I went out with a friend last night to celebrate her birthday. Her birthday is actually March 17—one year we went to the big CB Hannegan’s St. Patrick’s Day bash, but in general March 17 is a day you want to avoid going out, if possible. (The technical term, in the original Gaelic, is “Amateur Hour.”)
Generally I have two or three drinks a week—on date night, and Saturday night. I have cocktails (I’m particularly fond of the French martini), because a year or so ago I decided, “You know what? I don’t like dry red wine, even if I don’t have the allergic reaction. I don’t even want to drink dry white wines. Sweet whites are all right, but if I’m at sweet whites, I might as well head on over to cocktails.” I had my drinks at Alexander’s Steakhouse the other night—
(Apropos of nothing: if you go to Alexander’s, don’t bother with the steak. Seriously. Their fish and seafood dishes, all of them small plates, are so much better than any of the straightforward steak things that getting anything other than that is pointless. FYI.)
—then last night I had two margaritas with my friend (who drank considerably more). I drank at least 4 times as much water as I did margaritas, and I was still a little buzzed at the end of the evening. Then I had trouble getting to sleep (as I usually do after drinking), and I woke up early (as I often do). I went running, and while the run went well, I felt logy and dehydrated doing it.
I’m supposed to be training for a marathon. I can’t do a lot of running feeling logy and dehydrated. I’m currently exercising six to seven days a week, I’m always doing something, I can’t spend too much time like this.
So today, as I was chugging yet another pint of water, I thought: “That’s it then: No more alcohol. No more drinking until the marathon.”
Doing this marathon is clearly that important to me. It was kind of a surprise when it hit me. I like having a cocktail once in a while, but I can’t afford it any more.
When I give up chocolate, you’ll know I’m really hardcore.