throw new CardiacException;

Last updated: Tue, 05 Jul 2005 12:01:00 GMT

try{}!

It occurred to me as I was watching the numbers tick by on the exercise bike today, at the gym, that there's a shitload of sexy data going to waste, there. I mean, this thing gives second by second readouts on my heart rate, the energy being expended, effort input by rpm and resistance, distance travelled, figmental hill profile.

My gym membership card has an RFID tag of some sort in it. I remember how much wanking they guy did at my induction about how I'd never have to get the card out of my bag; the turnstile would just know who I was as I approached. This was a big win for me, as it was a pain in the arse getting my membership card out and swiping it through the machine at my last gym, because I'd have stowed everything away for the ride in.

As it turns out, it doesn't really do what it says on the tin; I've got to get the card close enough to the bloody reader that I might as well be swiping it.

But, never the less, my card does have some sort of transponder in it that identifies me. If only the machines knew who I was, they could record every revolution of every crank. They could map my lifting technique, they could measure my cardiac fitness and my weight. They could tell me my recovery time as I walk from machine to machine. They could log it all.

And then what?

Well, they could jam the whole lot into a database, furkle it, ROT13 it and feed it into some sort of expert system, which would email me a fitness report each week, giving me top tips for ripped ab nips. Sod that; what about emails every sixty seconds to my BlackBerry? Close the loop man, and fire my personal trainer. You've been pWN0r3d.

I reckon people would buy that for a dollar.

And then, as the clock hit 1:58:06 -- and the calorie counter hit 1154kcal, boys and girls -- I felt what I can only describe as a ghostly punch in the sternum. Heart stopped for a little bit, head went squishy, and for a very brief moment I felt truly happy.

And then my heart started again. Knock, knock, knock. Deep breathing, the rest of the day is waiting.

I remember reading somewhere that all mammals' hearts beat the same number of times. An elephant's heart beats the same numner of times as a shrew's, and the rate at which each mammal's heart beats accounts for their different lifespans. Except for humans, who violate the rule, presumably by dint of societal, technological, medical intervention.

I wonder if getting fitter will make me live longer, or if I'm just racing myself to the grave.

Whatever, that brief moment of oxygen and sugar depravation was the happiest I've felt all week. Makes me wonder if being dead might be easier.