So, I’ve gained at least five kilos over my holiday. And let me tell you, it’s not muscle or water-weight.
Cheers to drinking on rooftop pools in bathrobes.
As I type this, I am pool-side. You’re welcome. The South China sea is to my right and my third pina colada sits to my left. That’s where the extra weight has come from. Well that, and having five portions at a buffet breakfast everyday, and Banh Mi rolls and Pho Bo whenever I felt like, and the countless beers we’ve sunk while lying in the sun. So many calories consumed, zero fucks given.
I’ve got some serious anxiety about coming home though, which has surprised me. I thought three weeks overseas and one month off work would be too long, that I’d be itching to get home and get into routine. Turns out, not so much.
Now that our trip is winding down, the knot in my belly keeps getting tighter and tighter; my anxiety levels are rising. I’m not sure why. It could be that I want/need more time off, that maybe my circumstances at home are not where I want them to be ideally and thus, I don’t want to go back to that (bit heavy). Maybe it’s because I’ve had such a good time on this trip that I just want to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible, or maybe, just perhaps, it’s because I’ve eaten and drank so much on this trip that I just have a giant belly ache ¯_(ツ)_/¯
In a nutshell: I don’t want to come home. But as Josh reminds me, I am going home soon, so I can either a) continue to bitch and moan about it incessantly in his ear or b) I can accept it, and focus on planning another holiday and figuring out how to live a life I am wholly happy with when I am home (insert eye-roll here). He’s always lecturing me with his honest truths.
Cheers to BBQ lunches on a private beach.
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful either. My life at home is good. I have amazing friends and family who make my life better, my parent’s dogs are cute AF, I get to train in an environment that makes me happy (although truth be told, this bitch is scared of the first week back cos my fitness is pretty much non-existent), I have two jobs that I don’t hate (not everyone can say that), I live near the beach on the beautiful Gold Coast, and I have the freedom to make choices in my life; to do whatever I want really. I think back to some of the people we’ve met along our trip, whose lives are the opposite to mine, who don’t have the same freedom and choices that I do, and I know I’ve got it good. In fact, I’m rather selfish in whinging about how good I’ve got it. I guess I feel a bit conflicted about what to do next, how I can help those people when I’m home, what changes can I make that will lower this feel of anxiety and angst? What is it that I think I’m missing or that I’m worried about? It’s so fun having 100 million thoughts a minute.
When I get home, I’ll be straight back into training, and learning how to not eat nine meals a day. There will be no more 9am beers and 12pm cocktails, no more more egg stations at breakfast time, no more flag-waving to get food delivered to my sun lounge or daily happy hours in the ocean-view bar. There will be no more mid-morning naps or $7 massages, no more drinking $1 cans of beer while walking through the streets – which is probably a good thing. Pretty sure my thighs now rub together, so I’m happy to stop this activity for now. But it’s back to real life. Back to two jobs, and 4am alarms and organising my own meals, and cleaning up after myself, and progressing with goals … basically acting like a normal human again. First world problems.
Cheers to lying poolside all the livelong day.
Once I settle back in at home, I am going to write about different experiences on my holiday in detail. The thought about writing it all actually excites me. High on that list is our time spent in Cambodia, my experience with tourists and the locals, being a tourist and how people are legit DICKHEADS when it comes to going though airports. First things first – I’ll be settling back into life, getting into the F45 shed and surrounding myself with all the good home-life has to offer.
Ahh, the neurotic ramblings of a beer-loving, carb-obsessed, part-time fitness lover hey. So many questions, sweet fuck all answers.