Blame It on the Travel: Reason or Excuse?

Dear Body,

Did you not get last week's memo about the four kilos? Why are you still behaving as though it is business as usual instead of shifting into high gear and plotting our weight-loss plan?

Okay, I get it. You are travelling this week, and yes, there is a lot to do. No time to cook, right?

Please don't even try to use that as an excuse. You are in Nairobi and, girl, you have someone at home helping with the cooking. But are you eating her food?

No.

Instead, you have fallen into the trap of:

"Mum, you know this is my last week for another whole year to eat that tasty KFC chicken."

And:

"Mum, you know you're going to miss the nyama choma and sautéed potatoes from Road House. Besides, Cucu likes it, so let's order some and go enjoy it with her."

And fall into the trap I did—hook, line and sinker.

I barely ate a home-cooked lunch or dinner all week. I know I will pay dearly for it, but hey—I was just trying to be a good mum.

I know what you're thinking: I could have bought the food for everyone else and still eaten my healthy, home-cooked meals. Hell, I could even have started that intermittent fasting all my friends are doing.

But you know me well by now.

Indulgence is my middle name.

Anyway, enough about Nairobi. Geography is about to save me from myself.

On my flight back to Bogotá, I had more than 20 hours to think. I even started designing healthy menus for my return because, in Bogotá, I get to cook for myself.

Actually, Hubby does most of the cooking—but who's counting?

The point is that I can control almost everything I eat. At least, that is what I like to tell myself.

But as you know, kwa ground, vitu ni different—things are different on the ground.

The minute I landed, the usual excuses began.

I'm too tired to cook. Let me order something.

This jet lag isn't going away, and it's making me crave fries. Another order.

Gosh, I barely slept last night. I have no appetite, but my body is clearly demanding sugar. Another order.

This was not how I envisioned Week Three going, but here we are.

The good news is that this is Bogotá. The traffic here can make Nairobi look efficient, so if you are going somewhere five or ten kilometres away, you may genuinely be better off walking. My friend, you can sit in traffic for an entire hour trying to cover three kilometres.

Fortunately, the city is wonderfully designed for walking and cycling, with dedicated paths everywhere. It makes a difference.

Then there is the Ciclovía

On Sundays and public holidays, major roads are closed to cars and opened to people who want to walk, run, cycle, skate or simply enjoy the city.

Google it. It is the most amazing thing.

Everyone is outside—with their dog and their abuela—getting some fresh air and enjoying some form of exercise, without worrying about exhaust fumes, traffic or angry boda bodas criss-crossing their path.

And when I say dogs, I mean dogs.

Bogotanos love their dogs. There are more dogs than babies in Bogotá—or so the locals say. If I were a dog, I would definitely choose to live here. This city is dog Nirvana.

I'm sure you're wondering whether I have one.

No, I don't.

A dog would certainly help my fitness journey because I would have no choice but to take it out for daily walks. But I am still trying to get my Spanish under control, and the thought of relying on Google Translate during an appointment with the vet does not inspire confidence. Direct translations don't always work as they should, and one misunderstood instruction could be very bad news for the cute little puppy.

But I digress.

Back to why I love Bogotá for this weight-loss journey.

Even my Garmin will tell you: steps in Bogotá come easily. Because I walk to most places to get my daily errands done, reaching 5,000 steps requires very little effort.

Walking to the fruver for fruit and vegetables—approximately 2,000 steps there and back.

Walking to the panadería for bread—another 2,000 steps.

Collecting my daughter from the bus stop after football practice—another 1,000 steps.

Then there is the post-dinner walk around the neighbourhood because, apparently, moving after a heavy meal is good for you—another 2,000 steps.

Walking is also a wonderful way to learn a city, so I am certainly not complaining.

Walking for fitness. Yay!

But you and I both know that losing weight will require me to be slightly more intentional than simply walking to buy bread.

So—drumroll, please—I joined a gym.

I also bought an eight-session starter package with a personal trainer. The plan is for him to reacquaint me with the gym and teach me how to use all those intimidating machines.

I have been a gym girl for much of my adult life, but my activities have largely been limited to aerobics classes and swimming. Gym machines are another story. I don't like the way people look at you when you overstay your welcome at one—and by "overstay," I mean approximately 30 minutes during peak hours.

Dude, can I just have my moment in peace?

So, I started the week full of excuses and ended it with a gym membership.

I'm making progress here.

Clap for me.

Yours—finally heading in the right direction,

Me