Well one month it is. Won't have exercised in three days at the end of today, but one month it is.
No booze for a month. No tipple, no turps, no piss, no bender, no one or two, no quieties, no roadies, no travellers, no beautiful wine with lunch, no complex beer by a fire or refreshing schooner by a surf club. No drunken sex, no wild bourbons with drunken women looking for trouble (and finding it).
Nope. None of that. None for me.
I did dream I had a drink last night. It is on my mind still. It was a swig of wine. Just one. It was wonderful, although it was followed by guilt as I wasn't meant to be drinking it.
So am I still glad I'm doing it? Absolutely. I'm getting thinner. No question, even though my scales are broken. I'm sleeping better. I'm exercising more and stronger. I'm eating better, and the amount of shit I put in my mouth is getting less and less.
The beautiful, spiritual, social, enabling, rewarding, relaxing side of alcohol that I am missing out on - and missing out on it I am - is just collateral damage in the broader war of me resetting my body and looking like the fit guy.
I don't really give a shit about any of the associated health problems - I don't think I drank enough for that. Life is too short, and people who drink a little live longer and are healthier than those who do not. End of story. But, for me, the path to looking like a fit guy has to involve no piss.
I'm sure of that.
So I will persist. One month down, 11 to go.
Just need to buy another damn pair of scales so I can confirm I'm heading in the right direction. And get rid of this fucking wog so I can get back to exercise.
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