On more occasions in the last few weeks than I’d like to admit, I found myself doing jumping jacks in my kitchen an hour before going to bed.
That’s not when I’d usually prefer to do any exercise, but on those nights, I looked down at my watch only to see I was so close to hitting my Move Goal, yet still far enough away that shuffling around doing my nightly routines wouldn’t get the job done. And there’s no way I’d finish the day without making the elongated blue cat on my watch face vomit up a bunch of ice cream and turn rainbow-colored. Or, in other words, close
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