sleep.
The whole thing is quite tech savvy as there is an app on your phone that syncs with most exercise apps to track your steps. Here’s the catch and the source of all the pain and suffering of this 15 day challenge. The app allows you to get credit for up to 30,000 steps per day. Yes, you read that correctly. There is no exchange rate between these steps and regular steps. It’s 30,000 regular human being steps.
Every fitness nut and gym psycho in the company decided to form a team with one goal, to win, and that requires each team member to hit as close to 30,000 steps each day to have the best chance. Now to put that into context, 30,000 steps works out to be between 23 – 24km. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. These people mad! When I was invited to join I was not fully apprised of the severity of this commitment but the person who invited me knew I’m very competitive. I am the same man almost trip Granny Luces (RIP) in a 5k because she looked like she was trying to pass me. I’m pleased to report I was able to finish before her and avoid a nasty incident of me getting beat down from a senior citizen.
Anyway, right now I can’t even write posts about the war or the unfortunate situation with the divers because my whole life has become “steps” like if my name is Wayne Rodriguez and I looking to ‘stamp it harder’ and make the ‘dancehall shake’. Although that would not be good for me because right now all of my joints and sockets from my waist down are inflamed. My right knee and I are not on speaking terms and my left hip has started divorce proceedings.
I’ve spent so much time on my treadmill that I’ve had to actually do laundry to remove the clothes that usually lives on it. On the plus side I’ve been losing weight and I’m no longer considered obese by that farce of a measure called BMI. Body Mass Index. Rubbish! According to the BMI calculator, which does not factor in muscle mass or whether you’re big boned or a natural ‘thick sauce’, according to that nonsense I’m supposed to weigh the equivalent of a primary school child. Poppycock!
All this to say, doh feel I forget allyuh. I have a write-up to do on the economic fall out of the war, namely Stagflation. I may also comment on the outcome of the Commission of Enquiry into the diving incident once the results are available in 2035. Yeah those may sound like snoozers but too bad, my ankles feel like I get beat on them for running away like Kunta Kinte so I’m going to share the pain.