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 the dude actually started laughing.
"You don't think I can do it, do you?" I asked.
"I do not," he replied.
Well Daddio, you were wrong.
For 31 days in July (and a couple days at the end of June, for good measure) I didn't consume a single drop of alcohol. Not a one. In all fairness to my dad I thought I'd have to put this particular 40 Before 40 goal off until the bitter end (thirty-nine and nine months) but the moment my dad told me he didn't think I could do it I had no choice but to prove him wrong as soon as possible.
So thanks Dad, for not believing in me.
The no drinking thing wasn't as tough as I thought it would be. In fact, there were only a couple 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.
Instead of drinking/staying out late/being hung over I spent spent July of 2018 sleeping more than usual, reading a bunch and probably running my ass into early knee replacement (I logged a little over 115 miles, including four half marathons).
Even though I won't be continuing my boozelessness into August (Micky happens to be in town from Chicago tonight), I'm happy that I did it but even happier that it's done.
Two down, 38 to go.