Croissants, Negronis, and a Toddler Toilet Seat

Sometimes you have to embrace what doesn’t work before you finally accept what does.

We just got back from five weeks in Ireland and Italy, our first international trip in more than three years, and my first since becoming a wellness coach, setting some serious fitness goals, and, most significantly, becoming a father.

Travel looks a little different these days.

I used to be a carry-on-only traveler. My rule was simple: if I couldn’t run with it, then I have packed too much.

This trip involved two enormous checked bags containing toys, books, snacks, various pieces of toddler infrastructure, and, yes, a toilet-training seat.

And then there is the logistical puzzle of taking a toddler to an airplane bathroom, a space seemingly engineered to barely accommodate one reasonably sized adult. Add a two-year-old, diaper changes, dropped clothing, turbulence, and a door that somehow always seems to be in the wrong place, and you have a mobility exercise no contortionist could devise.

We actually cancelled this trip once before finally committing to it.

Decision factors included the Terrible Twos. Jet lag. Airports. Long flights. And the realization that many of the things Amanda & I loved about traveling before Finn, long lunches, late nights, and wandering aimlessly through a city with absolutely no plan, were probably not going to happen in quite the same way.

But we went anyway.

And we were pleasantly surprised.

Historically, traveling from California to Europe destroyed me.

My body would happily stay awake all night and sleep all day. Previously, I also had the option of leaning on powerful sedatives to force the issue.

That is no longer an option when you're responsible for a toddler.

This time I approached jet lag differently. Daylight, movement, meals at local times, staying hydrated, and simply accepting that the first few days might be uncomfortable.

Surprisingly, all three of us adapted to the eight-hour time difference pretty quickly.

Finn was generally great, and one thing that stood out was how comfortable much of Europe seemed to be with children. There seemed to be kids everywhere, and restaurants, hotels, and strangers generally appeared more tolerant of the chaos that naturally follows them.

The American portions of the journey felt noticeably more stressful. Airports, TSA, lines, cramped spaces, and pointless procedures that we have somehow just learned to accept as “normal".

But Europe itself? Much easier than we'd feared. Thankfully.

Before leaving, I had been eating a high-protein diet, targeting roughly 150 grams of protein a day, while training consistently and making good progress with my body composition which is my most meaningful metric.

So I was curious.

What happens when you take that person and send him to Ireland and Italy for five weeks?

My plan was reasonably sensible.

Strength train three times a week using bodyweight exercises and resistance bands. Average 10,000 steps a day. Keep protein relatively high. Enjoy the local food without completely abandoning everything I'd been doing.

I also decided to limit alcohol.

For the first part of the trip, in Ireland no less, I averaged about one drink a day which was usually a pint of Guinness.

I was feeling rather pleased with myself.

Then we arrived in Florence, Italy.

What began as a serdipidous Negroni masterclass evolved into something closer to a two-week postgraduate program.

Meanwhile, my high-protein diet gradually gave way to a considerably more Italian nutritional philosophy.

Croissants, or cornetti as they are called in Italy.

Pasta, espcially carbonara in Rome.

Pizza, and bread with nearly every meal.

And considerably less protein.

I continued walking and did some resistance training, but consistency slipped. I strongly believe that consistency is more important than intensity when it comes to exercise. 

More importantly, the progressive overload I had been working toward at home was difficult to replicate with bodyweight exercises and bands.

Five weeks later, the results weren't particularly mysterious.

I added roughly two inches to my waist and gave back much of the body-composition progress I'd made during the previous two months.

And you know what?

I enjoyed every cornetto, bowl of pasta, and negroni.

I wouldn't change the trip.

Wellness isn't about spending your life trying to achieve perfect numbers.

There are times to optimize, and there are times to live. I do abide by the 80/20 rule tends to be a bit fluid at times.

Five weeks traveling through Ireland and Italy with Amanda & Finn was worth far more to me than maintaining a particular waist measurement.

But that doesn't mean I should ignore what happened.

The trip became an accidental experiment, and the results reinforced a few things I already suspected.

My current higher-protein diet works well for me.

If building muscle is the goal, I need to focus more seriously on progressive overload, rather than simply accumulating repetitions and calling it strength training.

And then there is alcohol.

This is the uncomfortable one.

I've been negotiating with myself about alcohol for years. Drink less. Only weekends. Only socially. A glass or two of wine with a good meal. Take a month off. Have one instead of three.

There is always another clever compromise available.

But increasingly, I find myself wondering whether the simplest answer is to stop drinking altogether, at least for the foreseeable future, and see what happens.

Not because I suddenly think a Negroni is evil.

Quite the opposite. Florence, the town where is was conceived, made a compelling case for the defense.

But there comes a point when you have enough information.

We tend to think wellness means discovering the next thing we should do.

Another supplement.

Another workout.

Another morning routine.

Another optimization.

Sometimes growth is finally accepting something you've known for years and removing what isn't serving you anymore.

The same applies to travel.

We nearly didn't take this trip because we were afraid traveling with a toddler would ruin the kind of travel we'd always loved.

Instead, we discovered a different version of it.

There were fewer long lunches and late nights. More playgrounds, snacks, early dinners, negotiations, toilet logistics, and luggage.

But there were also five weeks of watching our son experience Europe for the first time and meeting family who already loved him.

I'll take that trade.

I came home with a bigger waist, probably a little less muscle, and considerably more luggage for the man who would happily wear half his wardrobe than check a bag.

I also came home knowing a little more about what works for me, what doesn't, and what I'm ready to change.

Sometimes we have to make the same mistake enough times that we finally stop calling it a mistake and start calling it feedback.

Then we do something with it.

That's growth.