I was there the night that Garmin Forerunner 305 passed away. It was such an ordinary Sunday evening: we’d gone for a bike ride, and I was just getting ready to program Monday’s workout into 305. Suddenly, his screen went blank, and he became entirely unresponsive. Oh, I tried to save him. I plugged him into the wall. I plugged him into the computer. I tried soft resets and hard resets, according to the owner’s manual, time and time again. I cried. I begged. But still no response.
The next morning, I called the Garmin support center, and though they too tried valiantly to save him, it soon became clear that 305 was gone.
We had a good almost-five years together, 305. I remember the day I got you. It was a few days after Christmas. Jordan and I had gone to his parents’ first, and we had just arrived at my parents’ house. I told my dad that I had received some gift cards for Christmas, and that I wanted to spend them on “this really cool watch. It tracks your pace, distance, calories, heart rate — everything!” Of course, I was talking about you. As soon as my mom walked into the room, Dad insisted that we open gifts immediately. And that’s when I met you, elegantly wrapped in glittery paper and ribbon. From that moment on, we were inseparable.
You were there with me through training for my first marathon, and you helped to pace me through the race. You’ve been through bitter cold and sweltering hot runs, from the Olympic peninsula to a Mexican beach to Boston. You were there for me through good runs and bad, shouting at me to speed up or slow down as needed. I will miss you, 305.
(Not my picture. He died without being immortalized in photo).
But even in death, 305 is still giving. As we speak, he is in transit to Garmin headquarters in Kansas, where he will be refurbished. By donating his body this way, 305 provided me with a $70 credit toward his replacement, Garmin Forerunner 210, who should be arriving by the end of the week.
Garmin Forerunner 305 was dearly beloved and will be dearly missed. Farewell, old friend.