If anything, it has got employees, who are married to their work stations for the best part of a week, to drag their carcasses from their base to, for instance, the printer or 45 steps to the cafeteria for a cup of tea.
The excitement from some wasn't too far off from social club members heading off to a dinner on a Saturday night with bottomless booze.
My start was inauspicious to say the least.
Having received the pedometer, I sat in front of my computer terminal massaging keys all night long.
Yes, the odd dash to the loo, the umpteenth trip to the cafeteria for hot water and leaving the building to hop into the car for Nelson Park, Napier, for the four-day Plunket Shield cricket match.
On the Monday morning before I built a rapport with the pedometer, I was supposed to be at the work cafeteria to be part of a health check - the blokes, it seems, were somewhat shy.
Having looked the general manager, Russell Broughton, in the eye and said I was a no-show between 10am to midday, I started at 1.30pm.
My statistics on day one were an appalling 500-odd steps.
The members of my "Editor's Predators" team were, understandably, not too amused.
In my defence, what is a creature of habit supposed to do?
I finish work, zip off home, reheat my dinner in a microwave and then lay back to stare at the telly - usually David Letterman's The Late Show - to mentally unwind.
You couldn't find a better preamble to la-la land than listening to Letterman berating unsuccessful Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney or the toupee-wearing American tycoon Donald Trump.
Having had a mediocre soccer season with the oldies last winter, I was hellbent on giving the pedometer a thrashing, so I upped the tempo the following day, flirting with 15,000 steps in 24 hours.
The gizmo counts each step people take by detecting the motion of their hips.
Some cheeky suggestions were tabled on how the pedometer could be employed when not walking but, jocularity aside, we won't go there.
My mind wandered, though, when I heard some of the participants at work took to their bikes to clock 20,000 steps over 100km.
We mustn't forget "pedi" in Greek is to do with feet but, hey, any form of thrusting one's hips has got to be good for you.
Bunny shuffle and cycling aside, I thought about strapping it on to one's pet dog or cat just before getting into bed.
Imagine where the furry creatures would go prowling every night, especially if you didn't overfeed them?
Secure it around the waist of your children while they play sport, preferably from one sprog's game to another.
All for the collective's cause for the next six weeks.
But then I changed my mind in the blink of an eye.
Who was I kidding?
The waistline never lies. Besides, the festive season is nigh and there's no harm in running it off before some tipple and tidbits.
It also rapidly dawned on me that I could never be as good as Lance Armstrong even if I tried.
It's the 13-degree days that question your faith most, though.
