Monday, February 2, 2009

The Premise.

It's hard to be fat and love to travel. Travelling might as well the be the past time of the lithe and svelte, and not the rotund and lumpy. Everything is geared towards the thin traveller, from airline seats to iteneraries. I happen to be fat and in love with traveling, and it's hard. We're going to spend two weeks in Scotland, and I'm a fat cow. This isn't how it's supposed to be!

Last year after my grandfather passed away, my sister and I had a bonding moment wherein we both were crying and hugging and we realised that life was too short. In that moment, a family trip was mentioned. Where shoud we go? It had to be an international trip! Sister said they had to speak English -even though I argued that most countries had more English speakers than not, she was persistant. There went visions of Japan, France, India, and Germany. England, I suggested, remembering fondly my short trip years ago, hoping to go back. No, Sister said, what about Scotland? You mean where Gerard Butler is from, I asked, concidering. Yes, she said, and reminded me that there were men in kilts wandering around the countryside. Damn, she found my kryptonite. I relented and it was decided. I caveated that we had to hit London at the very least. We agreed and that was that.

So I started planning the trip. August 2009 is the date. The tickets are bought and accomodations have been booked. There is an itenerary. We're going to be there for two weeks. Then it hit me. This is the Scottish Death March and I'm not going to make it out alive. I'm in my early thirties, and I won't be able to do everything that I want to do on this dream trip. Walking in the Highlands is going to kill me, I think. Not to mention all the walking at the museums and castles. I need a plan and a course of action!

Action, I think. That means only one thing. I have to lose weight and get into some semblance of shape in the next six months! That means change. I hate change. That's why I'm fat, lazy, and in this sorry state to begin with. There's nothing for it. I'm going to have to exercise. I convince my Husband to be my exercise partner.

We decided to join the local YMCA. We're going to go three times a week. We're going to survive the Scottish Death March if it kills us. It's Scotland or bust.

1 comment:

  1. Good luck! I miss going to a gym; I always enjoyed the weight machines at the one we had at college. What I need to get is a pedometer to track if I'm really walking as much as I think I am at work...and make sure I get any extra in at home. :)

    Also, your sister is silly. :)