‘Tis the Season to Resurrect the Bikini

Published by Total Fitness Magazine

I did get to wear my yellow polka dot number, postpartum.

My husband and I are sun and sea worshippers. He having lived in a secluded beach paradise in Micronesia for over five years, and me having lived most of my life in a tropical country, we are constantly shaking sand off our feet. And then we moved to the Midwest and with winter bearing down on us, sun burn became the least of our worries.

But as we’re slowly defrosting, we are fast tracking our summer this spring by booking tickets to the Little Corn Island in Nicaragua, hoping to get our tan on and our reggae groovin’. 

Getting our tan on at the Surf Shack in Roi Namur, Marshall Islands.

Suddenly, under the five layers of thermal clothing, I find my long forgotten abs. I used to do about a hundred crunches almost every day and climb the stairs from the ground floor all the way to the 25^th  and back. Now all the exercise that I do is the frequent baby lifting (roughly 22 pounds and growing) and picking up after my boys (that includes my husband) and the occasional running around to take pictures for my articles. Aside from that, my belly button and everything around it pretty much hasn’t seen the light of day or any kind of muscle activity for over 2 years now since I found out that I had a jumping jelly bean breeding in me. And as my son grows, so does my tummy. 

Docked by Obella to enjoy the sun. We had the whole island to ourselves!

It’s both an unfortunate and fortunate thing, but the only thing that seems to fatten up with my body is my core. I say fortunate because it’s all I have to worry about and something that can easily be camouflaged with the right accessory or a suck of the breath and a smile. But it’s also unfortunate, especially during bikini season, when it’s the only thing that seems to swell, making me look like I’m suffering kwashiorkor or a bad case of malnutrition.

In our little private island, Obella. Read more about it here.

I’ve always been on the slim side. In fact, skinny was an understatement back in high school, but I guess age has contributed a few pounds to my frame moving me close to the category of slim. I’m either blessed with a very active metabolism or I have overstaying uninvited dinner guests partying in my stomach. And although diet by tapeworm is quickly becoming a trend (in case you haven’t heard, some people ingest tapeworm to lose weight), high metabolism is my preferred diet pill.

Self portrait in Bintan, Indonesia.

The teensy weensy yellow polka dot bikini (I kid you not: it is yellow and polka dotted and yes, fashion experts say that bikinis are more flattering for the thin frame) has been purchased but the belly dilemma has yet to be dealt with. My husband on the other hand has been working hard to shed off the love handles that fatherhood has blessed him with. He’s been working out almost every day while I look for clues in the form of paw prints. I could do 4 sets of oblique crunches while the Blues Clues gang sat on their thinking chair, but then there’s always SpongeBob Squarepants tomorrow.

Getting our goof on at Coco Loco, Palawan.

With our get-ready-for-the-beach regimen, our diet has changed too. On more than one occasion, we’ve listened to numerous comments by the cashier ringing up our groceries. Roasted Chicken. Ching, says the cash register in agreement. “Eating healthy tonight?” Ceasar Salad. Ching. “Now this is a light meal!” Wheat bread. Ching. Ching. “On a diet?”

Don't take me seriously.

My husband is doing more than just eating right. He’s enrolled in CrossFit classes, a strength and conditioning brand that combines weightlifting, gymnastics, sprinting, powerlifting, and rowing to improve endurance, stamina, strength, flexibility, agility and the whole shebang, when all he really wants is to look good in a Speedo. He better do all the rowing when we get to the beach.

Low tide at Roi Namur.

So far he’s lost 11 pounds in a month, and I am still working on getting back to my 100 a day crunches. If all else fails, there’s always the tankini.

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