LESLEY KEATING: My malfunctioning Fitbit thought I was a mouse!

A Fitbit
A Fitbit

Inspiring Tim shows you can reach for the stars

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In our quest to get fit, we’ve bought Fitbits.

They’re the bracelet type, because they stay on better than the clip-on ones we once had.

Fitbit

Fitbit

I love it. It’s hugely motivating, a bit like having a personal trainer who keeps telling you you’re not moving around enough. It makes you feel guilty if you just sit around.

I’m determined to do a minimum of 10,000 steps a day – not easy when you have a desk job.

But the bemused dog is now getting one extra walk a day and I’ve taken to running down the stairs from my office to the cloakroom at work to try to fit in a few extra steps.

Indeed, I do it so often that my colleagues are taking bets about what medical problem I may have that needs the loo so often.

To try and outwit it, I even do a few laps of the kitchen, or run up and down the stairs, while waiting for the kettle to boil.

And at least this one has been set and programmed properly.

With the last ones we had, their inaugural outing was to Victorious Festival a few years ago.

We walked our legs off – we must have done miles and miles up and down the common and the entire festival site from early morning until nearly midnight.

I was so shocked to see that, at the end of all those efforts, Mike had clocked up miles and miles.

But, despite us being together all that day, I’d apparently only done just a few measly yards.

We couldn’t understand what was wrong.

Everything appeared to be working properly.

I persevered over a few more days, but it was so frustrating when nothing made much impact, despite my best efforts to keep moving.

Days later – when I was on the verge of sending it back with quite a rude email – it dawned on me.

You have to set your stride distance on it and instead of 27 inches I’d put 27 millimetres in error.

Mike said it must have thought I was a mouse!

We still giggle about that today.

IT’S A PITY THAT THERE WERE NO VOLUNTEERS TO PICK UP RUBBISH

I took our dog Milly for a walk in the peaceful grounds of Merchistoun Hall at Horndean.

It was wonderful to see the grass dappled with sunlight and to hear happy kids playing in the adventure playground.

Not so wonderful was what I saw when I walked across the pretty grass enclave near the freestanding wooden monument.

Scattered in front were dozens of drink cans, bottles, wrappers and crisp bags.

Merchistoun Hall is undergoing a £2m facelift, including a lovely new bandstand under construction in the grounds.

It’s being promoted as a hub of the community, a wedding and event venue, and is partly staffed by an enthusiastic team of volunteers.

Pity no-one volunteered to pick up the rubbish…

IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE FUN, NOT EXECUTION BY FIRING SQUAD

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been out for a meal with Mike and we’ve sat near other couples who never interact at all and just stare glumly across the table at each other.

Some spend the whole time on their phones.

Others generally seem to pay far more attention to their food than the person they’re with.

They all look miserable as sin and seem to be oblivious to the fact that they are out for what I assume is supposed to be an enjoyable meal together, not facing execution by firing squad.

Why exactly is it that these people feel it’s okay to sit there completely mute, chewing purposefully like camels and wearing painful expressions, while completely blanking their partners?

It beats me.