The Travelers' 20

April 19, 2025

My lungs were radiating fire as I made my way up Calle Retiro—the steep slope leading to our Airbnb in Cuzco, Peru. What started as a run had downgraded to a jog, then to a labored walk. Sure, I could try to blame the altitude, but we’d just spent three weeks in Nepal at even higher elevations. That excuse was flimsy at best.  And altitude certainly doesn’t explain the ache in my knees or the noticeable expansion of the soft roll encircling my midsection. Let’s be honest: that roll didn’t suddenly appear at age 55—but it had definitely thickened to a new level.

Before we embarked on this year-long travel odyssey, a few friends asked how I planned to keep from gaining weight on such a long trip. It’s universally accepted—by me, at least—that when you're on vacation, healthy habits take a backseat to street food, late dinners, and gelato at any hour. You gain a few pounds, no big deal, and shed them once you're back home and on a routine.

But what about extended travel? Would the scale slowly climb month by month until I returned home unrecognizable? I told myself—and my skeptics—that it wouldn’t. This wasn’t an extended vacation, after all; it was just life, lived elsewhere. I figured I could strike a balance: enjoy the world’s culinary treasures without letting go of regular exercise and intermittent fasting.

I even scoffed at the idea of the “Travelers' Twenty”—a nod to the college “Freshman Fifteen,” when unsupervised freedom leads to beer, pizza, and regret. That wouldn’t happen to me.

And for a while, it didn’t. In Greece and Bosnia, I held the line—twice-weekly fasting, a consistent workout rhythm, even a bit of pride. But as the months passed, my routine got scrambled. Faster travel meant less time to run. Shifts in climate—either blazing heat or damp cold—messed with my motivation. And let's not forget the “cultural obligations” of wine tastings in Spain or pastries in Slovenia.

By the time we arrived in Bali, I was carrying an extra 15–20 pounds. That’s when I drew the line. No more alcohol. Daily exercise. A return to discipline. I stuck with it, and to be fair, I felt better. But not dramatically better. Not “drop two pant sizes” better. Maybe it was my age—after all, I’d just turned 55 in Morocco—but progress was slower than expected.

And then came Nepal. The air quality in Kathmandu and Pokhara was dismal—running outside felt like smoking a pack of cigarettes. I was sick for weeks, coughing my way through trekking trails and hotel rooms. My willpower dissolved into bowls of momos and masala chai.

Now, with less than two months left in our travels, I’m trying to mount a comeback. I want to return home feeling lighter—not just physically, but mentally. Maybe the descent to lower altitude will help. Maybe kicking this lingering cold will reignite my energy.

But for now, I’m going to enjoy the cream-filled donut my wife and kids bought me while I was out "running." Hey, it's about balance.