The newest gadget in my house is a Wii Fit board. The Wii Fit’s concept is grand. The invention turns one of the most sedentary activities out there (video games) into a task that requires you to move – no doubt a cause-based marketing tactic directed at the fight against obesity. I had a *similar idea years ago but Nintendo seems to have refined their concept more than I did.(*My invention being a retractable tether ball pole that could be secured to your living room ceiling. The ball was a sensor that swung back in your direction with increasing weight/intensity depending upon the force at which it was punched. Another spinoff: child-sized skis secured to a conveyer belt. Belt became increasingly steeper as child advanced in levels. The statement ‘You Broke Your Pelvis – Let’s Try Again!’ flashed across the screen when a player wiped out in a ravine or mogul.)
The Wii Fit comes with a variety of exercise programs. I have tried Yoga. As you perch on the board, (which suspiciously resembles a scale) a female instructor calmly demonstrates poses. While you struggle to contort your ridged body to resemble her perfect, digitally-generated curves, a urine-colored cloud appears near targeted areas. If your pose is in line with the instructor’s movement, a red dot materializes. If your pose is (inevitably) off, the instructor says antagonizing (errr), I mean, encouraging remarks like, “I notice you are not stable – find your center of balance” or “Remember to relax – breath in through your nose, out through your mouth.” While I am grateful for the constructive criticism, I don’t appreciate the haughty tone that creeps into the Instructor’s voice as I attempt the Half Moon Bend for the fifth time. My mind begins to wander. What does she really know? She lives inside a consol manufactured in Japan. She’ll never feel the pains of the freshman fifteen or post-baby stomach flab. Her figure will stay flawless, immune to the wear of aging. Is she a sympathetic motivator or just one of those mean, non-perspiring girls at the gym that glances condescendingly at your treadmill timer while you puff away? I don’t want to salute the sun! You salute the sun, Bitch! I lurch off the board, pick my runaway stretch pants out of my butt crack, grab the Wii and turn it off with a satisfying click. Then I go into the kitchen and calm myself down with a cookie.
