Trying to recover
after a short break of intense sun therapy is virtually impossible. The sun’s rays beaming down on your
lotion-capped body while sipping on an iced cold coffee; the soothing sound of
the waves embracing the golden coastline…
A therapist friend
once mentioned that it takes twenty-one days to break a habit. After four dreamlike days at Cyprus’ most
popular seaside mecca, the thought of merging back to reality seems unimanageable.
It appears that my body has lost itself
in a labyrinth of relaxation, and every corner of this maze reminds me of a
habit that needs to be encouraged.
My “holiday hangover”
seems to overpower the work force; my colleagues are preparing to escape the
office environment – hoping to find the same solace under the blazing
Mediterranean sun.
There’s an element
of excitement as we all share similar sentiments of relaxation; I’m yearning
for an afternoon by the swimming pool while my wife prepares a light dinner
accompanied by a colourful cocktail of Vodka and lime. The sun begins to set as we marvel at the
diminishing ball of fire over the horizon; the evening has suddenly entered the
equation as we prepare for another exhausting eight hours of humidity and
mosquito nets.
I braved another
morning on the bathroom scale, hoping to assess the aftermath from a holiday of
limitless calories. As expected, the
scale spun uncontrollably screaming, “Game Over!” as it returned to the
starting line.
My sudden weight
gain was predictable; mornings absorbed near a buffet of eggs, bacon, sausages
and fried mushrooms. A centre table
presenting an assortment of cold meats and cheeses from every corner of the
globe. A sea of pastries combing the walls
of the breakfast room, teasing us with their strawberry and custard cries.
As I squatted my
way from the breakfast room to the sunbed, I encouraged myself to refrain from
a heavy lunch. But, the aromas emerging
from the grill bar awakened my senses to chicken wings with barbeque
sauce.
The afternoon saw
me sipping onto a mocca-flavoured shake with crushed ice, as the waters of the jacuzzi
gently caressed my back.
My offensive scale
reading informed me that the holiday was officially over. The mind was served with another sharp
reminder that the aftermath of my brief summer vacation had serious repurcussions: I’m going to be standing in front of the
camera soon – and the camera has a nasty habit of making one look larger than an
elephant.
It’s rice cakes
and apples for one week. Perhaps I will
postpone this treatment until tomorrow; my wife has just informed me that
crumbed chicken with sesame seeds is on the menu for tonight’s dinner.
Weight
for me soon. Paul
Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.
For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com
Hysterical.
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