Prior to the “last straw”
there were several times that I agonized over whether I was ever going to get
permanent control over my drinking.
Sometimes I would have a few drinks in an evening and let it go at that;
sometimes a few drinks would just be the start of a “bender,” and it always
caught me by surprise. I would try to
understand why I went overboard. I would
promise myself not to do it again. I
would try to see myself as a “social drinker,” who only used alcohol as part of
an enjoyable activity with other people.
But sooner or later I would wake up in the early morning not remembering
going to bed, or how the evening had ended.
Always there were the feelings of guilt, remorse, regret and
self-loathing.
At the time, I was in
public accounting, where drinking with the audit team or the client was
expected. What would people think, I
wondered, if on all such occasions in the future I ordered something
non-alcoholic? Would it start
rumors? Ruin my career? When I finally decided to quit, Sandy had the
same questions, and I remember telling her that I couldn’t worry about that;
that this was almost a life or death decision, not for my career, but for
me! (As a side note, my colleagues and
clients paid little or no attention to what I ordered. “Normal” people don’t give it a second
thought.) One of the things that helped
me most in making this life-altering decision was something Mom said after
listening to me awhile. She said,
“Tommy, you are on an elevator that’s going down. But you don’t need to wait until you hit the
bottom; you can get off at any floor.”
Wow! Talk about an epiphany! That made perfect sense to me.
We normally think of
alcoholics as people who hit bottom, losing their jobs, their homes, their
families; and who either somehow miraculously see the light, through AA and a
wonderful sponsor, or become permanent burdens on society until dying
prematurely from one of the side effects of that life style. The fact that I was able to “step off the
elevator” on my own has always made me wonder whether I really am an
alcoholic. I guess it depends on
definitions, etc. The recovering
alcoholics I have know all needed to attend weekly (or more frequent) AA meetings,
and had sponsors who helped them greatly.
I didn’t need to do that; I just made a decision based on logic, but
also based on the conviction that I could not be a social drinker. I could not sustain moderation for very
long. Most other people could do it, but
I could not.
The first step to recovery
from any addiction is to accept and admit that you have a problem. Perhaps all that separates me from the
average alcoholic is the ease with which I was able to accept that reality and
make that admission. Sandy says I have a
lot of will power. I think I just have a
logical mind, and once I am convinced of something, it is not hard to make the
right decision. I guess we are all
familiar with the 5 stages of grieving, where the final step is
Acceptance. I had a co-worker who
believed that the secret to his happiness and success was that he “got to
acceptance quickly.” He felt that
whatever you are dealing with, or whatever adversity has taken place, if you
will hurry past the first four stages and get to acceptance, you will be a lot
happier. The Internet is telling me,
however, that: a) Grieving is a personal process that has no time limit, and b)
Reaching the final stage is “a gift not afforded to everyone.”
This guy, by the way, was still struggling
to accept his divorce. He was commuting
by train for the first few years that I knew him, and then he finally bought a
two-seater sports car. When asked, he
said that the two-seater was his way of accepting that he did not have a family
anymore. I always thought
he was deluding himself. (For the
record, the first four stages are commonly called: Denial, Anger, Bargaining
and Depression).
In any case, as far as not
“falling off the wagon” later, I simply review what I know to be true, what
choices I have made in making my decision, and the consequences (for me) of
trying to put alcohol back into my life.
Some would think to themselves, well, why not just for tonight? Why not just on vacation, etc? I ask myself, “What’s the point? Either I am a drinker or I am not a
drinker. I can’t have it both ways, the
way most people can.” I’d call that acceptance,
not will power. I know that when I quit
smoking I was aided by a strong desire to be an ex-smoker. I wanted my clothes to not smell of
smoke. I wanted my fingers to not be
yellowed by nicotine. I wanted my teeth
to be whiter and my breath to be better.
I wanted to be more socially acceptable.
I used all these strong desires for good things to overpower any desire
for the “bad” thing. I think I did the
same with drinking. I wanted to be
reliable, responsible, and predictable all of the time, not just most of the
time. I wanted - if not to set a good
example for my children - at least to avoid setting a bad example, knowing that
it only takes one negative incident to wipe out many positive incidents in
their minds.
The kids still remember
and upon prompting will still re-tell about one of the Christmas mornings that
we did our usual routine of breakfast at Nana and Poppa Moulton’s house and
then Christmas afternoon at Nana Boyd’s place.
Poppa would make his famous grated potatoes and his famous gin
fizzes. It was not unusual for Sandy to
drive from the Moulton’s to the Boyd’s while I dealt with my overindulgence of
gin fizzes, but this time I had to open my window a couple of times and throw
up out of it. The kids claim some was
splashing back on them, and I think it was Bobby who tried to say that the
driver behind us had to put his windshield wipers on. I never believed that last part, but maybe it
was true. Well, it was all laughs, but I
knew that I would have a harmful affect on the kids if I didn’t change. Now it is just one of those funny family
stories that get retold occasionally.
Thus, as with smoking, I
have been aided by a strong desire to be a non-drinker. When I talk about running later, it is the
same theme: I had a great desire to be a runner, and that helped me overcome
early injuries and inconveniences. To
give up was to go back to being a non-runner – something I could not accept for
myself. In our mid-thirties we begin to
see that our baseball and football days are coming to an end. We get injured too easily; we cannot keep up
with the youngsters; we’re losing our enthusiasm for play. Perhaps in our mid-thirties being a
non-runner is being a non-athlete – something I had never been and could not
accept for myself. So the theme is:
strong desire to be a non-drinker, strong desire to be an ex-smoker, and strong
desire to be a runner, for all the variety of reasons that supported those
desires. There is a success principle
that says, “Focus on what you want that you don’t have; not on what you have
that you don’t want.” I hope that makes
sense.
I abstained from drinking
for 24 years, from 1978 to 2002, and then wondered whether I had matured enough
to handle moderation. It took about 2
years to decide the answer was “Nope.”
At first I find that I am satisfied with just one or two drinks - I
think because my tolerance is low and I am happy with the novelty of having a
drink. But over time I start to be able
to handle more and more. By the time I
gave up in 2004, I was drinking most of a bottle of red wine on work days, and
more that a bottle on non-work days. In
California we are blessed with $5
bottles of wine that are drinkable; $7.50 bottles that are pretty good, and
$10.00 bottles that are quite good. I
had a $10 per day habit. Well, it didn’t
take too many overindulgences before I decided that, for me, it was not a
matter of maturity. I still did not have
the ability to sustain a program of moderate drinking.
Believe it or not, four
years later I was ready to try again. I
thought that if I learned to pace myself, my judgment would never become
impaired, and I would not make unwise decisions, such as having too many, or
drinking too fast. That worked for 2-3
years. I discovered micro-breweries and
started exploring all the different kinds of beers and methods of production,
learning about hops, bitters, malts, pilsners, stouts, ales, etc. I paced myself at one beer per hour, but
being mostly retired, I had too much time on my hands. Why wait until 6pm to have that first beer? Why not 4? 2?
It got down to any time after noon.
I would go to bed at a respectable hour: 9 or 10 pm, having drank 9 to
10 beers (one per hour). I should say I
waddled off to bed with my stomach sloshing.
During the day I was working out at the gym and trying to get back into
jogging, but meanwhile I was totally defeating myself with the beer.
I was also kidding myself
about not becoming impaired. The
guidelines we receive with our annual automobile registration indicate that 180
pound man is impaired, for purposes of operating a motor vehicle, if his blood
alcohol content (BAC) is over 08. (I’m dropping the leading decimal point for
ease of writing). The chart shows that 5
drinks = 18 BAC, but that we can subtract 01 from the chart values for every 40
minutes of drinking (an allowance for pacing).
So 5 drinks over 5 hours = 5 drinks over 300 minutes or 7 ½ 40-minute
increments. So If I consume 5 beers over
5 hours, I can subtract 7.5 from 18 BAC = 10.5 BAC = impaired! I can’t extrapolate to 9 or 10 beers, because
the chart doesn’t even go that high. It
is literally “off the charts.” I could still
function in my living room, perhaps, but might not remember much about the last
TV show we watched, or the last few pages of the book I read before going to
sleep.
During the 4th year (2012) I discovered apricot brandy, which
led to trying other liqueurs and the “hard stuff.” No more going to bed unimpaired!
I actually had a
choice. I could live the drinking life:
I was not going to lose my job or family or house from it. Sandy was OK with it. I had to decide between my health, fitness
and longevity goals on the one hand and the drinking life on the other. Again, I couldn’t have both. For me, the drinking life meant continued
weight gain and an earlier grave. I had
to decide. As I said earlier, once you
accept and acknowledge that sustained moderation is not an option, it is not
that hard to make and stick to a decision.
It is not about will power; it is about logic and values, at least for
me. I refuse to listen to Woody Allen’s
point of view that: “You can
live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that make you want to
live to be a hundred.”
I am sometimes asked if I
am not tempted, as I hang out with others and watch them drink. I try to explain that I made the decision once.
I don’t have to keep making it.
It is not like dieting, where you have to eat things every day that
contain calories, and you are constantly deciding when to eat, what
to eat, and how much to eat. It
is a lot easier to avoid drinking things that contain alcohol. In fact, most days I drink only things that
contain no calories. I mainly drink
water, black coffee and diet colas. I do
regret that I cannot be a social drinker, like the rest of them. I don’t like being different or not “one of
the gang,” but that is my reality. You
play the hand you’re dealt. If I go back
to drinking, it will be because I have decided the enjoyment I get is more
important to me than health, fitness and longevity. It won’t be because I want to try one more
time to achieve sustained moderation.
It’s not in the cards, so to speak.
Getting back to 1978, I wasn’t perfect: I ate more
because of my enhanced exercise and allowed myself to substitute desserts for
some of the booze calories I was no longer consuming. But over the next 6-12 months I went from 185
pounds to around 155 pounds and kept it there for a long time. My lowest point
was 145 pounds in 1985 just prior to the New York City Marathon (more on that
later). I think I slowly began to add
weight right after that and especially after my last marathon in December 1986,
ending at around 165 pounds in 2005 when I had my first debilitating issues
with my back. Since then I have had
periods of on again/off again jogging, combined with steady eating, and have
gradually come back to 180 pounds.
Sadly, the excess is all in my belly and looks awful. I have managed to keep it at 180 or a little
under for the last 2-3 years, feeling that if I am not willing to pay the price
to really get it off, I can at least not let it get any worse. Correction: Based on my bathroom scale log, I
have basically been between 175 and 180 since 2008, except for the additional 5
pounds of beer belly that I added in 2012 and lost in 2013.
No comments:
Post a Comment