Homer was wrong. Bacon - not beer - is the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems. Salty, crispy, delicious bacon can trigger flavour explosions on the tongue and detonate satisfying chemical reactions in the brain. In large quantities, it can also put you on your ass and drain your will to breathe. In any normal situation, it might be easy to avoid the indulgence of breakfast meat. But when you're on the road, the hotel breakfast buffet is a dangerous foe.
I'm a relative newcomer to the conference/trade show scene, so I haven't developing the necessary coping strategies yet. I haven't developed the strength to select yoghurt and muesli when bacon and sausage are available in unlimited supply. I won't take myself to the gym in the morning, if I can wring another twenty winks from my lousy, lumpy bed. There's nowhere to go and nothing to do, because the conference centre/hotel is inevitably located in the sticks. This is a small, insulated world where intellectual stimulation is in short supply. Yesterday's highlights included: the discovery of a pants press machine in my room, and the sight of somebody actually using the shoe buffer in the hallway.
If you can summon the motivation, it is surprisingly easy to build momentum in your pursuit of a goal - IF you're in your comfort zone. Like a sports team on a roll, or a middle-aged woman on a Caribbean holiday, progress can feel easy when you find your groove. But rhythm is a precarious thing, something so many of us awkward dancers can attest to (you're in the club, you've found the beat, you're feeling "fly", and then the d.j. changes the tune - what do you do hot shot, what do you do?!)
I've been exercising for a month, eating well, regularly reflecting on the process. All good stuff. Still, a long weekend in Hannover has the potential to send me back to square one.
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