JOHN MARTIN'S TALES

I’ve started walking on my hands.

Not all the time—just enough to keep the numbers honest. My smartwatch, you see, has developed expectations.

Steps must be taken, rings must be closed, and apparently there is a correct time for a grown adult to go to bed.

Walking on my hands is my small act of resistance. It confuses the step counter, elevates the heart rate, and gives the impression I’m either extremely dedicated to fitness or in need of professional help.

This is what wearable technology has come to: a quiet battle of wits between human and wrist.

It wasn’t always like this. Back in the day, Dick Tracy had a watch that did one thing—connected him instantly to the right person when something important was happening.

No sleep scores. No passive-aggressive reminders. No sense that he was being gently judged by a piece of jewellery. If it buzzed, it mattered.

These days, my watch buzzes to tell me I haven’t stood up.

Then there’s the sleep business. Mine marks me down if I don’t go to bed “on time,” as though I’ve ignored a curfew. Each morning I’m handed a score that feels suspiciously like a school report. I half expect a note at the bottom: “John shows promise but is easily distracted by late-night nonsense.”

I’ve attempted to outsmart my smartwatch. Rather than going to bed earlier, I’ve been going into settings and changing my regular bedtime. A little later each night. Then later again.

I’m currently operating on a 4am bedtime.

What I haven’t worked out is whether I’m now being rewarded for turning in early at midnight, or whether the watch has quietly adjusted and is letting me dig my own hole.

It doesn’t argue. It doesn’t complain. It just watches.

Then there’s data sharing. Apparently, you can send your health information to others for “peace of mind.”

I heard about a bloke being sprung for infidelity because his heart rate kept spiking at suspicious times, like when he was supposed to be in library.

True or not, I’m not taking any chances. Walking on my hands probably muddies the data nicely.

Which brings me to Maxwell Smart and his shoe phone—arguably the most underappreciated technological breakthrough of the 20th century.

Yes, it required removing your shoe in public, and yes, it raised hygiene questions.

But it didn’t track your sleep. It didn’t judge your lifestyle. It just made calls.

And I can’t help thinking we’re heading back in that direction.

I wouldn’t rule out a Bluetooth-enabled sneaker. I give you the (Maxwell) smartshoe.

The next big thing in wearable tech may be less about constant monitoring and more about disappearing into the background.

Less commentary, more usefulness.

Steps that make sense.

No need to chase targets. No need to explain why your heart rate spiked.

It’s the only way to stay one step ahead.

Until then, I’ll keep walking on my hands.