Friday evening.
Around 8 o’clock, as usual, I wandered into the village. But not to fill up with beer this time. I need to prepare for the morning. Bananas, malt loaf, sports drink.
If all goes to plan, tomorrow will be a first. A long weekend run with other people. A few of the club runners are assembling for 10 or 11 miles along the Thames, and the aim is to join ’em.
On my stroll up the road, I realised how much better I’m feeling physically, compared with a week ago. And mentally. Much as I enjoy a few beers, and the social life that goes with it; and the portentous uncorking of a decent bottle of wine, I have to face the truth — that this alcohol stuff doesn’t bestow too many favours beyond the bliss of the moment. An alcohol-free week has illuminated this cold fact yet again.
Damn.
