I yearn for the oblivion. My secret dark desires are to be so high that I cannot feel anything anymore, that moment where my brain turns off and all I do is bask in the chemical of my choice.
But I don’t do this. I’ve talked a bit about how I am sober here, how I’ve been sober since 2018. This year will be (on June 4th) eight years removed from my vice of choice. Loads of good things have happened, and even more bad things. And I have been stone cold sober for all of them. Now I will admit that I can have a bit of a addictive personality (a trait that surprises no one). So I kinda want to share how I’ve been dealing with my yearning for oblivion recently.
Before I developed my drinking problem I was hooked on long distance running. The highs from a ten-mile run were worth their weight in gold. Nothing hits better than a runner’s high. But what is more interesting is the reason why I decided to run. I told my ex at the time that I was inspired by his cousin who (as a big girl) ran a half marathon whose route when around our place. We went out in droves to support her. Hell, I was impressed and I figured that I could do that same. So I started running. I can remember the first time I ever ran a whole mile without stopping. It was at an indoor track at my university. I was so proud of myself. I was in my late twenties and I was hooked.
I kept on running. Soon two miles was considered a warmup for me, I stretched out my long runs on the weekend to 13+ miles. I ran until the bottoms of my feet hurt so bad that I had to call a taxi to get me home. I even signed up for a marathon. But by running the same routes over and over again I was purposely distancing myself from a feeling… much like my drinking did a couple years later. I didn’t like my ex anymore.
We were married and I didn’t want to be married anymore. Fun story, when we got married, I was twenty years old and we were religious. Christian in fact. And I can vividly remember his father approaching me one day saying, “Until you say I do… you can always say no. But you cannot afterward”. Or something to that effect. Meaning once I said yes to his son, I was stuck.
And it felt like I was stuck for years, that’s why I started drinking. Because I wanted to be out so badly but I couldn’t figure out how exactly to leave. But that’s a story for a different time. Because now, almost eight years sober I find myself leaning into extreme parts of sport again.
I want to be a amateur boxer. Seriously. Yes, I know I’m old. Yes, I don’t care. I’ve found a gym that I love (here) AND I’ve found a found a personal trainer in Victoria too. I’ve been hitting the boxing gym three days a week for nine months and I’m happy to say that I’ve just graduated to sparring. In between boxing sessions I work with a personal trainer on deep core and flexibility. And to no one’s surprise I love it.
Since I don’t want to end this post on a superficially happy note, I’m watching my body’s reaction to this hard workout schedule. I’m wondering if I need a change in my personal life, or if this is trying to cover up some feelings. Because I do still get a good hit after a hard heavy bag session. It makes me feel like I’m flying high, but I know that the ground is always there and I don’t need to faceplant into anymore.
