When my dad and I were in London in June I mentioned that I was thinking about taking the month of July off from drinking and he actually started laughing at me.
"You don't think I can do it?" I asked.
"Nope," he replied.
Well Daddio, I'm not at all sad to say that you were wrong.
For 31 days in July (and a couple at the end of June, for good measure) I didn't consume any alcohol, not a single drop. In all fairness to my dad though, I myself thought I'd have to put this particular 40 Before 40 goal off until the bitter end (39 and nine months-ish) but the moment he told me he didn't think I could do it I had no choice but to prove him wrong as soon as humanly possible.
So thank you Dad, for not believing in me.
The no drinking thing wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. In fact, there were only a couple of occasions during those 33 days when I wished I had a drink in my hand—once at a 4th of July BBQ and once during every single second of every single brunch I attended.
Instead of drinking/staying out late/being hung over I spent my July sleeping more than I normally do, reading a bunch and probably running my ass into early knee replacement surgery (I logged just over 115 miles, including four half marathons over consecutive Saturdays).
Even though I won't be continuing my boozelessness into August (Micky happens to be in town from Chicago tonight and I'm headed to P-Town next week), I'm happy that I did it but even happier that it's done.
Two down, 38 to go.