Friday was my 37th birthday.
Before that time, I’m pretty sure I had inadvertently been part of an unpaid research project.
I love beer. I love wine, too. But I have always loved beer. At first it was Coors Light. Then gradually I moved on to really amazing beers. Crafted and artisanal beers. I think their wonderful. I think beer can be one of God’s greatest gifts. And that it serves a profound purpose in life. In lives in general. And served my life, specifically throughout certain periods, as a reward, or even a relief, after long and hard days, weeks, and years. You could even go so far as to point out that my two beautiful children honestly might not even exist in the world today if my wife and I hadn’t had a few glasses of wine on each of those magical nights of their respective conceptions.
It’s all a game of what-if? and I-wonder-what-might-have-been. Let’s not get lost in those catacombs again.
What I do know is this. I’m not much of a drinker anymore. I didn’t have any huge revelations or changes in my thought process, nor did anything change in my life to lead me to this point. Nothing really happened at all. It was just time. I just got to the inevitable end of the road. Like when you realize you’d rather play golf than go to an exciting party. Or read a book than watch tv. Or walk through broken glass than step foot in the Trader Joe’s parking lot. It’s just a feeling I have now.
And, since the change, these are the things I’ve noticed.
When I do have a drink, it feels like a chore. If you’re not there yet, I can only try to describe it as best I can like this: Any kind of inebriation, to me, anymore feels like a drain on my energy and like it’s just one more thing I have to endure on an already too long list of to-dos. I don’t need one more thing. I need one less thing. So I’m done.
And then after that, there’s this craziness: My legs aren’t sore anymore.
I’m not exercising more. I’m not eating differently. I’m not taking vitamins. I just stopped drinking. That’s the only physical change I’ve made. And my legs have gone from being exhausted after walking 18 holes to feeling like I could walk another 18 and it would probably be fine. I practice every day. I hit balls every day, hard into the net. I use a swing speed radar. I go after it. And where I used to get dog tired afterward, I’m now totally fine. It’s been three weeks without having a couple beers or glasses of wine at night, and that’s already noticeably different.
So I did some research and, you see, it turns out that alcohol inhibits your body’s ability to build and repair muscle. Which is why there’s usually a surgeon general warning on the beer label. Your heart is a muscle. Almost all of your insides have a muscular quality. And drinking something that keeps them from being healthy is, well, not-so-healthy. And your golf muscles can’t put themselves back together as well if you have alcohol in your system. Especially while you’re sleeping. If you’re like me and have/had your drinks after the kids were down, you had drinks at night. And your body does its muscle building and repair while you sleep. So. Visa vis. Ipso facto. One of the worst things you can do if you’re trying to build up any physical ability, particularly if you’re not in your twenties anymore, is to go to bed while still feeling the effects of alcohol.
Also, possibly a contributing factor to all of the above, I’ve lost 13 pounds. Yeah. 13. I didn’t change a thing otherwise. So I also did a little research here because at first I was a little concerned. But I learned, did you know that, if you are like me and enjoyed a few of your favorite high quality, high sugar, high carb, delicious beers every night that, in order to reach the same carbohydrate and calorie count from food, you’d have to eat 12 servings of spaghetti?? 12! 12 plates of pasta to be the same as 3 or 4 beers. You’ve got to be kidding me. The warning label shouldn’t say may cause cancer and heart disease. It should say “You are going to get SOOOOOO fat, dude.” I mean, I wasn’t ridiculously overweight ever. I was probably only 30 pounds above my ideal wait. But the main thing here is this: I stopped drinking and that extra wait is falling off faster than I can eat McDonalds to keep it on.
It also can’t go without saying that I feel sharper. All around. Reflexes. Body control. Everything. I mean there’s also a sharpness, a sometimes severe edginess, to the world that I could probably live without. Hence the appeal to a beer at night in the first place. But I’m going to get used to it. You can get used to drinking. You can get used to not.
Because there’s a not-so-subtle beauty in allowing yourself to face the harshness of reality. Even if it’s there All. The. Time. Because that’s how we get stronger. That’s how it has always worked. Face an obstacle and avoid it? You never grow. You never change. Face an obstacle and handle it? Learn from it? Grow from it? That’s the definition of exercise. That’s the way strength is made.
And if Bobby Jones was right, which, lets face it, he more than probably absolutely is, and that golf actually is the closest game we have to the game we call life. And, as he said, “…You get bad breaks from the good shots; you get good breaks from the bad shots- but you have to play the ball where it lies,” then that’s what I’m going to do from now on. I’m not going to improve my lie by opening a beer or drinking a glass of wine. I’m going to simply get better at the game. Because that’s the kind of player I want to be. And I think that’s something to be hopeful about. And hope is one of the best parts about everything.
Before that time, I’m pretty sure I had inadvertently been part of an unpaid research project.
I love beer. I love wine, too. But I have always loved beer. At first it was Coors Light. Then gradually I moved on to really amazing beers. Crafted and artisanal beers. I think their wonderful. I think beer can be one of God’s greatest gifts. And that it serves a profound purpose in life. In lives in general. And served my life, specifically throughout certain periods, as a reward, or even a relief, after long and hard days, weeks, and years. You could even go so far as to point out that my two beautiful children honestly might not even exist in the world today if my wife and I hadn’t had a few glasses of wine on each of those magical nights of their respective conceptions.
It’s all a game of what-if? and I-wonder-what-might-have-been. Let’s not get lost in those catacombs again.
What I do know is this. I’m not much of a drinker anymore. I didn’t have any huge revelations or changes in my thought process, nor did anything change in my life to lead me to this point. Nothing really happened at all. It was just time. I just got to the inevitable end of the road. Like when you realize you’d rather play golf than go to an exciting party. Or read a book than watch tv. Or walk through broken glass than step foot in the Trader Joe’s parking lot. It’s just a feeling I have now.
And, since the change, these are the things I’ve noticed.
When I do have a drink, it feels like a chore. If you’re not there yet, I can only try to describe it as best I can like this: Any kind of inebriation, to me, anymore feels like a drain on my energy and like it’s just one more thing I have to endure on an already too long list of to-dos. I don’t need one more thing. I need one less thing. So I’m done.
And then after that, there’s this craziness: My legs aren’t sore anymore.
I’m not exercising more. I’m not eating differently. I’m not taking vitamins. I just stopped drinking. That’s the only physical change I’ve made. And my legs have gone from being exhausted after walking 18 holes to feeling like I could walk another 18 and it would probably be fine. I practice every day. I hit balls every day, hard into the net. I use a swing speed radar. I go after it. And where I used to get dog tired afterward, I’m now totally fine. It’s been three weeks without having a couple beers or glasses of wine at night, and that’s already noticeably different.
So I did some research and, you see, it turns out that alcohol inhibits your body’s ability to build and repair muscle. Which is why there’s usually a surgeon general warning on the beer label. Your heart is a muscle. Almost all of your insides have a muscular quality. And drinking something that keeps them from being healthy is, well, not-so-healthy. And your golf muscles can’t put themselves back together as well if you have alcohol in your system. Especially while you’re sleeping. If you’re like me and have/had your drinks after the kids were down, you had drinks at night. And your body does its muscle building and repair while you sleep. So. Visa vis. Ipso facto. One of the worst things you can do if you’re trying to build up any physical ability, particularly if you’re not in your twenties anymore, is to go to bed while still feeling the effects of alcohol.
Also, possibly a contributing factor to all of the above, I’ve lost 13 pounds. Yeah. 13. I didn’t change a thing otherwise. So I also did a little research here because at first I was a little concerned. But I learned, did you know that, if you are like me and enjoyed a few of your favorite high quality, high sugar, high carb, delicious beers every night that, in order to reach the same carbohydrate and calorie count from food, you’d have to eat 12 servings of spaghetti?? 12! 12 plates of pasta to be the same as 3 or 4 beers. You’ve got to be kidding me. The warning label shouldn’t say may cause cancer and heart disease. It should say “You are going to get SOOOOOO fat, dude.” I mean, I wasn’t ridiculously overweight ever. I was probably only 30 pounds above my ideal wait. But the main thing here is this: I stopped drinking and that extra wait is falling off faster than I can eat McDonalds to keep it on.
It also can’t go without saying that I feel sharper. All around. Reflexes. Body control. Everything. I mean there’s also a sharpness, a sometimes severe edginess, to the world that I could probably live without. Hence the appeal to a beer at night in the first place. But I’m going to get used to it. You can get used to drinking. You can get used to not.
Because there’s a not-so-subtle beauty in allowing yourself to face the harshness of reality. Even if it’s there All. The. Time. Because that’s how we get stronger. That’s how it has always worked. Face an obstacle and avoid it? You never grow. You never change. Face an obstacle and handle it? Learn from it? Grow from it? That’s the definition of exercise. That’s the way strength is made.
And if Bobby Jones was right, which, lets face it, he more than probably absolutely is, and that golf actually is the closest game we have to the game we call life. And, as he said, “…You get bad breaks from the good shots; you get good breaks from the bad shots- but you have to play the ball where it lies,” then that’s what I’m going to do from now on. I’m not going to improve my lie by opening a beer or drinking a glass of wine. I’m going to simply get better at the game. Because that’s the kind of player I want to be. And I think that’s something to be hopeful about. And hope is one of the best parts about everything.
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