Wii Fit . . . Me Fat.

"Hello, Wayne. Oh dear . . . . did you know it's been 231 days since your last visit?"
"Has it really been that long?" I innocently reply.
"You know very well how long it's been, young man, and I must say I can tell by looking at you that it's been a while - so get on the scales and prepare for some bad news!"

Ok, the last bit didn't happen because, of course, at least as of the time of writing this, the friendly folks at Nintendo haven't activated the Sarcasm Chip (TM) in the delightful little console known as the Wii.

For the uninitiated, the Wii is the one that involves physical exertion; you actually play out the actions needed for any particular game. So for Tennis you swing the controller through the air, executing powerful forehand passing shots or producing a brilliantly judged backhand lob. The reality can be quite different: you swing the controller wildly, cracking the rib of your opponent before following through and knocking a vase off the mantel piece. The point is you get a bit of exercise and it's great entertainment for anyone watching you make an ass of yourself as you try to outsprint Sonic The Hedgehog in the 100 metres.

Of course, I didn't purchase the Wii for such trivial distractions. I bought it because of it's ground breaking fitness aid - Wii Fit (poor sod who came up with the name must've been up all night thinking up that one). This really is a great package which includes a range of games and activities to keep you fit and a futuristic-looking FitBoard (something like that) which allows you to do Yoga, Skiing, Football Headers, Step Aerobics and of course everyones favourite workout . . .The Tightrope Walk (?!) I kid you not.

Now, before I go on, I have to say I'm not criticising the Wii Fit in anyway, other than to say it makes me feel unworthy of its considerable merits. It's brilliance makes my guilt at not having used it for 231 days all the more great. And it doesn't even seem to mind too much. It's like your girlfriend finding out you've been having an affair for the last 6 months and then saying:

"Tut! Never mind. What would you like for tea?"

When you first load the software you are prompted to do a body test (especially when you haven't done one for over 6 months). The basic test checks your centre of gravity (highlights posture problems) and then weighs you. Gulp. To make matters worse, when you put on weight, your Mii (a graphical version of yourself, made in your image) actually grows in front of your eyes with an horrific sound effect to accompany it. Despite all of the evidence to the contrary (I can't see my feet when standing up) as I stand on the board, awaiting the results, a tiny voice inside me is whispering, 'Maybe you've lost weight - or at least stayed the same'. Get real, would you.

Sure enough, after a few seconds, the line on my graph heads up hill and the Mii takes on the appearance of a poor man's John Candy (circa 'Cool Runnings'). There's the grim sound effect followed by the news that I've gained almost half a stone in weight - and I wasn't exactly svelte to begin with!

I should probably clarify that the burden of fitness responsibility does not solely lie with the Wii Fit. Well, obviously, the responsibility for fitness lies with me - what I mean to say is that the Wii Fit is not my only means of losing weight and staying fit. I also own a treadmill, which up until the past couple of weeks, did have at least 3 months where it was almost completely dormant. So despite my mock shock (only for the benefit of the Wii, which obviously didn't care a jot) it was hardly surprising that I should find myself on the wrong side of the Obese/Over-weight line.

Still, it will do me no good to sit whining about it. I must find my resolve, grasp some self discipline and drop the hobnob biscuits (but they're so nice with tea). The truth is that when I do get myself on the treadmill or manage a particularly long walk across the tightrope(!) I do feel much better. Psychologically and physically. And as a Yoga virgin before I bought the Wii, I have to say it's brilliant to do some exercises before breakfast and it really does help with your posture.

So, whilst I'm not publicly promising rapid weight loss and an evangelical approach to my fitness and well being, I am publicly stating that I am going to give it a really good go. Again. Maybe if I say it out loud (is anyone listening?) then there's more chance of me exerting some actual will power and actually making a difference this time.

Also, I know my little Wii trainer will be spurring me on to succeed. As long as I can be bothered to switch it on. Obviously.



I found a really good (serious) little article on getting motivated with the Wii Fit. Check it out:

http://www.gamepeople.co.uk/lukepyper_topical01.htm


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Fellow Geeks Unite! Are We Not Men?

Most of the time I feel like a fairly capable, intelligent person. And whilst I have all of the athletic prowess of a common garden snail and the physique of Benny Hill, for the most part I am assured of my masculinity and social standing.

Fair enough, I wasn't educated at Oxford or Cambridge nor was I prop forward (don't even know if that's an actual Rugby position) for my school team but I did play a bit of footy and didn't shy away from the odd rough tackle (no, that isn't a euphemism).

So why is it that now, in my early 30's, there are still 2 topics that make me feel like I do in that recurring dream that everyone has where you find yourself standing in your PE class wearing a girl's gym slip? (What do you mean, you've never had that dream before?) And the dual causes for this sudden reduction in my masculinity and self belief? DIY and Football talk.

Just because I don't follow a particular football club or have no interest in how to put up a set of shelves using self refracting monkey bolts, I immediately become a social pariah.

I once had a 15 minute conversation with a taxi driver about how badly the 'Blues' were playing that season. I managed to blag my way through a quarter of an hour by nodding my head sagely and saying "exactly," and "yeah, good point," etc, until eventually he asked me who my favourite 'Blues' player was (no, I didn't say Muddy Waters or Howlin' Wolf - he was reffering to a football team). I scrambled for a few seconds and then, with great relief, I managed to recall the one 'Blues' player that I knew at that time. There was a momentary pause as the driver processed this information.

"But he plays for Leicester City . . ." he said.
"Yes, I know" I confidently retorted.
"But we've been talking about Birmingham City for the entire journey!"

That was pretty much the end of the conversation and the final ten minutes of the journey were painfully silent, save for the gentle jingling of the driver's Birmingham City mascot hanging from the rear view mirror.

As mentioned earlier, my other weakness comes in the form of DIY or anything that requires what 'manual types' refer to as 'common sense' or 'being good with your hands' - mind you, the latter was said about Bill Clinton and look how that ended. Because of my general lack of interest in this area and, it has to be said, my past ineptitude, I tend to avoid doing any home improvement activity that involves anything more complicated than changing a fuse or 'turning it on and off again'.

However, it was a recent conversation I had with one of those very 'manual types' whilst waiting around at my daughter's parents evening a couple of weeks ago that spurred me in to action. Once again my stupid bloody machismo has lead me in to a trap. He was a nice guy, and we got on to the subject of houses etc. He was explaining all of the jobs he still has yet to complete in his home. My fiancee cackled like The Wicked Witch of The West and then very kindly brought it to the guy's attention that I was completely useless at DIY and that we always paid someone else to do stuff like that. Within those few seconds after the proclaimation of my fecklessness, all of his warmth and laughter died . His smile became a frown and he repeated the words as if searching for some hidden meaning.

"You. Don't. Do. DIY? You CAN'T do DIY?"

In that moment of embarrassment and shame I became resolute: I CAN DO DIY. I WILL DO DIY. Goddammit! Am I Not A Man?!

Which leads us to my attempt, this morning, to reseal around our bath and replace the beading. It's been leaking for a while. It's a very straight forward job. Remove the old stuff. Clean it down, dry it off and get resealing. Simple. Easy. I can do that. So please, would you be so kind, as to explain to me why it took me over an hour to do it, and when I finally gave up - I mean, 'finished' - did it look like a small child had spilt a vat full of correction fluid around my bath? And just to compound and confirm my failure my daughter surveyed the damage, tilted her head to one side and with a patronising tone seldom heard from one so young said:

"Never mind, Dad. At least you tried really hard."

Half an hour later the tube of sealant lay in the bin and the remnants of my tool kit was up for auction on Ebay. It's time to accept what I am. I may not be a walking Football encyclopaedia or have a working knowledge of how to use the detachable Sparrowflange, but I'm still a man.

I'd like to see how one of those 'manual types' would cope if I asked them to edit a 2 minute interview from 2 hours worth of footage and then encode me a 2-pass MPEG2 file with a maximim bitrate of 7.2.

Yeah. I'd show them.



Let me know if you've had any similar 'feeling like a geek/nerd/loser' experiences.

Fellow geeks unite! After all, are we not men too?