A CYNIC might dismiss the "quantified self" movement, whose adherents use an array of gizmos to record all aspects of their physical existence, as gimmicky navel-gazing by geeky workout nuts, eager to gamify ever bigger chunks of life. T...
A CYNIC might dismiss the "quantified self" movement, whose adherents use an array of gizmos to record all aspects of their physical existence, as gimmicky navel-gazing by geeky workout nuts, eager to gamify ever bigger chunks of life. That, as Babbage has recently come to realise, is unfair. Better information about your actual exertions makes for more informed decisions. This is as true of exercise as it is of personal spending, say. Little wonder that, as monitoring devices become smaller, cheaper and better integrated with smartphones, more people are embracing their quantified selves. For your correspondent, the conversion began a year and a half ago, when he moved his office from rented space into his basement, purchased an adjustable standing desk and, shortly afterwards, a flat treadmill designed to work at low speeds underneath the desk while displaying miles walked. He has become, in other words, a walking worker of the sort described by Susan Orlean in a recent New Yorker story. (Standing turned out easy—and a nice change; learning to type and focus on two computer screens while trundling proved a bigger challenge.)To keep himself motivated, Babbage recently purchased a self-tracker made by Fitbit, a Californian company. Fitbit's devices (similarly to the Nike Fuelband, the Jawbone UP and others) use an accelerometer to track steps. Fancier models include an altimeter to capture ascending stairs and inclines. Smartphone apps pair with these devices, naturally. (Software developers have also created software that relies on the built-in GPS and other sensors in mobiles, with varying accuracy.) Most of the standalone trackers are designed as wristbands, others (like Babbage's Fitbit One) are smaller than a pack of gum and can be slipped into a clip or strapped around a wrist inside a pouch.As the data streams from the sensors to smartphones or computers and on to the device-makers' central servers, the associated apps offer feedback and encouragement based on targets set or reached. The Fitbit app, for example, tells you that a few more steps will take you past the daily target, or give you a pat on the back for exceeding a goal or setting a new all-time high. Small targets, reminders, stretch goals and awards all help nudge you towards personal betterment.The systems increasingly welcome data from other hardware and software. Wi-Fi scales, popular a few years ago, can be linked up to some systems. (Babbage added his to a new Fitbit account.) Smartphone apps like Runkeeper, which use GPS to plot routes and measure distance and altitude changes, can be integrated, too. For a more detailed picture, you can enter food consumed and describe other activities that the devices are unable to capture.Many of the gizmos link directly to an online social network, inviting you to compete with friends. Babbage's long-shinned chum regularly racks up over 125,000 steps in a week. (Your correspondent managed briefly to pass him with about 95,000 after the rival had spent a day away from his own treadmill and another day in transit to Australia; the advantage did not last long.)Goaded, envious or proud—perhaps all three—Babbage has walked about 40 miles each of the past two weeks, a fourfold improvement on pre-tracking times by his reckoning. He has also shed a few pounds and, by slipping the Fitbit inside its wrist strap overnight, has learned how well, or poorly, he sleeps. The system responds to fidgeting and can thus tell deep slumber from light, or from waking. Your correspondent sleeps deeply, it turns out. But the data make one thing clear: he ought to hit the sack a bit earlier.
