Beach brain, beached whale.

10 days on the beach
+ extremely limited physical activity
+ drinking EVERY day
+ hamburgers or hot dogs almost every day
+ or pasta with at least a stick of butter in it (not exaggerating)
+ endless platters of processed Italian meats and cheeses
= 3.5 pound gain.

That's okay. I mean, it's not really, but I'm not going to beat myself up about it. I had a great time on my vacation and enjoyed myself with my friends and family. I feel refreshed and sunkissed. And yes, a little bit heftier, but that's okay. I think it's the double edged sword, when people I haven't seen since pre-FF see me and tell me how good I look, I hear that as "yes!
yes you CAN have another s'more/margarita/bag of chips and onion dip." The weirdest was probably my cousin, who kept saying "I'm so happy for you, I am really so happy for you" in a sympathetic way as though I'd just battled a life threatening illness. Hmm.

Anyway, my physical activity for the week was limited with the exception of in Irish Jig at the bar, dance party to 1996 Jock Jams, several long walks on the beach, swimming in the ocean with the fear of God (thanks, Shark Week), and an intense day of competitive beach games including three legged races around the slalom, digging like crazy (before we got yelled at by the douchebags on the beach), frisbee toss, capture the flag/die in the gauntlet, and of course, sand Pictionary.

I'm going to have to start blogging my meals again to stay on track, because last night I literally ate half a pizza.