We celebrated my father’s 70th birthday yesterday and after stuffing our faces with a gorgeous rack of lamb, some extremely tasty and very ripe brie (and assorted other delicious cheeses), summer pudding, champagne, wine, beer and chocolate cake, it seemed like a good idea to get into a wager with the members of my immediate family. My wife and sister-in-law had more sense than the rest of us pissheads - although thinking about it, my brother was driving and therefore sober so he’s obviously just a bit odd. He’s very much not like me at all.

The wager consisted of a challenge to lose at least half a stone in weight in the next 6 weeks and then keep it off for a further three months. We had an altogether too public “weigh-in” (fully dressed and after lunch - not exactly the optimum conditions) and sorted out the relevant dates. At the moment I need something like this. My measured weight was heavier than I’ve ever been ever in the history of everness although a second go on the scales this morning in far less clothing was far more acceptable being some 6.5 lbs lighter¹ than last night. I reckon I’m the most unfit I’ve been in the last five years - I did a 7 mile run a couple of weeks ago and it took me 75 minutes. 7 miles is a mere 11.2km - my fastest 10km time is a tad under 45 minutes (albeit in a race a couple of years ago but it was an extremely hilly course) which demonstrates just quite how out of sorts I am.

Mind you, it’s July and I’ve only done one race this year and that was back in January and I’ve hardly been training. There’s not really any excuse because since being in Nottingham, I’ve had all the time in the world to train (and have even been running to work and back which is 4.5 miles each way). I’m already entered into the London Rat Race at the end of September which gives me 10 weeks or so to get fit (and buy a new bicycle and train on that!) I’m also looking to take part in this years OMM which is a month after the Rat Race and I really need to be fit for that. It’s in the North of England this year which means it could be the Lake District or possibly the Peak District, either of which are far more convenient than the wilds of Scotland.

The main factor in my burgeoning waistline, however, is the alcohol. I drink a lot. I mean a huge amount. The only reason I don’t think of myself as an alcoholic is because I have a rule about not drinking before 6pm (except on weekends) but unlike a lot of people I know, I do drink by myself. I can easily finish a bottle of wine a night without even thinking about it while watching a film, playing games, writing, whatever. That 7 mile run I mentioned? I got home, had a glass of water and then cracked open a beer. Well it was a nice, warm night and they were nice and chilled.

They say the first step towards recovery is admitting you have a problem. I don’t know if I’ve got a problem. Government guidelines would suggest that I definitely do but government guildelines also suggest that I’m obese and about to suffer from heart failure which, as heavy as I am, isn’t actually the case. I don’t let drinking interfere with my life - at least I don’t think I do. I don’t drink until I’m drunk (often) and I certainly don’t at weekends (unless I go down the pub with the boys but that’s only once every couple of months) because have you ever tried looking after a fractious two year old with a hangover who wakes up at 5:30am? Believe me - you don’t do it twice. But here, living by myself, it’s all too easy to nip to the offie, pick up a bottle or a 6-pack and gods damn it, I like drinking. Wine is ace and so is beer. But the truth is that I do drink too much and I need to cut back. Unfortunately I can’t do moderation - mostly because I’m not in the habit of doing so. If there’s a bottle of wine in the fridge then it will soon be in my belly because that’s the proper place for it. So it’s all or nothing and as of Thursday, I will be climbing on that wagon and only alighting for special occasions, high days and holidays (none of which include times when I’m by myself).

Why Thursday? Because tomorrow is Butthole Surfers at Nottingham Rock City and I’m fucked if I’m doing that sober!

I’m dry tonight, though, and I did a 9 mile run earlier (at a slow pace again but still, it’s 9 miles). I’ve signed up for an account at Weight Loss Resources which has a great food/calorie database and is an excellent way of keeping a food diary. (The last time I used it properly, I dropped my weight to something very acceptable. Then I lost the impetus and put it all back on.) Next step is to put together a decent training plan to get fit for my events and get back into shape. If I had a camera here, I could even take a before picture but that’s no end of vain so perhaps not. This post is pretty self-indulgent and navel-gazing too but I also figure it’s a statement of intent. Not that any of you bastards care and I might as well be talking to myself but if I write it down (and publish it) then it’s out there and harder to deny and all that shit. I know what I’m talking about even if you don’t.

Have I just admitted I’m an alcoholic? Fuck! How did that happen?