How my FitCation ruined me
Written by Cheryl, a 2021 Amalfi Coast FitCationer
After the series of gut punches of the last several years, it’s never been more evident that life is short. Lisa and I have been friends for a long time. When she said, “Come to Italy,” I knew it would be great. But I worried about my bum knee and the out-of-cardio shape that came with it. I stewed about the cost. My money and I have a mutually jealous relationship. Then, I dropped a link to my sisters-in-law with a text sharing, “I trust Lisa. It’d be a great trip.” From there, it just turned into a thing.
At the Naples train station, we gratefully turned the reins over to Lisa’s team. Our driver gathered us up and drove us to the beach hotel carved into the tiered streets of Positano. It’s that place you’ve seen over and over that looks unreal and gorgeous, where lithe women in straw hats and gauzy wraps fall in love with charming and surprisingly deep dark-eyed men. We were happy to enjoy the breeze, beauty, a wonderful welcome dinner, and great company. I woke early the following day. I caught the first rays of sunrise over the cliffs behind us and the moon and a bright star still hanging low over the sea. The memory is vivid in blue, pink, orange, and a cool breeze on my face. I thought, “This is it! This is living.”
The days were busy with hikes, kayaking, and boat trips. Even on challenging hikes with Lisa and Pete, everyone had a chance to push it or hang back to match our energy for the day. My bum knee held up well with a bit of tender loving care. Lisa’s eyes picked up if I wavered, and she checked in regularly. Sister-in-law Liz, openly concerned about the “exertion” portions of the trip, dazzled us and surprised herself. She took bragging rights back to my brother and did it all like a trooper.
On walking tours, guides told the stories and history you’d only get from local knowledge. On my favorite evening of the trip, we were elbow deep in pasta dough with Mamma at our side, patiently showing how her mother had shown her as we found ways to speak different-but-the-same languages somehow. The dinner to follow was delicious in every way.
After the day’s adventures, showers, and naps, the Italian Galyuns (our chat name on What’s App) shared an evening ritual of gathering on our balcony with wine and limoncello. The rest of our 10-person group joined sometimes. Calls to children were made. Calls to spouses created deep FOMO with my brothers. As the light spilled from our room into the constant motion of the sea, we talked late into the evening. Funeral playlists were assembled. Y’know, people got to know each other.
All the while, the whens, wheres, whos, and hows were handled and freed me to focus on enjoying each cinematic-quality moment. I was in my skin, breathing my breath, sipping my limoncello, and laughing like a kid. Without distraction, I COULD take it all in. I have literally forgotten entire vacations in the past. Not this one, not a day, not an hour.
So, I tell my husband it’s Lisa’s fault. I’m ruined for shallow travel.
