Monday, February 6, 2012
The Mayans Better Be Wrong... Sober For The Apocalypse?!?
Stepping on that scale every Saturday morning at my parent’s house has become a bit intimidating over the last month. However, for four consecutive weeks, each one of us has stepped back off of it with a sigh of relief after having seen a loss. Until this past Saturday.
Just to make sure, I stepped on it for a second time. Unfortunately, the new scale my parents just purchased is not as inconsistent as the last one. The numbers “136” flashed at me three times, as if to say “yes, Tina, we were right the first time.”
Half a pound? I’m up half a pound? I know it doesn’t sound like a lot... but it did cost me twenty bucks. With obvious frustration, I put the four five dollar bills in their respective owners' “piggy bank” and tried to hold back tears of anger. After all, even after successfully completing the exercise challenge of working out for at least six hours, I knew why I hadn’t lost any weight this week.
I have adjusted my drinking quite a bit since the beginning of the year. I have always been a pretty healthy eater and exercise is something I enjoy quite a bit. What has always held me back from having the body I want is that I like to drink. All those empty calories take up space in my belly and that last 5 to 10 just don’t shed as quickly as the first. Since I only have about 18 to 20 pounds to lose in total (and have already lost 9) it is time to make certain adjustments in order to really start pounding my way to my goal weight.
That’s when the spoiled rotten brat in my head comes forward and says “but you love to drink! You can’t give that up!” and I give in, reminding myself that I’ll just work out harder the next day or not eat so much food. As I learned, these tricks only take you so far.
After the weigh-in, I came home and got ready for work. I had switched my dinner shift for a lunch shift and was looking forward to going out and having some fun with Tim that night. Usually, we have worked hard all week and since we have seven more days until we weigh in again, we tend to cut a little loose on Saturday night.
When I got home, I was so anxious to have a beer and a shot that I didn’t bother eating anything and we just headed straight to the bar. Forget Michelob Ultra... I went straight to the 9% craft porter they were featuring and chased it with a couple of shots of my beloved Jagermeister. Now it’s time to have some fun, right?
I don’t even remember what caused the ruckus... but the next morning, I woke up sixty dollars poorer from gambling and alone in my bed as Tim had slept on the couch. Apparently, we had another fight and he didn’t want to be near me. Neither one of us could even remember the next morning what we had argued about. All I remember was having dreams all night of the two of us breaking up. I can also recall thinking how I was going to handle him moving out and wondering how we could be so incompatible as a couple.
And all I wanted to do was have a few drinks...
It’s not like I haven’t had plenty of warning signs about my drinking. Having to spend $130.00 out of my savings account (which has been steadily dwindling over the last few months as it is) on a brand new keyboard for my MacBook because of a spilled Margarita didn’t help.
I have a headful of excuses on why I want to drink. I don’t feel like I can have a good time if there isn’t some alcoholic enhancement to my evening. Then again, I used to think I couldn’t even interact with people unless I was high and I got over that... perhaps it’s time to take this new mountain a little more seriously.
I worry about being boring in my relationship. Shit, Tim and I met over shots of Jagermeister at a bar. Without alcohol, will we even find each other interesting anymore? Or do you think we could go out, not drink and actually find ourselves happy with each other the following morning? Because this fighting over nonsense thing is getting pretty fucking old.
I remember my first rule on alcohol... in fact, I went back and reread it. Even then, I wasn’t ready to fully commit. I always wanted to have an out so that if I truly felt like drinking, I could. And eventually, I just slipped right back into drinking whatever I wanted, any time I wanted.
When I first decided to quite smoking weed, I had told myself that I was only going to do it for a year. After all, smoking had been a very big part of my life for the past ten years and I wasn’t ready to make the decision to stop forever. One year came and went and I realized that I was over it. I know in my heart that the joint I smoked on the night of my 30th birthday is the last joint I will ever have.
I’m staring at the computer, not even wanting to type this next paragraph... which tells me that it’s definitely time to do so.
It’s February 6th, 2012. I’m not happy with how alcohol has affected my life. I have no idea what will happen in the future, but I know that, once again, I am ready for something different. I’ve never understood my friends who are “dry” as having a drink every now and then isn’t that bad, right? Yes... until I realize that I drink to get drunk and it is that kind of behavior that doesn’t work for me. I have decided to quit drinking for one year and see the difference it makes in my life.
I’ve done a lot of difficult things over the years and have come out stronger because of them. I don’t know how this will affect my relationship with Tim and he is finding this out just like the rest of you, by reading this blog... because even our communication is not what it used to be. But I’m sick of all of this. I want the decisions that I make to be ones made from a clear head. I know, deep down, that my relationship with alcohol has been keeping me from creating bigger things in my life.
I’m scared and I’m nervous. But I’ll take either of those over the feeling of settling for things that are just good enough. That’s not going to cut it anymore. It’s time to take some real responsibility and set an example. This blog is great... but I think we can all agree that actions speak louder than words.
Tebow would be proud. Now if only he could get me to start praying...
Perhaps some other time.
Posted by Tina V at 9:07 AM