Beer. The Last Surrender. And I Love It.
I spent eight years clean and sober. That means eight years without touching a drop of alcohol. Five years ago, after a long period of careful consideration, I decided to drink again. While I am not in ANY way suggesting that a sober person attempt this**, taking that sip of beer did not lead me down a path of destruction. Quite the contrary, I found that where before I lacked a natural mechanism that called STOP!, my body now clearly and boldly laid down the law at two.
Two Beers. The third was not appealing, not wanted, and if for some reason I drank it, would give me a searing hangover like an entire bottle of tequila.
Fast forward five years. I love beer. Beer is a integral part of life. I adore the smell, the anticipation, the awakening of my mouth and tongue as the cold liquid yummy slides down my throat. I am a beer snob. I like Belgians, Weizens, Micros. I do not consider the cheap Americans real beer. I drink beer like others drink wine. As a matter of fact, I don’t drink wine. I love beer so much that the thought of giving up my bottles of cold yummy fills me with bone chilling horror.
Perhaps a sign of alcoholism, perhaps a genuine love of beer, my love of/dependence on my one or two coldies every few nights…. Every night? becomes a glaring, unavoidable realty when I start down the road to Paleo.
Paleo
It’s not that CrossFitters don’t drink beer. Some do. It’s not that all CrossFitters are Paleo. Many are not. But in my writings over the past year, I’ve talked about my journey to healthy eating, the “drag my claws screeching across the pavement” crawl to going Paleo and eating like an athlete, a path that has been singularly inspired by my CrossFit Cult. Uh, Community. Once a carboholic, sugar-o-holic binge eating vegetarian now Paleo Chick, I’ve learned, for real, that there are no true gains in performance or looks without rock solid nutrition.
Every step of the way towards cleaning up and eating like an athlete, I’ve made two jokes: “ I’ve given up all bad carbs (except beer)” and; “ after careful study of the Paleolithic hieroglyphics, I can confidently state that beer bottles littered the caves, so I’m good. Ha.”
KneeZilla.
Then came Kneezilla
My right knee lacked an ACL for twenty years. After weathering the storms of CrossFit I unleashed on that poor, un-stabilized knee for a year and a half, she finally called uncle. Totally euphoric from competing at Sectionals – a life-changing experience – and while prepping to compete at Regionals on the CrossFit Scottsdale Affiliate Team, she got hurt and never stopped hurting. I was out. Down. Incapacitated. The prognosis – surgery and six long months of rehab. The fall and rise of KneeZilla.
Anyone who CrossFits or is addicted to their workouts knows how difficult one rest day can be – physically, emotionally, psychologically. Injury is devastating. Endless, torturous, withdrawal-filled unwanted rest days. In one instant life is intolerably and painfully altered. The reliance on the Wod for stress release, for producing those cool chemicals that make you stoned everyday? Gone. Your identity as someone who performs physically on a daily basis and shares that performance with a community? Gone. Your connection to your people through showing up and doing it, and talking about it incessantly? Gone. You are physically impaired, wounded, a hobbled outsider, immobilized on the periphery, looking longingly at your wodding, performing, stoned, pack.
What Next?
Two things happened. After getting through the worst of the depression, I stood up on my one good leg and decided that being injured and fat would be far worse than just being injured. If I wasn’t able to burn my food like before, I better focus on quality nutrition to avoid that “sitting on my ass spread”.
The second thing that happened is that I drank more. Perhaps as a way to replace getting stoned off my WODs, perhaps as comfort, my two beers a night became a religious experience. Every night. Looked forward to it. Had to do it. Two coldies. Weekends or celebrations? Sometimes three.
Wake Up.
Like everything that has happened to me within the context of CrossFit, I don’t know the one thing that clicked the switch. It’s always been like this: I wake up one day and realize I need to change. I woke up and realized it was time to stop drinking beer. A dependence on beer was simply not OK. It hadn’t been for at least a year.
And, I had never been able to rid myself of my belly flab. Beer was always considered the culprit, the sugary carb filled source that spread itself as a coating of fat across my entire midsection.
Injured. Not able to perform in the box, it was time to perform in the most personal of ways: by changing something as fundamental and adored as my daily drinking habit. Stop the dependence. Get rid of the flab. Just do it.
The Challenge.
The Self Imposed Challenge was 30 days . For the next thirty days, drink no beer and cut out all sugared coffee creamers in the morning, another favorite addiction of mine. As someone who is great at flashy starts and horrible at consistent follow through for things I don’t like, I knew the only way to keep going was to go public. Facebook. Unless I had an entire community of people to whom I was accountable, I’d be good until about day four. So I announced the goals, promised to publish my progress, including a daily picture in a bikini, and began.
Sweet, Sweet Victory
Thirty days later I had kept my promise: not one drop of beer or sweet coffee creamer had passed my lips. This was monumental. Truly miraculous. It had been years since I had gone thirty days without at least one yummy coldy.
While the first few days were hard, it was astounding how easy not drinking became almost immediately. By the end of week one, I felt clearer, cleaner, fresher, lighter, and just plain happier. Maybe the happiness came from achieving a goal more than chemical changes, but my feelings were real and palpable. I simply felt happier. During week two I felt pure relief.. relief at not feeling the urge, desire or need for the taste of that beer at the end of the day. Elation that something I had clung to so tightly was not important. I felt similarly about giving up my sugared creamers in the morning – so happy to get rid of the guilt of starting my day with a walloping dose of sugar, but freedom from beer was different.
By the end of thirty days, I was honestly disappointed and hugely depressed that my layer of belly flab had not melted from my body. That was a difficult, two thumbs down, bummer.
On top of the World
But internally, emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally, I felt better than I had in years. Crisp. Clean. Alert. CLEAR. I had changed yet ANOTHER fundamental aspect of my life, simply by being a part of an intensely focused and supportive CrossFit Community that made me aware of who I wanted to be. I wanted to be at the top of my game, a performer a 100%er, an achiever, an athlete. And I did not want to be dependent on anything but my dedication to physical excellence to achieve that.
Perhaps as a way to really drive the point home, on Day 31, just because I could, I sat at my favorite beer bar and ordered. Three. Three strong Belgians. I knew better. The horrible, disgusting sickness, bloatedness, headache, fog, and general overall fershitness I felt the next day made me happy. It really sucked. Nope, I don’t have to do this anymore. I am truly free.
I love you CrossFit community. You inspire me and help me be the true me.
The athlete.
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*** If you are sober and reading this feels like you are being given advice or permission to drink, please call your sponsor immediately. This is not advice or permission to drink!
