Let me tell you one thing: I love fitness bloggers. I'm a bit addicted to their yoga selfies, their fresh-faced post-workout Instagram updates and their ability to spur me on when I'm too lazy to peel my butt of the sofa, put on some yoga pants and get to work. I appreciate fitness bloggers for reminding me that strong is the new skinny, that working out will make me feel stronger and more energetic, and how radiant and healthy I'll be if I get over my laziness and get moving.
Some days, depending on how I'm feeling, I'll look at my stomach after a workout and think, 'damn, that's some killer abs!'. Other days, I'll glance at my thighs while changing out of my yoga pants and go, 'wow, those things are gigantic'.
But once I am done working out and done looking at Instagram, I am fully and completely capable of putting my phone away, changing back into my pyjamas and going about my day without a second thought to whether I can hold plank position for longer than a minute, and how my butt looks while I'm doing it.
And apparently, mainstream media deems me incapable of doing so.
Filed Under: thoughts
So, despite my not-too-deep-pockets, I managed to go on holiday this year too. And, as we try to do as often as we can, we visited a place we've never been before: Malta.
You don't hear people talk about Malta that often. Think about it: your friends have possibly been to Spain, Greece, even Thailand, but have they been to Malta? For a sunny, warm, beach-rich island, Malta certainly has some bad PR. After six days on this Mediterranean island, I've come to the conclusion that this state of obscurity that Malta finds itself in is, frankly, undeserved.