Nice such a zero point zero?

During the week, while rummaging through the local supermarket, looking for my weekly bappies, and filling my cart bit by bit, I noticed a familiar label in an unfamiliar package. For a moment I thought the Duke had been given a new white cloak until I saw the numbers; 0.0. No new house style, but here he was; the outcast half-brother, the black sheep of the family, the eunuch who had to guard the noble harem. Before I knew it, I was standing with a six pack of non-alcoholic beer in my hands, looking around nervously, and like a boy with his first pack of condoms I hid the cans under the already collected groceries. Speaking of impulse buying…

When I got home I looked for a nice place for the outcast; a dark corner in the fridge, behind the apple juice and spa red, but still in front of the beet juice, and I let it settle there for a few days. Until Sunday I came back from a long, muddy trail through the Zeeland clay on Walcheren and my body was screaming for an hour in the jacuzzi. Dilemma, because jacuzzi on Sunday = beer in the bath, so I decided to take a chance. I secretly tucked two castratos under my bathrobe and sneaked out. After submerging my body in the soothing warm water, I took my first you-know-what beer ever. I hesitated for a while because I've always said I'd rather drink tea than this owlet, but in the end it's like removing a band-aid. When I was sure no one was looking, just clenched my teeth, a good tug, and the yellow stuff was accessible. Still somewhat curious and expectant, I took a first sip of this unmanned lager and it didn't disappoint; it actually looked like beer. Still, I did taste a difference, and after draining the second can of pariah lager, I was pretty much done, leaving the remaining four in the fridge relieved. By then I was also done with the bath. Without a noble mate, it is boring in the hot tub, so after a cold splash in the pond, but back inside where the apple juice beckoned.

The above situation is a good example of my biggest challenge in all that fitting; physically and mentally it is all still manageable, but the reward moments have suddenly disappeared. Someone recently called me a Spartan Burgundian; train hard to be able to have a nice drink afterwards, and that name pretty much covers it. I am a trail enthusiast, can walk for hours and intensely enjoy my surroundings, nature, being. But line me up in front of a filled fridge with moist Dukes and I'm happy. Only recently the balance was sometimes hard to find, and the Burgundian and the Spartan kept each other more and more in balance. As my weekly mileage increased, my beer intake rose in direct proportion. In the end, this resulted in almost every day being bottled, which for me at the end of December (it seems like a lifetime ago) was the deciding factor for me to participate in the IkPas campaign.

In the past few weeks I have gradually become more aware of that habit of drinking beer every now and then (talking about fitting). This period is therefore a good time to reflect, and to think about how. It is clear that I am too much of an enthusiast to go through life as a total abstainer, but it has become even clearer to me that I have to adjust my behavior. So that will be nothing during the week, and only on weekends if possible. If I manage to fit in for a month, it should be a breeze, and the moments when I did deserve a cold chat become extra special.

Maybe you're wondering why I'm suddenly a bit more positive? In the first place I just like to complain and moan a bit, but I am slowly starting to experience the benefits of being alcohol-free for 3 weeks now. My sleeping pattern changes, I still dream a lot and realistically, and my body gradually starts to reward me for my modesty. The running training sessions are going crescendo (I walk like crazy) and although little happens in terms of weight, I do notice that the composition of the old body changes. To stay in trail terms; we go from blubber to frozen clay.....

And then of course you are all very curious about the fate of the four remaining gender neutral aristocrats… for now they are still in the fridge, now behind the beet juice, but maybe I will give them to an Alcoholic Anonymous later, or that I will just keep; in a clearly visible place, to remind me of this period. At least they're not going boy. I'd rather have apple juice...

Until next week!


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