The holiday in numbers

So....

Holiday – 12 days

Miles walked -  54

Rough hewn steps/rocks climbed – 1,600 in two hits, plus ad hoc ‘normal’ stairs of course, in temperatures ranging from low to upper 30s°C

Lunches skipped - 8

Puddings eaten – 1 (a bit of one, at that)

Days when food was, erm, going straight through me – 3

Weight change - +7lbs

That was the quant, now for the qual.

It was a good holiday.  I like to do a lot on holiday and it certainly ticked that box!  We never got more than a couple of hours off during the day and Petra alone nearly broke me physically but I don’t regret a bit of it.  Our first day there we walked 11 miles, including a scramble up a mixture of steps and rocky surfaces to the tune of 950 (I didn’t count but this is what they say).  By the time we got back to the hotel we were absolutely exhausted.  It was 36° too.  We drank a LOT of water – and it was probably too much for either of us (including P who has always demonstrated some kind of mountain goat genes), but you couldn’t really not do that climb.  The next day we did a 750 ‘step’ climb.  I thought it would be easier because I knew I could do it from the longer climb the previous day.  It was not.  My preparation of walking up escalators was laughably inadequate – although I still find that tough, damnit.  Petra was the highlight (and I’d like to go back) but a close second would be Jerash – a Roman site.  My boss said my photos were “samey”, but this is a small desert country and I am sure they reflected my love of old stones and camels.  It made me pretty happy, anyway.  After a lot of last minute traumas with reordering various size of top for the tankini (great service by Poinsettia in Glasgow – I’d recommend them), wrestling myself into them, and finally having to pick up the last one 20 mins after we should have left for the airport, I did wear it and I did go in the Dead Sea, Lana and Lesley.  It was bizarre and a little painful but I’m glad I did it.  Getting out was surprisingly difficult!  I also went in the Red Sea briefly – before remembering (having jumped off a boat) that my right arm wasn’t working properly and having to haul myself back up the ladder.  Still, I did it.  P was immensely reassuring about my swimsuit angst – and had to do the bra fastening of the tankini up as I couldn’t twist my right arm behind me.

So on to the elephant in the room....

I genuinely thought I would be coming home roughly the same weight as I went out there.  It was a great holiday but it was very full on and it was tiring.  I even thought that what with the exercise (and the digestive problems) I might come home slightly lighter.  I suppose this was stupid, given that exercise has never made any difference to my weight.  But to have put that much weight on was... well, more than disappointing really, more exhausting.  I feel like I’m constantly trying to wade through mud up to my neck and not getting anywhere – but I daren’t stop in case I sink.  I’m so, SO tired of it, but I know I can’t stop.  We are hoping to go away for a week in late September or early October so I need to get my dieting energy back.  I know I’m idiotic to do it, but I can’t help but allow the ‘oh, maybe I could lose a couple of stone by then’ to intrude, despite the years and years of bitter experience telling me I won’t do anything of the kind.  Based on the last couple of years, I lose about 0.5 - 1lb a month. I don't even need to qualify that with expletives, do I.