An open letter to My Fitness Pal…

Dear My Fitness Pal App,

I downloaded you per a friend’s recommendation when I was looking to lose a few pounds (8 to be exact).

Upon free download, I was impressed. You were organized, with cool colors, and you were easy to use. Having said that, it’s time I tell you the truth. You’re not a genius.

For starters, when I type in a food I want to log, you don’t always have it. And in those cases, my only option is to create the food entry myself, typing in all of the calories, fats, sugars, nutrients, etc. That’s too much work. How am I supposed to know the calories in a raw peach?? An ice cube or two?

Frankly, you only gave me an allotted 1200 calories per day to work with, so after I eat a banana and a rice cake, I’m pretty much out of calories.

But then, I thought I figured out a pretty good way around it. On the days I go to the gym, I get extra calories that I burned. So, I started going to the gym every day just for the satisfaction of typing in “60 minutes of kickboxing” only to have you tell me I only burned 627 calories doing so.

UM, EXCUSE ME?

Have you tried that shit? Have you done a kick tree? A punch tree? Have you seen how disgusting I look at the end of that hour? No, no you haven’t, because if you had, if you had given a flying fuck, you’d see that there’s way more than 627 calories of sweat dripping off of me.

So then, I try lifting weights. I did tens and twenties of reps. I did flys, rows, extensions, pull downs, leg lifts and raises. I typed them all in. And how many calories did you say I burned?? Oh, that’s right, ZERO. A BIG WHOPPING ZERO.

So I put down the weights and try yoga. Body sculpting yoga, that is. Calories burned? 77.

Seventy fucking seven. I can’t even eat grapes for 77 calories you piece of shit, lying cheating bastard.

That was it, the last straw. I was DONE with you. I walked into the gym, for the 3rd day in a row and I stepped on that scale and so-help-me-God if it was not a pound lighter I had big plans for you. Think: bubbling grease on a hot plate.

I stepped on that scale, and slowly moved the weights to the right.

I was 2 pounds lighter.

You’re a lucky bastard.

 

See you at lunch,

Lucky

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