Week 24

Today I have been sober for 24 weeks. 168 days.

Sobriety

In terms of sobriety, again this week I don’t have a lot to add. I seem to be getting into a bit of a rhythm at the moment where it genuinely doesn’t occupy a lot of space in my mind. I probably say this every week, but just because I’m going well at the moment, doesn’t mean that I think I am in the clear. I got to this position by remaining conscious of the fact that I am never truly in the clear and that these urges and temptations can come back to haunt me whenever they choose.

I think though the fact that my life is starting to settle a little bit now has had a lot to do with it. All the major stressors of the last few months are all but sorted. My son is here, healthy and happy. I have settled into my new role at work. the house is unpacked, except for that one room that’s full of all the shit I can’t be fucked to deal with. You know the room. Even the Air BnB is up and running, the third group of guests has been and gone already. It’s lovely to have that sorted and to have a little bit of financial relief, especially with The RBA still carrying on like dickheads with the interest rate.

I think these one-off stressors dissipating all around the same time have made it so much easier to remain sober. I’ve always been driven to drink when everything is just all too much for me. The only thing then was that the thought that maybe I shouldn’t drink never crossed my mind. I knew it was bad for me, I knew I wasn’t very good at it and I knew it usually led me to make more poor decisions. For some reason, I never ever considered that maybe I should stop. Maybe I was too scared to accept it.

I did, in a way, pass something of a milestone this week though. for the first time in 18 years, I watched the NRL Grand Final sober. Something only six months ago I would have scoffed at the idea of. The grand final day has always been a day where there’s no right or wrong time to start drinking. It’s socially acceptable in many places around Australia to be shitfaced by lunchtime on grand final day and I fuckin’ loved that. I still don’t see an issue with others doing it. People should do whatever they are comfortable with themselves doing. Just as long as you are truly comfortable doing it. Like, properly. Deep down.

Anyway, I spent the arvo with my son, watching the mighty Newcastle Knights win their first-ever NRLW title, and honestly, I couldn’t think of a better way to watch it. No amount of grog or drunk mates could’ve made it any better. Hopefully, the young fella is a good luck charm for the football club that seems to get off on fucking with my feelings.

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Physical & Mental Health Aren’t Mutually Exclusive

How do you manage your stress?

Me? I ignore it and get shitfaced for a few days. kidding. I used to, though. I wanted it to work so badly that I tried it for 18 years. It never worked. Not once. Well, maybe temporarily. But I always likened it to taking some of the happiness from tomorrow and using it up tonight. What I mean by that is, you’re only delaying the inevitable, and if you delay it with alcohol, it’ll hit you harder when it does hit. I used to complain about having shitty weeks. Spend the weekend getting fucked up because I’d earned it because I had a hard week. Then I’d have another hard week because I was hungover until Wednesday. Then tell myself on Friday I’d earned myself a big night on the piss because I’d survived another hard week, without accepting it was self-inflicted. I was devoid of the ability to accept that the weeks were difficult due to my own behavior the weekend prior. Even though I knew it. It’s a strange thing. Deep down you know it, but you get this internal conflict that is biased towards yourself.

Anyway, I’ve always had a desire to be fit and healthy. I have gained and lost 25kg or more on three separate occasions in my adult life. I didn’t realise it at the time but when I look back, it becomes obvious that when I was neglecting my physical health was when I was struggling the most with my mental health too. I’ve been a fat prick, I’ve been a skinny prick, and every other type of prick in between.

The below are fuckin’ embarrassing to share, but they’re all a part of my journey and I think it’s important to share the good and the bad of everything. Because it’s all real and we’re all going through real shit.

Most of these are pretty old. The after photos in the last three are the most recent and they’re over a year old now. None of that matters. What I see when I look at these is that it’s obvious in the photos of when I was bigger that I just didn’t give a shit. My hair is long, My beard is long and unkempt. I just look like a bloke who doesn’t have the energy to care enough about himself. I think ultimately, that’s probably the truth.

The hard thing is, you don’t just wake up one day and stop caring, you don’t just wake up one day and start caring. This shit happens gradually. So much so that you barely notice it happening. It’s not until one day you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror or see a photo of yourself and think “ah fuck, I’ve done it again.”

Of course, by the time you reach this point, it’s far too late to do anything about it that’s going to solve your problems quickly. From this point, it’s uphill only. This is why it’s so fucking easy to just think ah fuck it, I’m here now, the alternative is too hard, it’s easier to just wallow in this shit, accept that I’m not happy with myself but also accept that it’s too fucking hard to do anything about it. Essentially accepting unhappiness.

This is how I think I got to this point, three fucking times. I wasn’t managing my stress properly.

I’ve always loved food. Junk food. Takeaway food. The shit my parents wouldn’t let me have. I’ve always been able to eat a lot too. Still can. The other night, the night before a long run, I ate two deep pan dominos pizzas and a loaf of garlic bread. Easy money. Like alcohol, I used food as a coping mechanism. I guess ultimately what I’ve been lacking in my adult life is healthy coping mechanisms. So I just use easy, unhealthy coping mechanisms. Food, alcohol, cigarettes, cocaine, whatever.

I was never taught healthy coping mechanisms. I was never taught that running or going to the gym is a good way to process your thoughts and feelings. I was taught they were good for you. That they would make you healthy and strong. But no one ever said anything about endorphins, dopamine, or serotonin. Why aren’t we taught about this shit? Why do we have to become adults and have to learn about this stuff ourselves? I already knew they were good for me physically, would it have been so hard for whoever was teaching me that to add that it would be brilliant for my mental health too? Maybe they didn’t know? How old were you when you finally figured out the benefits exercise could have on your mental health as well as your physical health?

Ultimately, for me anyway, my physical appearance has always been a reflection of how well or poorly I am doing mentally. I guess when I do things, I really do them. Are you the same?

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Running

I’ve been running on and off for 15 years. I started running because I wanted to be fit, healthy and not put on weight. I’ve always struggled a little with weight, i used to think I was '“that kinda person” who gains weight by walking past a bakery. I’ve since learned that, while some find it easier to keep weight off, no one who burns more than what they eat puts on weight.

At the time I didn’t realise just how addictive running could be. Not just an alcoholic/drug addict! I also get addicted to other shit.

I enjoy the gym. I enjoy circuit training. But nothing on earth, not even drugs or alcohol, compares to the euphoric feeling I get at the end of a long, long run. It might sound crazy to some, but everything after a long run feels amazing. The soreness in your legs, the difficulty you experience when you slowly lower yourself to the shower floor. The shower it’s self. The comfy trackies, socks and hoody you throw on after have never felt so comfy. You slowly wander down the hallway and flop yourself onto the lounge. The lounge has never ever felt so soft. Water is fucking delicious! Water! Food tastes better. It’s honestly the most amazing feeling on earth for me. The problem is, you have to work your ass off for at least two hours to get it. It’s heaps easier, and much more expensive, do get blind drunk and do lines of coke, but you will not feel the same euphoria.

During lock down last year I able to train in the gym due to bursitis in both shoulders. So, I ran fuckin’ heaps. I was drinking heaps too. But I was running just as much. I averaged 100k’s a week for the entire second half of last year. That’s all I had, running, alcohol and drugs. I did plenty of all three. I ran every single PB I have ever ran between August ‘21 and early ‘22. I was hopeful of running a marathon PB at Canberra Marathon in April this year. I’d just smashed my five and ten kilometer PB’s. I’d never been running so well in my life.

Six weeks before The Canberra Marathon this year i caught Covid. I had a fairly typical experience, Couch bound for 48 hours. sore throat and cough for a week or so. I thought I was done with it. When I cam out of isolation I was five weeks out from the marathon.

I felt fine, so I figured fuck it, let’s get back to training. I was not fine. What I found with covid was i shot back to maybe 90% health really quickly, but that last 10% evaded me. Twice in my first week out of isolation I went for two runs. Both times I had to call my dad to pick me up from the side of the road well short of my intended distance. My heart rate was so high. I usually sit at a pretty moderate heart rate. My body just, wouldn’t run any further.

I remember feeling so many different emotions. I was shattered. I was upset. I was so angry. I’d worked so hard during lock down. I’d missed so many events due to cancellations. Now four weeks out from the event, I couldn’t run 15k without falling into a pile of shit on the side of The Tuggeranong Parkway. i remember getting home from these two afternoon runs and not being able to get off my bed to even have a shower. Dad remarked at how badly I smelt. Worse than normal. He said I smelt like chemicals. I don’t know if it was all the medication I’d taken while I had covid or what, but I could smell it too. It was foul.

I started to panic. Having thoughts like, “I’ll never run that well ever again”, “I can’t run this event now” etc etc.

I gave myself a fortnight off running and just took it easy. I started running again two weeks out from the event. This is typically where you would start your taper. Where you drop the number of k’s ran per week significantly and just go for a few short runs each week. The second week of your taper being shorter than the first. This is so by the time you get to the event you’ve still got the strength you’ve built in your legs but your legs are also somewhat fresh.

My two taper weeks were by far the biggest running weeks of my entire preparation for that race. In week one I was feeling ok but still not great. At the end of that week, I was still not sure I could do it. It wasn’t until I ran a half marathon a few days before the event that I felt like I might be able to complete the marathon. Even with my heart rate sitting much higher than it usually would.

I went into the run thinking fuck it. Who cares. I’ve run marathons before. I’m not going to PB. Just go out and run. You’ve got no one to impress or anything to prove. Go for a trot and see what happens. If you want to bail, bail. Jump on an e-scooter and fuck off, flipping everyone off as you cruise off.

I remember around halfway through looking at my watch and thinking, “fuckin’ hell dude, you need to slow down, I don’t think you can maintain this for another 20k”. (I talk to myself in my head). I felt good. The best I’d felt since before I had COVID, but I was wary that I was getting ahead of myself. I know how hard the last quarter of a marathon can be. Then I thought, Nah, fuck it. If I blow up, I blow up.

I ended up running my third-best marathon time ever (I think I’ve run 9?). When I finished, there it was. That euphoric feeling. The one you can’t get through any other means. I had the next day off, so naturally, I retired to The Dock for celebratory beers with other guys from R4R.

Something happened during that whole ordeal though. It’s probably pretty complex and I don’t have the energy for it right now, but I think I was so emotionally spent from it all that ultimately I fell out of love with running. I think the pressure of my own expectations, the sadness, and the anger from being let down by the timing of COVID after running so well, running so many k’s at the back end of last year, my shoulders recovering and me being able to return to the gym. I’d just had enough.

It wasn’t all bad though. I didn’t stop running altogether. I actually got more into plodding with my mates. I did a couple of slow Arthur’s (half marathons) with some absolute legends. Slow as but the funnest runs I’ve ever completed. I never used to run with people. I always felt awkward. Over time I’ve learned that plodding around with mates at a conversational pace is now my favorite way to run. There’s something special about the conversations you have while you’re running. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the vulnerability in the dorky running kit you’re wearing while huffing and puffing in front of others. Whatever the case, there’s something about it that just tends to lend itself to some great conversation. So As much as I fell out of love with running, I gained something else which is arguably much more valuable.

I’ve been going to the gym nearly every single morning for the last six months now. I love it. It sets me up for the day. I don’t ever want to stop my gym training. Often I’ll finish my gym sessions with a couple of k’s on the treadmill. It’s a great way way to burn big calories at the end of a session. I started noticing though, I didn’t want to stop running when it was time to get off and treadmill and head to work.

So, I’ve been running a bit more. I have decided I’m going to get my marathon PB. I’m going to get it in Canberra in April or Gold Coast in July. I’m sharing this here and now so that it’s public and I can be held to account. My current PB is 3:32:21. My moving time was 3:27:03 but I stopped for a 5:18 poo. I want to remove the poo and get below 3:30. No, I’m going to, right, guys?

Anyway, on the weekend I was meant to run a trail marathon in Port Macquarie. I couldn’t go. I was under-prepared anyway. But, I thought fuck it. And ran a trail marathon around home. My goal was to keep my HR below 150 and get around 1000m elevation. It was slow, it got humid, i cramped like a bitch, but I fuckin’ got the dog.

You know what else I got? I got that feeling. That euphoria that only running can give me.

Cheers Wankers.