So it's finally come to this. Six posts since this time last year. One every two months on average.
In truth, the only reason I'm back here is because some auto-spambot has been posting comments under my most recent (e.g, written last March) post and, faced with emails telling me that the twentieth attempt to do so in a couple of days had just taken place, I started to get increasingly downhearted that the site that had proven my mouthpiece to the world in the early days of broadband had just been abandoned to its fate.
Nothing to say cheerio, thanks for reading, see you later; just the virtual equivalent of an overgrown cottage down a country lane - with a table still set for dinner and a yellowing copy of a 1987 TV Times lying open at the day when it all stopped. Like it was supposed to continue, but mysteriously just... didn't.
This blog doesn't deserve that fate. Weirdly, I sort of view it as a bit of a friend - a constant companion to my life since 2006. Back then, I had just returned from a life-changing trip to Scandinavia. "Bit melodramatic", you might think, but whilst it's not quite in the league of a massive lottery win, that's what I think it was.
In the first half of that year I'd been spending my working days utterly miserable in a rubbish, mundane job; I was probably a bit depressed and when I wasn't at work or passed out in bed, I could be found down one of my local boozers, most probably the Prince Albert in Brixton (after work) or the Old Monk at Aldgate East (every lunch hour). I ended up in the doctor's surgery in February with all the signs of panic attacks, ascribed by an admittedly cold-faced GP as being a result of my hard drinking, heavy smoking, not sleeping lifestyle.
Bizarrely, it was a trip to Danish Rock festival Roskilde that summer that triggered a change in my perspective. Four days of genuine relaxation in the sunshine, away from my routine in London, followed - significantly - by a trip to Malmo to spend some time with other friends gave me pretty much my first time away from London (with the exception of trips home) in 3 years. In Sweden, I was over-whelmed by the lifestyle I observed; a mixture of controlled drinking and mass enjoyment of open air entertainment; gigs, the World Cup on the big screen, swimming in the Baltic. I resolved whilst watching a reggae concert one evening that I would sort myself out when I got back and stop wallowing in whatever rut I'd made for myself.
When I got back, I shocked my friends by turning up for a barbecue clutching a litre of fruit juice and a couple of bottles of beer for the entire evening. I shamelessly hijacked a friend's idea to run a 10K for charity and create a blog to encourage sponsorship - the evolution of which you read now. I, along with a great bunch of mates, made the absolute most of the long, hot summer of '06 by attending what seemed like a different music festival around London every weekend. And as summer slipped into a warm autumn, I ran that first 10K, and finally asked the barmaid from the Albert out on a date - almost justification of my 18 months of alcohol abuse watching her from afar.
I'm running my 9th 10K on Saturday (and have also completed 2 half marathons). I got engaged to Justyna ("the barmaid") in Santorini in May. In between these two events, unnoticed as yet by the blog, I've been to India with work, attended the 2012 Olympics and been promoted for the second time in 15 months.
The route from Malmo to here is largely encapsulated in the 948 posts on See That Tattie Run to date, and for that reason I owe it to myself to continue writing it - at least until I choose to call it a day. I have a lot to remind myself about in years to come - it's been a hell of a year so far, which ironically contributes to my lack of time to document it. I've no doubt that there will come a time where I go more than a year between updates; but I'd like to think that what started way back in July 2006 will keep going in some shape or form until I'm well into old age, and form a 'Who do you think you are'/'How I met your mother' (Google (or equivalent) them, readers from the future) for myself in my dotage and anyone else who happens to stop by.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Reading Half Marathon
Two years ago as part of the attempted fund-raising build up for the Mongolia Charity Rally, I took part in the Reading Half Marathon. In all honesty, I'd entered because my mates were, rather than as a deliberate attempt to get sponsorship - just as well, really, as I think I attracted naff all as a direct result of my hour and 56 minutes of effort.
For reasons lost to the mists of time, but blamed squarely on my inability to ignore marketing emails, I'm entered in the race again this year. It's tomorrow morning. I'm getting picked up at 7am.
I'm really nervous this year. I can't remember how I felt in 2010 - I remember that I helped my friends Pino & Stella move flat the day before, and sat in the pub with my mates post-move sipping an orange juice whilst they got progressively more ratted. I recall my co-runners having differing preparations for the event - Euan joined me on the fruit juice, whilst Colin had arrived down from Aberdeen after work on the Friday, gone out on the piss, had a bagel for dinner at 3am, slept on someone's floor and then gone out on the beers again on the Saturday. They both beat me in the race.
This year I haven't managed the miles, but am a faster runner than before. I have managed to avoid smoking as well - last time I fell progressively further and further off the wagon in the final few weeks before the race, and ended up stopping at Beaconsfield services on the way back to London after the run just so I could buy a packet of fags. I've got injured for the first time in February which meant I missed around 3 weeks of training. Looking back over my training plan, I think I managed to do every session in 1 week out of 12. I've not run more than 19km at any point, and I managed that once, 2 weeks ago. Tomorrow, I need to do 21.
So - I've no idea what tomorrow morning will bring. I haven't eaten any dinner yet, I feel queasy and my guts are in turmoil - although whether as a result of nerves or not it's unclear. But I'll give it a crack and see what happens. I'm pinning my hopes on carb gels, which I've never used before but hope they might give me the boost I'll undoubtedly need after my body's energy runs out halfway through. Pretty sure they're probably on a list of banned substances somewhere though. As ever, I just want to finish. Under 2 hours would be amazing, but I can't honestly see how I would manage it - I ran 15km last weekend and could barely move my legs towards the end.
Here's hoping for a boost from the crowd and a tailwind!
For reasons lost to the mists of time, but blamed squarely on my inability to ignore marketing emails, I'm entered in the race again this year. It's tomorrow morning. I'm getting picked up at 7am.
I'm really nervous this year. I can't remember how I felt in 2010 - I remember that I helped my friends Pino & Stella move flat the day before, and sat in the pub with my mates post-move sipping an orange juice whilst they got progressively more ratted. I recall my co-runners having differing preparations for the event - Euan joined me on the fruit juice, whilst Colin had arrived down from Aberdeen after work on the Friday, gone out on the piss, had a bagel for dinner at 3am, slept on someone's floor and then gone out on the beers again on the Saturday. They both beat me in the race.
This year I haven't managed the miles, but am a faster runner than before. I have managed to avoid smoking as well - last time I fell progressively further and further off the wagon in the final few weeks before the race, and ended up stopping at Beaconsfield services on the way back to London after the run just so I could buy a packet of fags. I've got injured for the first time in February which meant I missed around 3 weeks of training. Looking back over my training plan, I think I managed to do every session in 1 week out of 12. I've not run more than 19km at any point, and I managed that once, 2 weeks ago. Tomorrow, I need to do 21.
So - I've no idea what tomorrow morning will bring. I haven't eaten any dinner yet, I feel queasy and my guts are in turmoil - although whether as a result of nerves or not it's unclear. But I'll give it a crack and see what happens. I'm pinning my hopes on carb gels, which I've never used before but hope they might give me the boost I'll undoubtedly need after my body's energy runs out halfway through. Pretty sure they're probably on a list of banned substances somewhere though. As ever, I just want to finish. Under 2 hours would be amazing, but I can't honestly see how I would manage it - I ran 15km last weekend and could barely move my legs towards the end.
Here's hoping for a boost from the crowd and a tailwind!
Monday, February 27, 2012
first 10k of the year coming up...
...and my body's in shocking shape. It would appear that my smoke free lungs have enabled me to run like the wind without noticing - with the result that my knee and foot have both capitulated under the pressure.
I'm annoyed and frustrated; have been training since the beginning of January and anything more than a slow jog causes my knee to scream in pain. My foot joined in for good measure last Monday after I had to walk four kilometres home following my latest knee-tastrophe - I think overcompensating for my lack of leg-bendiness caused me to strain a tendon. Weirdly, all this has happened since I finally splashed out on expensive trainers, supposedly suited to my running style following gait analysis. If anything, they seem to damage me more than my off-the-shelf numbers that did me right for the past 5 years.
Not only do I have a 10K on Sunday (starting and finishing at the old/permanent home of UK Athletics, Crystal Palace stadium, which at least will be good to say I've "competed" in), that I may just about hobble round if tonight's 1:06 training jog is anything to go by, but more importantly the Reading Half Marathon is only 5 weeks away.
I have severe doubts I'll be able to make it all the way round the 22km of the half marathon given I can barely cover 12 at the moment, but I'll give it a go. If this is old age I don't wanna know. I assumed I'd have some sort of adonis-like physique by now with the non-smoking, non-drinking (although admittedly that began again on 03 February) and exercising. As it is, I feel less fit than I do when I don't make any effort at all.
Apologies for the shoddy writing demonstrated in this post by the way. Just a bit ranty today and can't be bothered trying to make it more readable.
I'm annoyed and frustrated; have been training since the beginning of January and anything more than a slow jog causes my knee to scream in pain. My foot joined in for good measure last Monday after I had to walk four kilometres home following my latest knee-tastrophe - I think overcompensating for my lack of leg-bendiness caused me to strain a tendon. Weirdly, all this has happened since I finally splashed out on expensive trainers, supposedly suited to my running style following gait analysis. If anything, they seem to damage me more than my off-the-shelf numbers that did me right for the past 5 years.
Not only do I have a 10K on Sunday (starting and finishing at the old/permanent home of UK Athletics, Crystal Palace stadium, which at least will be good to say I've "competed" in), that I may just about hobble round if tonight's 1:06 training jog is anything to go by, but more importantly the Reading Half Marathon is only 5 weeks away.
I have severe doubts I'll be able to make it all the way round the 22km of the half marathon given I can barely cover 12 at the moment, but I'll give it a go. If this is old age I don't wanna know. I assumed I'd have some sort of adonis-like physique by now with the non-smoking, non-drinking (although admittedly that began again on 03 February) and exercising. As it is, I feel less fit than I do when I don't make any effort at all.
Apologies for the shoddy writing demonstrated in this post by the way. Just a bit ranty today and can't be bothered trying to make it more readable.
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
Smoke signals
Well, I've done it. Barring any catastrophes between now and around 11am tomorrow morning, I will have gone a full month without booze. Well done me.
I do actually feel a bit healthier today - typical. There's an extremely strong chance that I will dive headlong back into the world of alcohol consumption on Friday evening, thus ensuring I'm back in the land of hangovers by Saturday morning. To start finally feeling the benefit of abstinence this late in proceedings is similar to how my hair always looks decently styled when I've finally decided to go and get it cut. It's the equivalent of a puppy knowing it's going to the vet and trying to pretend it's not sick.
Perhaps as worrying as the outcome of my first tentative sips of lager, will be the effect getting back into "normal life" will have on my smoking habit. Or non-habit, as it currently, officially, is. I went all out at the start of January - no booze, start running again (over 70km trudged during the month), and kick the fags. Christmas at my mum's house saw me spending a combined total of hours, alone, shivering in the back garden sucking on a cigarette, whilst J and mum stayed cosy inside, celebrating the festive season in my absence.
I had some patches left but I've tried them twice now - 4 times if you include the additional two aborted attempts (pre-Christmas included) where I've just decided midway through that I'd rather smoke again. It's clear that nicotine withdrawal was not the cause of my repeated relapses. Years after first hearing about it, I decided to buy Allen Carr's "Easyway to Stop Smoking" from Amazon - I've heard multiple testimonials about it, and hey - the book is half the price of one week's worth of nicotine patches.
I have a degree in Psychology hence was sceptical about the effect the book might have on me. Of course, I'm far too smart and savvy to be fooled by some pop psychology. But I'd tried everything else besides hypnotherapy and drugs, so I had to give it a shot. The first few sentences I read, at random, from the middle of the book, convinced me that it was worth a read.
Like a lot of psychological theory, it states the bloody obvious. This is where its genius lies. I was, in a way, one step ahead of the book in that I had already been having the same thoughts it tries to teach running through my head - with every failed attempt to quit, the realisation of how much better your life and health is without fags becomes more and more apparent, never more so than when you get back on them. It wasn't that I wanted to smoke - I hated it. But I was addicted.
Or so I thought. What the book points out is that it is not addiction which keeps you coming back for more, but the brainwashing developed through years of exposure to advertising and peer pressure that somehow cigarettes are in any way a positive thing. This is where I have noticed the benefit to date - I stopped smoking before reading the book, which you're not supposed to do; you're meant to keep smoking whilst you educate yourself to see "beyond the matrix" - to notice how disgusting they taste, to realise that there isn't actually a positive associated with them. I hope, however, that having been through that independently beforehand will prove sufficient, and I will be able to use my new found perspective to stay clear of a relapse. I find myself viewing all smokers as drug addicts at the moment. The most powerful tool in my armoury is reminding myself that no one is a born smoker. Everyone forced themselves to become one at some point. This probably sounds a) obvious and b) stupid to non-smokers; however it really does help me remove that 'jealousy' thing.
Prior to this it had been envy of smokers which lured me back; realising they're just addicts who want to give up too and regret ever starting is a great way to remove that jealousy. The only thing the book doesn't cover, and the one thing I'm hoping I can prevent shouting in my head, is that I have always viewed smoking as an adult pleasure. Yes, it is stupid. But it is a feeling of independence and freedom - I can smoke if I want to. Despite it being for all the right reasons, I do still feel a bit aggrieved that my right as an adult to choose my own destiny has been taken away.
This is, of course, stupid. I also have a right to choose my own destiny by chucking myself off a bridge with a bungee cord attached. Why don't I do that? Because it seems too dangerous. I don't know the figures for death-by-bungee, but am guessing they're marginally less than death-by-smoking.
So - as it stands, I am also a month free of cigarettes once more, and nearing 3 weeks free of nicotine completely. I haven't felt a single craving. This may be due to the book, it may be due to non-drinking, it may be that the rational side of my brain has finally won the argument. Whatever it is, I hope it continues and - as Allen Carr promises - I wake up in the near future knowing I will never smoke again.
I do actually feel a bit healthier today - typical. There's an extremely strong chance that I will dive headlong back into the world of alcohol consumption on Friday evening, thus ensuring I'm back in the land of hangovers by Saturday morning. To start finally feeling the benefit of abstinence this late in proceedings is similar to how my hair always looks decently styled when I've finally decided to go and get it cut. It's the equivalent of a puppy knowing it's going to the vet and trying to pretend it's not sick.
Perhaps as worrying as the outcome of my first tentative sips of lager, will be the effect getting back into "normal life" will have on my smoking habit. Or non-habit, as it currently, officially, is. I went all out at the start of January - no booze, start running again (over 70km trudged during the month), and kick the fags. Christmas at my mum's house saw me spending a combined total of hours, alone, shivering in the back garden sucking on a cigarette, whilst J and mum stayed cosy inside, celebrating the festive season in my absence.
I had some patches left but I've tried them twice now - 4 times if you include the additional two aborted attempts (pre-Christmas included) where I've just decided midway through that I'd rather smoke again. It's clear that nicotine withdrawal was not the cause of my repeated relapses. Years after first hearing about it, I decided to buy Allen Carr's "Easyway to Stop Smoking" from Amazon - I've heard multiple testimonials about it, and hey - the book is half the price of one week's worth of nicotine patches.
I have a degree in Psychology hence was sceptical about the effect the book might have on me. Of course, I'm far too smart and savvy to be fooled by some pop psychology. But I'd tried everything else besides hypnotherapy and drugs, so I had to give it a shot. The first few sentences I read, at random, from the middle of the book, convinced me that it was worth a read.
Like a lot of psychological theory, it states the bloody obvious. This is where its genius lies. I was, in a way, one step ahead of the book in that I had already been having the same thoughts it tries to teach running through my head - with every failed attempt to quit, the realisation of how much better your life and health is without fags becomes more and more apparent, never more so than when you get back on them. It wasn't that I wanted to smoke - I hated it. But I was addicted.
Or so I thought. What the book points out is that it is not addiction which keeps you coming back for more, but the brainwashing developed through years of exposure to advertising and peer pressure that somehow cigarettes are in any way a positive thing. This is where I have noticed the benefit to date - I stopped smoking before reading the book, which you're not supposed to do; you're meant to keep smoking whilst you educate yourself to see "beyond the matrix" - to notice how disgusting they taste, to realise that there isn't actually a positive associated with them. I hope, however, that having been through that independently beforehand will prove sufficient, and I will be able to use my new found perspective to stay clear of a relapse. I find myself viewing all smokers as drug addicts at the moment. The most powerful tool in my armoury is reminding myself that no one is a born smoker. Everyone forced themselves to become one at some point. This probably sounds a) obvious and b) stupid to non-smokers; however it really does help me remove that 'jealousy' thing.
Prior to this it had been envy of smokers which lured me back; realising they're just addicts who want to give up too and regret ever starting is a great way to remove that jealousy. The only thing the book doesn't cover, and the one thing I'm hoping I can prevent shouting in my head, is that I have always viewed smoking as an adult pleasure. Yes, it is stupid. But it is a feeling of independence and freedom - I can smoke if I want to. Despite it being for all the right reasons, I do still feel a bit aggrieved that my right as an adult to choose my own destiny has been taken away.
This is, of course, stupid. I also have a right to choose my own destiny by chucking myself off a bridge with a bungee cord attached. Why don't I do that? Because it seems too dangerous. I don't know the figures for death-by-bungee, but am guessing they're marginally less than death-by-smoking.
So - as it stands, I am also a month free of cigarettes once more, and nearing 3 weeks free of nicotine completely. I haven't felt a single craving. This may be due to the book, it may be due to non-drinking, it may be that the rational side of my brain has finally won the argument. Whatever it is, I hope it continues and - as Allen Carr promises - I wake up in the near future knowing I will never smoke again.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Welcome to a new year
And trust it finds us all in fine fettle?
Big news here is that I'm nearing the end of Day 20 of no alcohol after an impetuous (some would say rash / foolhardy / deranged) decision to have a month off the plonk after New Year.
It's led to being inevitably lumped in with the annual January abstainers and meant I've been subjected to numerous rants outlining the health risks of stopping and then binge drinking as soon as the calendar clicks into February; how I'm an idiot for thinking I'll save my liver this way and that, in actual fact, I'm doing more harm than good by laying off it for a while.
One friend, upon hearing of my efforts for the first time, even sent the following text to me - which, whilst absolutely tongue-in-cheek on her part, is one of the most twisted, brilliant, pieces of reverse psychology I've ever heard:
"You do realise that quitting for a month is one of the signs of alcoholism?"
Love it. How do I prove I'm not an alcoholic?! Shit! Best make sure I go to the pub on a regular basis, for fear I go too long without a drink, thus demonstrating my addiction!
I do get the whole reference to some alcoholics who go cold turkey and then binge drink themselves to oblivion, Ms Winehouse included, but I was already pretty sure I wasn't an alcoholic and certainly hadn't set out to prove anything to myself or others that I was capable of surviving without booze. I'm also not doing it in some puritan attempt to purge myself of the excesses of the Christmas period, which were reasonably subdued in any event.
No, for me, the time of year is just coincidence; I've fancied having a full month off for a few years now, just to see - well - what it's like. Whilst I'm not traipsing down to the local offie at 8am for a top up of Special Brew or even managing to last the pace with my friends these days, I still drink regularly - by which I mean that I don't remember a full 7 day week that has passed without a degree of alcohol being consumed since I reached adulthood way back in 1996.
I'd heard stories about bursts of energy being experienced, and I was just getting bored with the same routine - finish work on Friday, go for something between a single and many beers; wake up with a degree of hangover on Saturday morning, drink again on Saturday night, then spend Sunday feeling at least slightly ropey. I was bored. And at an age where suddenly, all that time spent boozing or recovering from the effects of it starts to look like a waste of the best years of your life.
My last beer was on January 1st when we met friends for a New Years Day meal down the pub; my last 'alcohol-proper' was with breakfast the following morning (*nb, not an alcoholic, honest) when J & I finished off a spare bottle of Bucks Fizz leftover from Christmas. We had the 2nd of January off work as well, before you ask, and made the most of our new found liberation (and the effects of slightly alcoholic fizzy orange juice) to go to a photography exhibition on the South Bank.
So. Nearly 3 weeks in. "How's it going?", you may be wondering. Well... hard to say. It's not proved difficult to stop (thus removing the outside chance I was an alcoholic and just hadn't noticed, which is a bonus) and I've not found myself becoming a hermit at weekends to avoid being put in the path of temptation. I've seen my friends as much, if not more than I did before Christmas but it's been more civilised due in part to it being January - so more "come round for dinner" than "let's spend the afternoon in a sun-drenched beer garden". I have been around people drinking, but have actually only been in a pub once.
I don't think I've been any more or less "fun" than I am when I'm on the booze (although my friends may disagree) - I've found myself being aware of being tired much more quickly though, and in all honesty haven't lasted more than three hours or so before making a move for home. I felt similar before Christmas, however - if anything, the non-drinking just means I now have an excuse to leave everyone to it and head for the exit. You're allowed to be boring if you're sober.
My life hasn't suddenly become any richer or more fulfilling. I haven't picked up any new hobbies; I've not been to anything cultural since the bucks fizz-fuelled photography exhibition trip and I haven't discovered any talents or skills that have been suppressed under a fug of stale Staropramen throughout adulthood. In a way, this is disappointing, but in another it is a positive sign - I have not been wasting some God-given talent, through which I would now be rich and famous; I just don't have one, and whether or not I drink doesn't make the slightest bit of difference. This sounds pessimistic, but it's not meant to. It means I've got to focus on different things if I want to have a more fulfilling life and can stop sitting in a depressed haze blaming beer for my woes. There is an argument that at least I don't have the added handicap of a motivation-sapping hangover getting in the way of my discovering that new release of creativity or perfect job, which may be true.
Up until this weekend, I was, at least, appreciating the lack of hangovers. Sleeping is a pleasurable experience, and it's great to wake up on a Saturday morning knowing that you're pretty well rested. The anticipated surge of energy has yet to appear, however, and I found myself having a total of 19 hours sleep last weekend yet still waking up exhausted on Sunday morning. I'm pretty sure I was very run down by the end of 2011 and that I'm still recovering, which hasn't helped. This weekend, however, I contracted what appears to be Norovirus, or the "winter vomiting bug", which ironically made me feel like I had the hangover from hell for all of Friday and Saturday. I'm just about out of the woods now, in that I've eaten three meals today and haven't yet brought any of them back up, but it's funny that I normally purposefully make myself feel that bad (without the associated puking/pooing) each weekend. Kind of a timely reminder of what I'm missing now that the novelty of being 'dry' is starting to lose its lustre somewhat.
There are still 10 days of my "official" trial remaining, which doesn't seem that long. I can't see me noticing any discernible benefit to be had from abstention in the next week & a half, in which case it will only have proved that there is no point in trying to stop. Booze is not the cause of all ills, and stopping it will not magically cause one's life to improve immeasurably. It takes a lot more effort than that. Which is a result of sorts, I suppose.
Big news here is that I'm nearing the end of Day 20 of no alcohol after an impetuous (some would say rash / foolhardy / deranged) decision to have a month off the plonk after New Year.
It's led to being inevitably lumped in with the annual January abstainers and meant I've been subjected to numerous rants outlining the health risks of stopping and then binge drinking as soon as the calendar clicks into February; how I'm an idiot for thinking I'll save my liver this way and that, in actual fact, I'm doing more harm than good by laying off it for a while.
One friend, upon hearing of my efforts for the first time, even sent the following text to me - which, whilst absolutely tongue-in-cheek on her part, is one of the most twisted, brilliant, pieces of reverse psychology I've ever heard:
"You do realise that quitting for a month is one of the signs of alcoholism?"
Love it. How do I prove I'm not an alcoholic?! Shit! Best make sure I go to the pub on a regular basis, for fear I go too long without a drink, thus demonstrating my addiction!
I do get the whole reference to some alcoholics who go cold turkey and then binge drink themselves to oblivion, Ms Winehouse included, but I was already pretty sure I wasn't an alcoholic and certainly hadn't set out to prove anything to myself or others that I was capable of surviving without booze. I'm also not doing it in some puritan attempt to purge myself of the excesses of the Christmas period, which were reasonably subdued in any event.
No, for me, the time of year is just coincidence; I've fancied having a full month off for a few years now, just to see - well - what it's like. Whilst I'm not traipsing down to the local offie at 8am for a top up of Special Brew or even managing to last the pace with my friends these days, I still drink regularly - by which I mean that I don't remember a full 7 day week that has passed without a degree of alcohol being consumed since I reached adulthood way back in 1996.
I'd heard stories about bursts of energy being experienced, and I was just getting bored with the same routine - finish work on Friday, go for something between a single and many beers; wake up with a degree of hangover on Saturday morning, drink again on Saturday night, then spend Sunday feeling at least slightly ropey. I was bored. And at an age where suddenly, all that time spent boozing or recovering from the effects of it starts to look like a waste of the best years of your life.
My last beer was on January 1st when we met friends for a New Years Day meal down the pub; my last 'alcohol-proper' was with breakfast the following morning (*nb, not an alcoholic, honest) when J & I finished off a spare bottle of Bucks Fizz leftover from Christmas. We had the 2nd of January off work as well, before you ask, and made the most of our new found liberation (and the effects of slightly alcoholic fizzy orange juice) to go to a photography exhibition on the South Bank.
So. Nearly 3 weeks in. "How's it going?", you may be wondering. Well... hard to say. It's not proved difficult to stop (thus removing the outside chance I was an alcoholic and just hadn't noticed, which is a bonus) and I've not found myself becoming a hermit at weekends to avoid being put in the path of temptation. I've seen my friends as much, if not more than I did before Christmas but it's been more civilised due in part to it being January - so more "come round for dinner" than "let's spend the afternoon in a sun-drenched beer garden". I have been around people drinking, but have actually only been in a pub once.
I don't think I've been any more or less "fun" than I am when I'm on the booze (although my friends may disagree) - I've found myself being aware of being tired much more quickly though, and in all honesty haven't lasted more than three hours or so before making a move for home. I felt similar before Christmas, however - if anything, the non-drinking just means I now have an excuse to leave everyone to it and head for the exit. You're allowed to be boring if you're sober.
My life hasn't suddenly become any richer or more fulfilling. I haven't picked up any new hobbies; I've not been to anything cultural since the bucks fizz-fuelled photography exhibition trip and I haven't discovered any talents or skills that have been suppressed under a fug of stale Staropramen throughout adulthood. In a way, this is disappointing, but in another it is a positive sign - I have not been wasting some God-given talent, through which I would now be rich and famous; I just don't have one, and whether or not I drink doesn't make the slightest bit of difference. This sounds pessimistic, but it's not meant to. It means I've got to focus on different things if I want to have a more fulfilling life and can stop sitting in a depressed haze blaming beer for my woes. There is an argument that at least I don't have the added handicap of a motivation-sapping hangover getting in the way of my discovering that new release of creativity or perfect job, which may be true.
Up until this weekend, I was, at least, appreciating the lack of hangovers. Sleeping is a pleasurable experience, and it's great to wake up on a Saturday morning knowing that you're pretty well rested. The anticipated surge of energy has yet to appear, however, and I found myself having a total of 19 hours sleep last weekend yet still waking up exhausted on Sunday morning. I'm pretty sure I was very run down by the end of 2011 and that I'm still recovering, which hasn't helped. This weekend, however, I contracted what appears to be Norovirus, or the "winter vomiting bug", which ironically made me feel like I had the hangover from hell for all of Friday and Saturday. I'm just about out of the woods now, in that I've eaten three meals today and haven't yet brought any of them back up, but it's funny that I normally purposefully make myself feel that bad (without the associated puking/pooing) each weekend. Kind of a timely reminder of what I'm missing now that the novelty of being 'dry' is starting to lose its lustre somewhat.
There are still 10 days of my "official" trial remaining, which doesn't seem that long. I can't see me noticing any discernible benefit to be had from abstention in the next week & a half, in which case it will only have proved that there is no point in trying to stop. Booze is not the cause of all ills, and stopping it will not magically cause one's life to improve immeasurably. It takes a lot more effort than that. Which is a result of sorts, I suppose.
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