Yip, you read that correctly... 'fat'... and no, I'm not beating up on myself or falling victim to the fashion industry's size zero brainwashing that Oprah preaches about so often. I'm using it as a positive description of myself post-cruise, post-holiday, post-2009 – a little rounder, a little softer round the edges, a little fuller in the bust area and not pining for a cup of green tea or a protein bar.
You see, at 'sparrow fart' (a.k.a stupid o' clock in the morning) on Christmas morning hubby and I packed the car with the essentials – you know... one medium-sized economically packed suitcase (mine), one giant, bursting at the seams, over-stuffed piece of luggage (his), two sets of snorkeling equipment, golf clubs and 'ball-ee' (the rugby ball hubby takes everywhere with him, kinda like his version of the teddy bear or comfort blankie). Anyways, after managing to close the boot we hopped in the car, pressed 'play' on our holiday and headed from Jozi to the coast.
You're probably wondering what any of the above has to do with describing myself as 'fat'? Well, Christmas morning was the last time I felt anything resembling a hunger pang until January the 7th... In fact the two and a half hour drive before reaching the half-way stop and Wimpy's cheese burger & mega coffee combo was the last window of time in 2009 that I could utter the phrase ‘I’m a little peckish’ with any conviction.
From that Wimpy breakfast it was a short drive to Christmas lunch, an even shorter drive to Christmas dinner and then just one night's sleep 'til we boarded the boat – the 12-floor, 3,000 guestcapacity, shopping mall/recreation centre/'all you can eat buffet' that the powers that be call the MSC Sinfonia.
From mid-morning on Boxing Day I forgot the meaning of the word calorie, banished thoughts of carb:protein ratios and made sure to order only the cocktails that looked neon, contained at least a gallon of cream/yoghurt/coconut milk and would put a toddler on a sugar high until high school.
I skipped the muesli and dived into bacon and eggs, I had a little salad with lots of dressing and took a piece of each piece of cake on offer if I couldn't decide between vanilla or chocolate. By night I dusted a little shimmer onto my 'more tanned by the day' shoulders, popped on a dress and let the dinner menus take me to Spain, France, Asia, Italy, Mexico, Portugal, China and India... each night's menu borrowing from a different country's kitchens and offering a taste of a foreign land over seven courses. My palate contemplated snails, devoured curries, savoured grilled Salmon, lapped up unfamiliar soups, nibbled sushi starters, tip-toed over mezze and tucked into tortillas, fajitas and Burritos.
I will confess that I made use of the gym facilities on the boat three times – twice for a run (5kms on each occasion) and once for a little light weight training – but it wasn't out of obligation, guilt about the heavenly honey vanilla parfait or a desire to get a tummy like a Victoria's Secret model... it was because I wanted to and because as wonderful as it seems a girl can only lie on a pool lounger for so long – by day three you're afraid that you may have forgotten how to walk upright. Also, the view from the treadmills was the best on the whole boat, nothing but a floor to ceiling window between you and turquoise blue ocean as far as the eye could see. Bliss! It was so beautiful that my 7-months pregnant sister-in-law who hasn't set a foot in the gym since, well, ever... made a point of waddling down from the pool deck on several occasions, putting on her takkies and taking her belly for a stroll on the treadmill.
The odd bout of activity aside, rest assured that I got my money's worth food-wise... and that I gave my bod a long overdue holiday. I gave myself permission to let out the ties on my string bikini and make the most of the 'early breakfast/late breakfast/lunch/afternoon tea/dinner/midnight snack' schedule that would dictate my life for the next eleven days. And you know what? The Earth didn't stop spinning, hubby didn't stop declaring his love for me and (shock, horror) I didn't blow up like the Goodyear blimp.
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