faces in clouds

The first emotion that hit me after I finished my very first marathon was anger.

It galled me that I still had to walk after I had subjected my legs to 42km of asphalt, concrete, sand, hills, and fake promises of "just 1km more", that I couldn't simply collapse on the road in the blessed space right after the final gantry.

Admittedly, I was only kinda miffed at having travel the 20m distance from the finish line to collect the finisher's medal and t-shirt. However, the thought that I had to drag my sorry pairs of calves and thighs and knees uphill to the Changi Village Subway from the finishers area in an inhuman half hour was nothing short of incendiary.

All thoughts of meeting up with my friends at the predetermined time of 7:30 flung heatedly out of my mind, I had the presence of mind to ask permission from another similarly exhausted lady to share her cardboard seat. After punishing my body for 7 hours, I couldn't allow myself to sit on the sand and make my shorts grubby. So I'm not totally destroyed, but no amount of tentative sips of sports drink or changing my seating position brings my body any iota of respite for now - I'll count this as being as exhausted as I ever want to be.

experiencing a distinct lack of drive.

tending to my 2am munchies. He's nursing a beer, I'm sipping cranberry
juice with my McNuggets(TM). I've just told S how, on the rare
occasion that I do imbibe, my ideal night would begin with a gin and
tonic, followed by a long island tea chaser. He finishes, "But you
drink like a drinker."

In the bright fluorescent lights and the virtually empty room, I'm
feeling more than a bit exposed by this pronouncement. It's like the
time my high school physics teacher astutely commented in front of the
whole class, "Shirlene looks like she knows what's happening in class,
but that's only because she smiles and nods every time I say
something." Busted.

I like drinking. A lot. It's something that I recently rediscovered
(thank you S). But that piece of knowledge disturbs me on many levels.

I'm really not supposed to be drinking. I have a skin condition that's
vaguely exacerbated by stress -- mental, emotional, physiological. In
my books, alcohol comes under physiological stress, so even though I
don't have any concrete evidence, I think alcohol makes my skin
unhappy. As you can see, liking alcohol is fairly inconvenient
already.

Which is the reason I gave S as to why I don't drink. In truth the
only drinking I ever do, skin condition or no, is in strict moderation
--  I have never blacked out, have been hung over a total of 2 times,
and have made an offering to the porcelain gods maybe once. It's
nothing puritanical, craving a drink is unsettling to me because I
fear losing control. The thought of going overboard scares the shit
out of me. I fight for control, plan for tomorrow and next week,
scheme about the future, live out the myth of the self-made-person
every single day. Over-drinking, losing the appearance of this
self-power, is anathema.

I think I know why alcohol feels good: I like the lowered inhibitions,
the easy laughter, the guileless conversation. I adore feeling
confident, sassy, and instantaneously witty. I like feeling more like
myself.

Which perhaps is the most troublesome thought of all. If I am as
in-control and self-contained as I claim to be, why do I need a drink
to feel good?