My boyfriend's Whoop, aka his wristband fitness tracker, is telling him to go to bed. It is 7.30pm. Yes 7.30pm! What kind of insanity is this?
I tell him only five-year-olds hit the sack at that time and I just can't do it. Then I point out that going to bed at different times will impact our er, intimacy opportunities. He nods in recognition, but I can tell he is still tempted to do as instructed by his digital dictator because he wants a good 'sleep score.'
He's not alone in his love of his 'wearable.' In my dating era, I met a guy at a ritzy restaurant for a meal. After being pleasantly surprised by a waiting glass of champagne (nice) I clocked his two watches. When I enquired as to why anyone would need multiple timepieces, he explained one was to record his 'data', and the other was to show off his good taste. I wasn't sure how I felt about this.
I can see these devices are good for relationships in lots of ways. They keep you healthy which in turn makes you a better partner. For instance, my boyfriend is put off excessive boozing because, after a very large night, the Whoop will flash up a skull and cross bones sign. This means his 'recovery' is less than 1%. AKA in the death zone.
But there are some negatives (beyond the infant bedtime) too. The Whoop tells my boyfriend that nights when I stay over are less than satisfactory due to his raised heart rate and disturbed sleep. (I tell him Whoop cannot factor in the mental health benefits of oxytocin produced by cuddles).
Then there is the fact my boyfriend likes to check his stats regularly and likes to discuss them with me (no comment). Or if I'm not there send me screenshots (again...).
We talk about so many stress points in a midlife relationship - differing love languages, attitudes to parenting, housework division - but what about fitness?
What about the partner that takes up a very time-consuming sport like marathon running, triathlons or cycling? I've observed that this is quite often a man thing and coincides with them having young children.
I sometimes wonder if signing up to scaling a mountain/swimming the channel is a very elaborate ruse to escape bath time with toddlers. But because it's about health it is somehow above questioning. Throw in a charity element and it's practically sacrosanct.
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Now, if you'll please excuse me, it's 8.32pm and I’ve got 9,900 steps to make by bedtime.