Drunk

I just got ridiculously plastered.  I’m high as a kite right now.  I don’t know if I just had weed or ambrosia.  These are phrases you will never hear me say.  I’ve never had alcohol.  I’ve never smoked a cigarette.  I’ve never had marijuana or anything other drug.  Hell, I can’t stand over the counter drugs.  The point being, unless I suddenly change course, I’ll never experience the buzz, the high, the euphoria that supposedly come with those activities…at least according to the numerous tales that I’m regaled with every time I attend a reunion or meet someone close to my age (30).  “Dude, I was sooo drunk one night.”  “Man, this one time…we got some primo weed.”  The closest I think I’ll come is the running high.  A high I am actually experiencing right now and what has prompted me to post a random blog at 3 am and droll on and on about subjects (alcohol and drugs) on which I know very little (never stopped me before).  I ate like shit tonight.  I gave into every one of my cravings.  Chocolate?  Sure, why not.  Are those truffles?  Yes please.  A fajita and two salami sandwiches?  Don’t mind if I do. I do not know from whence these cravings came, but fuck them and fuck my will power or lack thereof.  Thank you, however, to Alberto Salazar’s 14 Minutes and Rich Roll’s Finding Ultra (another great book – good news…review coming soon…try not to shit yourself in anticipation).  I read those books and watched a brief snippet of “Spirit of the Marathon” and became ridiculously motivated.  After a late night discussion with my wife about the stresses of the day (You only think because it’s 11:30 pm it is time to wind down.  My wife’s brain thinks “you’re alone with him…time to destress and vent…quick…he can’t get away…think of everything that’s ever bothered you ever and that you may have wanted or may ever want to talk to him about…he may be dead tomorrow”) I got up, laced up my running shoes, strapped on my ipod and set off at a fairly easy pace.  From the moment my shoes hit the pavement until I walked back into the house 17 miles later…I felt amazing.  I drank hardly any water and feel like I could run another 17 right now.  I feel like anything is possible.  I will probably crash in about 20 minutes when the adrenaline stops coursing through my veins and the high wears off.  I will wake up tomorrow and say “what the hell did I do last night?  Is that the sun or God’s flashlight…turn it off.”  I will regale my friends (what friends) with tales of silent streets and abandoned parking lots.  Dark pavement and flickering street lamps.  I will tell them how I imagined competing in the Olympics and finishing my next Ironman in record time.  People will think I’ve exaggerated.  People will roll their eyes and probably think a little less of me.  People will think had just a little too much to drink.  My running high and its aftereffects will be as close as I’ll come to a late night binge and a hangover.

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One Response to Drunk

  1. Jane says:

    This is amazing Nick, seriously.
    I want to hear the stories of your midnight runs. That is true solitude, and I am jealous.

    I don’t drink or do drugs either. Even over the counter stuff, I avoid it if at all possible. Given the pacemaker and the back surgery though I’ve had to compromise despite it being not really who I am. Or, who I feel comfortable being.

    And while I don’t run the midnight I can relate to the feeling of invincibility too. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will make you feel more alive than having surgery without anesthetic. I came out of the procedure so high I could have crushed the world. When I get down I remind myself of that hour and then feel sorry for my friends that feel bad for me because I don’t bother getting wasted. They are chasing something lame instead of learning about being human.

    Please keep writing. I miss you.

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