Bacon was on my mind again.
Here I was. Starting my health kick, and I was fantasising about a bacon and egg McMuffin.
But instead of a glorious cooked breakfast, I was doing what all the beautiful people did, and knocking out a coastal walk along the eastern beaches of Sydney.
After a night of 1-2 hour sleep intervals, dosing out panadol in the dark and a lengthy game of bed hopping, I wanted to roll back over when Husband leapt ever so spritely out of bed at precisely 6am. But you see, it was ‘my’ morning; ‘my’ chance to flee the house for some ‘me’ time, dressed up loosely as ‘exercise’.
And I was having a very swift education in the ways of Sydneysiders.
The car park was already bustling and the sun was yet to rise.
I sucked my tummy in and hit the pavement with the people.
I belonged with my friendly head tilts and breezy ‘good mornings’…till I hit the steps.
Husband had conveniently failed to tell me how hilly this ‘little morning stroll’ was. I was sweating 5 minutes in and kidded myself it was the damned humidity again. Bloody steps. All 68 of them (I know, ‘cos I counted them). The woman were flying past me like the last kale smoothy was available at the top. I was left sucking dust as their brand new fluro kicks rose skywards above me.
Then the old guys started overtaking me. All sweaty singlets and hairy shoulders. This was not good. Not good at all when the old fellas were breathing better than I was. Wisely, there were seats provided at intervals along the steps; I faked a loose shoe lace and got myself together. No pain no gain and all that. I hit the top and rejoiced in the downhill; still knowing there were more Everest’s ahead.
I breathed in the sea air and nearly pinched myself as I gazed across at the amazing rising sun and the pounding waves. I was living here now. Wait…was that…was that Russel Crowe? I was getting lost in my fantasy that I might just run into all the famous people that I knew lived here. Regardless of whether this was a big city; I was walking past some pretty big beach front houses and slipped my sunnies down…just to keep people guessing… But seriously, these were incredible beach pads; it forced me to wonder about the merits of sugardaddy.com. What a life style these people must live!
Bloody uphill again.
I distracted myself with playing ‘spotto the tired mummy’. I was losing, as these women were oozing ‘fit’ out of their detoxed pores. I could not identify with them. Tanned, toned, terrific and…fully awake, some with makeup! Occasionally I would catch the eye of a kind, kindred soul who was not decked out in leisure gear worth more than my wedding dress, and we would smile at each other. Than the triathletes pumped past in their packs; buffed chests, swinging goggles and tiny speedos; thinking back to bacon, beach, bed…lawdy lawdy…anything to stop me looking at them…truthfully, I was a little embarrassed as not much was left to the imagination (if ya know what I’m sayin’!).
I made it back to the car park and found myself a seat overlooking that incredible view. I tried to still my thoughts…need more weetbix…need to get more kids panadol…need to find a nearby supermarket…my brain was too noisy, so I satisfied myself just watching those people stretching and walking by. Technically, can you actually work off calories if you watch exercise whilst sweating in the humidity? I am going to run with yes.
I wanted to take the piss; I really did, but truthfully, I wanted to be like them. I wanted to feel energised by exercise again. As people raced back to their home gyms to get their cardio session in before work, I raced to find an open cafe to get myself a hot chocolate. A hot chocolate that I could sip leisurely, alone, quietly; no bubbacinos, no wet wipes to mop up spills, no demands for lollies.
It was glorious.
AND it was skinny milk.
It’s great to be here, Sydney.
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