The Move to the Capital

My path to the capital wasn't a direct jump from my childhood village. The transition happened in stages. First, I spent time living in Dubrovnik for my university studies. Dubrovnik was beautiful, still deeply tied to the coastal lifestyle and the sea that I was so familiar with. But eventually, the reality of adult life set in. My continuing studies and the pursuit of a serious career pulled me away from the coast and inland to Zagreb, the bustling capital of Croatia.

Arriving in Zagreb was a stark contrast to my village upbringing. Gone were the salty breezes and the quiet stone streets. Instead, I was met with concrete, the constant hum of blue city trams, heavy traffic, and winters that felt incredibly grey and biting compared to the mild coastal climate. But the biggest shock wasn't the weather or the scenery; it was the sheer pace of life. Zagreb was a city of endless cafes, fast food options on every corner, and a relentless focus on work and productivity.

With that final transition to Zagreb and the start of my full-time working life came a complete and abrupt stop to any incidental physical activity I had left. Back on the coast, even when I was doing the bare minimum, I was at least occasionally swimming or walking down to the water. In Zagreb, my lifestyle became shockingly, completely sedentary.

The Reality of the Desk Job

When I officially entered the workforce, the reality of long hours sitting in front of a computer screen began to take a serious toll on my body and my mind. The transition from a student's relatively flexible, erratic schedule to a rigid, nine-to-five desk job left me feeling permanently exhausted. By the time I logged off and stepped away from my monitor, my eyes would ache and my posture was ruined.

I convinced myself that I simply didn't have the time or the mental energy for any form of physical activity. I was incredibly unfit, and honestly, profoundly lazy. The mere thought of walking anywhere that wasn't strictly necessary felt like an unbearable chore.

To give you an idea of just how bad it got, consider my grocery shopping routine. I lived an embarrassingly short distance, just 200 meters, away from the local shopping center. It was a flat, easy three-minute walk. Yet, without fail, I would grab my car keys, walk to my car, start the engine, and drive those 200 meters. The shopping center had its own parking garage, but it was often completely packed. Because of this, I would sometimes spend 10 minutes just circling around the different garage levels looking for a place to park, do my shopping, and then repeat the driving process to get home. I would literally rather sit in my car and fight for a spot in a crowded garage than use my own two legs for three minutes. This wasn't an occasional lapse in judgment; this was my daily, accepted reality.

The Gym: A Hollow Obligation

There was a brief, fleeting period when the reality of my unfitness caught up with me, and I decided I needed to do something about it. Like many people seeking a quick fix, I joined a local gym.

For some time, going to that gym was the one and only physical activity I did in a given week. I would drive there, step inside the artificially lit room smelling of rubber mats and sweat, and do a generic, uninspired weightlifting workout. But I didn't drive straight home afterward. Instead, after every single session, I would sit in a smoky cafe that was actually located right inside the gym building to have a coffee and a cigarette. The cafe was always completely packed. At that time, sitting down for a coffee and smoking immediately after a gym workout was considered a completely normal thing to do. I hated the actual workout part; it lacked the natural joy and camaraderie of playing water polo in the sea.

It felt like a forced obligation, a punishment for my otherwise terrible habits, rather than a genuine pursuit of long-term health. I was going through the motions of lifting weights, but sitting in the gym's cafe with a cigarette proved I was still the exact same guy who stubbornly drove 200 meters to buy bread and milk. The gym didn't change my lifestyle; it was just a temporary band-aid on a much deeper problem.

The Bakery Culture and Reaching 90kg

My diet during this period certainly didn't help matters. In fact, it actively accelerated my physical decline. Living in Zagreb meant being surrounded by the city's famous bakery culture. "Pekare" (bakeries) are on practically every street corner, constantly pumping out the smell of fresh bread, buttery pastries, and heavy, meat-filled burek.

My meals heavily leaned into traditional, meat-centric inland dishes, like thick goulash, massive breaded schnitzels, and heavy stews that sat like a brick in your stomach for hours afterward. I ate for comfort and convenience, rarely considering the nutritional value of what I was putting into my body.

But my biggest downfall by far was the snacking. Sitting at a work desk all day, staring at spreadsheets and code, I constantly craved quick hits of dopamine and energy. It quickly became a daily ritual to eat chocolate after every single lunch. It wasn't a treat; it was a mandatory part of my afternoon routine just to stay awake through the post-lunch slump.

The results of this lifestyle were unavoidable. Before I moved from the coast, I weighed a steady, healthy 70kg. In just a few short years of this sedentary city lifestyle, the daily desk chocolates, the heavy bakery runs, and the sheer lack of movement, my weight ballooned to over 90kg. My energy levels were at an all-time low, to the point where simply climbing a flight of stairs left me winded.

Looking back now, my time in Zagreb was undeniably crucial for my education and the foundation of my career. It gave me the professional start I needed. But physically and mentally, it was my absolute lowest point. It set the stage for a drastic, necessary change, a change that I desperately needed, but wouldn't actually initiate until I moved across the world.