Sometime during the Covid pandemic, I became interested in learning about watches. Specifically, I was interested in automatic watches, which are mechanical, not battery driven. They’re based on very old technology that has evolved since the 15th century, when springs were used in clocks. Portable clocks made the jump to wrists in the 1800s, and ever since, the industry has been off and – er, running. (Oof, sorry about that, I don’t usually make puns.)
Anyway, during the pandemic, I discovered a number of YouTube channels where I learned about automatic watches and even watch repair. My favorite is called “Wristwatch Revival” by a Seattle man named Marshall Sutcliffe. People describe him as “the Bob Ross of watch repair,” because he as a mellifluous voice, an upbeat delivery style, and dives into a story with each watch on his repair bench. Instead of Ross’s “happy little trees,” Marshall spreads joy with almost whimsical appreciation for how a tiny spring turns gears that keep accurate time. And he narrates the journey of fixing neglected, broken or damaged watches, usually ending with his appreciation for the opportunity to do so. I like to watch his videos when I got to bed. They relax me and make me ponder my values around this topic.
My fascination has led me on a long, slow journey to buy my first automatic watch.
This interest seemed fanciful even to me at first. But the more I think about it, the more it makes complete sense. Automatic watches dovetail in so many ways with what I care about as a runner and a father.
I’ve worn an analog watch for many years. I have a quartz powered (read “battery”) Tissot Quickster that is a perfect daily watch. It’s sporty, but I could get away with wearing it with a suit. I set it and forget it until I have to change the time for Daylight Savings and back or because the month gets off by a day. Wearing this watch is the antithesis of wearing my running watch.
My running watch is a Garmin Fenix 6S that I bought to track my running efforts. Its battery lasts long enough that I can wear it for ultras, too. It’s wonderful. I can use it to pay for coffee or receive alerts from my phone. Heck, if my phone is connected, it can even send an SOS call for help if I am incapacitated during a run.
But I hardly ever wear it unless I’m running.
Wearing an analog watch forces me to slow down. I love that. I like how my Tissot looks, sure. But I love how I have to slow down a beat longer just to tell the time.
But it’s almost too easy. It doesn’t require much of me.
My interest in automatic watches goes even deeper into my values around caring for things, fixing them when they’re broken and creating a connection across time (see, this was going to get back to the point of this newsletter sooner or later).
The thing about an automatic watch is that it’s a lot like running. Both reward a consistent, daily engagement. Neither automatic watches nor running go very well with long gaps in attention. If you don’t wear your automatic watch consistently, the spring winds down and the watch stops running. If you don’t train consistently, your abilities wane.
Both develop character through use, not in spite of it. Every scratch on my Tissot is related to something I was doing. Every pulled muscle or scar from a fall relates to some running adventure. I like to tell the people I coach about a quote I heard a long time ago (don’t remember where): “The human body is the only machine that lasts longer the more you use it.” Watches and our runner bodies can be maintained for decades if you care for them properly. Actually, that’s a requirement. Automatic watches, like our bodies, have to be maintained. You can’t just pop a battery into them (or some magic pill). You have to put some effort into it.
And the thing I love about watching vintage watches get a new life is seeing that automatic watches are, indeed, repairable – just like relationships. You don’t have to abandon them.
I am attracted to the idea that I might buy an automatic watch (two, actually), and put life into them by wearing them, and then give one to each of my daughters when I die. I like the idea that I’m building a connection that lasts beyond my lifetime. It’s not just a “thing,” or jewelry. It’s a way of showing my kids that I was there. I made an effort. I’m passing on something of value to them. They can keep it alive if they want by wearing it.
I’ve spent several years figuring out what I think I should spend and what watches I want. It takes time because I’m not made of money and there’s a limit to what I want to invest in something that’s clearly an anachronism. I’ve zeroed in on a few watches in the range of $1,000-$3,000 that seem nice enough to be worth maintaining and robust enough to last for a few generations if the effort mentioned above is put into them.
That probably sounds like an awful lot of money for something that nobody really needs to tell the time. But I think by now you see that that isn’t the point of it for me.
I’ll let you know when I pull the trigger and buy one.
Is there something in your life that you’ve committed to keep alive? What is it? What has it taught you about consistent effort? Leave a comment. I would love to know. Maybe there’s some object that connects you to someone. Tell me about it.
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