Back in The Good Olde Covid days of yore I started to run because it was one of the few acceptable ways of getting out of the house.  Soon after that – Amazon being one of the few ‘essential service’ suppliers permitted to operate in such benighted times – I bought a Fitbit as a running helpmate.  These days we are seldom parted.  I was told that I needed to monitor my heart rate immediately after a run, to ensure that it returned to normal in a reasonable period of time – for a man of my age, about three weeks – so I bought a little wrist-borne companion that would give me that information, and all was well, despite how it felt, I was not killing myself.

Now, the fascination with heart rate soon dims.  It goes up when you’re busy, exercising or stressed; it comes down when you are not.  There are (thankfully) no great dramas.  I have learned that my heart rate goes up when the weather is hot – apparently the heart pumps up to four times as much blood around the body when the temperature goes up, although I’m not sure where it gets it from – when I catch a glimpse of Piers Morgan’s smug face and every time somebody insists that it is everybody else’s fault apart from their own.  It goes down when I sit on my big, fat arse with a book, some music and a drink – although I have yet to persuade my wife of the health benefits.  Otherwise it has little to tell me.

My steps, however, have become an obsession.  How many steps have I taken today?  I average somewhere around 75,000 to 80,000 per week, but within that I have days where I barely move, which are usually associated with inclement weather or mood.  There are ‘good’ sides to this – I seldom drive when I can as easily walk – but also ‘bad’ sides – when my wife asks me to ‘pop around to the shops’ for something, it takes an hour and by the time I get back the dinner has burned.  It might not be quite enough to save the planet, but at least it feels as though I am making an effort.

I am intrigued by the steps feature because I don’t have to do anything in order to make it work.  If I want the watch to monitor my diet, my water intake or my weight, I have to input information which is just far too much effort – and would, incidentally, almost certainly put my heart rate up.  I thought these things were meant to be intelligent, can’t they see for themselves?  I don’t wear it when I sleep because, although I do like to know how much I have slept, I know that wearing the Fitbit will keep me awake worrying about how much sleep I am getting – not to mention waking up with a watch-head embossed onto my cheek.  I know that it is waterproof, but where does it stand on dribble?

I realise that it – or one of its future heirs – will one day record that it has ceased to receive input of any kind: I will be dead or Britain’s Got Talent will have just come on the TV.  I hope it can tell the difference…