NOT ON MY WATCH!
Got the coolest gift for Christmas—an Applewatch Series 4. I wanted it primarily for the fitness functions, as I work out with a trainer two days a week. It keeps track of everything: heart rate, duration of workout, calories spent. It can remind me when to move faster, stand up or even breathe!
In its data base, I have my medical stats and meds. If I need emergency help, I simply press and hold the side button and the paramedics will rush over. It can even tell if I’ve had a ‘hard fall’ and will ask me if I did in fact fall or was I just getting carried away with the mambo lessons.
So it was with great glee that I showed the new watch to my trainer, Natalie. She was duly impressed and we commenced the first of the twice-weekly folding, spindling and mutilating I call my workout.
All went well until I hit the seated row machine. This is a contraption where you sit with your feet braced in front of you, as you pull with both arms on a handle, weighted with the number of pounds your trainer is positive you can handle but you can’t, not without a lot of grunting, grimacing and generally making a fool of yourself. I pulled twelve reps and eased the handle back into place with a gentle thud.
My watch did not see it as gentle. It saw it as a ‘hard fall’, buzzed me and questioned, “Are you OK?” I kept my cool, and tapped the ‘I’m OK’ button.
My watch asked, “Are you OK?”
I tapped ‘I’m OK.” Nothing.
Freaking, I tapped feverishly. Nothing.
Applewatch called the paramedics.
A calm, deep-voiced paramedic came on, asking, “Are you OK?”
Co-freaking, Natalie, ever the willing helper, called into the phone, “No! It was an accident!”
Paramedic: “Where is the location of your accident?”
By this time, another trainer, who is highly experienced in the quirks of the Applewatch, has run over, tapping, ‘I’m OK’ to no avail, Natalie’s trying frantically to explain that what she said was an accident, that there wasn’t actually an ‘accident-accident’, when the phrase ‘false alarm’ popped into my head and out my mouth.
I picture an ambulance, squad car and SWAT team screeching into the parking lot with plenty of dollar signs floating above. Paramedics rushing in with stretchers, cardio-resuscitation equipment and invoices.
“So there is no accident and everyone is OK?” the paramedic calmly asks.
“Yes!” we all shout in unison.
“I understand,” he deadpans. And he is gone.
My watch vibrates. I tap it. The message reads, “Tell Natalie, nice work.”