As everyone knows team sports are synonymous with boozy socials, so the pre-Christmas get together had been making me feel on edge for quiiiiiiite some time. Namely because I was the newbie of the team and really really didn't want to miss out. If you're invited to a Club social they're a seriously good way to bond with your team mates away from the pitch, so you go.
Excited chat had been on the up for a few weeks and I was becoming increasingly nervous about the outing of my sobriety. We train every Tuesday and play matches on Saturday, so on the morning of the social and after a 3-0 away win at Bicester the team were fired up for a celebratory night out.
'You're coming tonight Em aren't you? Can't wait to get bang on the booze and let loose...your first social is gonna be epic!'
18-year-old booze-hound Em would have felt right at home. 31-year-old sober Em omitted a nervous laugh, secretly recoiled in horror and became immediately sweaty-palmed. Enter Blix, stage left. Eurgh, they are going to hate you. As soon as they find out you don't drink you'll be an outcast. Why not have a couple so you can properly fit in? It'll make you more popular!
Piss off, wretch. But he did have a point...
As a result of becoming a non-drinker in July I decided to pick up hockey again, a sport I love and one I was seriously good at in school (I made England's regional squad at the age of 17). At university I found booze (or did it find me?) and the rest, as they say, is a blurry, wasted history.
My passion for hockey got doused in alcohol by a toddler-sized Blix, who then took a lighter to my energy and drive and set fire to every good intention I had attached to sport. My ability went up in a big puff of (weed infused) smoke and I turned into an overweight, binge-drinking, recreational drug-using student. Blix fed off my fear and evolved into an equally fat, dominating bastard. Little did I know he'd acquire squatters rights for another 13 years.
The first thing I noticed when eliminating alcohol was the abundance of time I was given back. I didn't notice it during week one, as my first fully sober day started on a Monday so I kept my head down with work. But by week two, and come the weekend, I was pleasantly surprised by how much time I had to play with. Towards the final stages of my drinking I even diarised hangover days. If anyone, including Rob, asked me to do anything after a heavy night out they could forget it. My diary would read 'HD' and I'd know a day on the sofa eating pizza was accounted for.
So when I rediscovered Saturday mornings I decided to fill them with a regular...thing. To help me stay on track in a way but also to give my weekends more purpose. It sounds strange to say, but I had to seriously adjust to weekends without alcohol. In the beginning they seemed empty and purposeless. If I wasn't lumped on the sofa recalling a banging night out then what was the point? My time was spent wasting time.
Luckily this feeling became obsolete when I started to realise I could actually (and wanted to) do stuff. Hangovers weren't holding me back anymore, and for the first time ever I started to seize...time. (I feel like I'm saying time a lot here).
Hockey came at the absolutely right time (!), and after a few practise sessions over the summer with my local team I was invited to train for the winter season. This immediately translated in my head as = 'Tuesdays and Saturdays, something to do except drink. Good work, Em.'
Yet I knew, deep down, my struggle with alcohol would resurface when the social invitations started to circulate. Bang on cue, roughly two months into my shiny new sporting life, the anxiety began to rocket.
After the initial panic had washed over me I started to rationalise my sobriety. Yes, this was going to be a very high pressured and unfamiliar situation but surely there was a way through it? I just had to work out my route and swerve the pitfalls.
If you're familiar with my blog you will have read an earlier post where I touch upon predicting sobriety's unpredictability. It's become a bit of a mantra for me as there have been a few occasions now where I could have been caught with my pants completely ripped off, but due to a bit of forward planning I've ensured nasty drink-related surprises remain at bay.
Little things, like ensuring you have interesting alcohol-free drinks to hand when your favourite wine is being passed round a table. And making sure you remain the designated driver when tempting and convenient offers of hotel rooms or crashing at your mates get dangled in front of your nose.
So this is what I did to ensure the Sunday would land me on sober day 133.
- I drove. And I didn't get myself involved in taxi conversations. Instead I quietly mentioned my intentions to drive to team mates I felt closest to (who jumped at my offer of a lift) which ensured I had a car full and a firm role for the evening.
- I took a couple of alcohol-free 'just in case' beers. I know AF beers aren't for everyone, but I genuinely like the taste of beer and they really work for me. The social was at the Club house and I didn't know if they'd have anything remotely interesting and alcohol free behind the bar. The barman was only too happy to open my two Big Drop IPA's and sweetly motioned to the stash of cold yet dusty Becks Blues in case I wanted a few more. What a champ. I felt prepped and ready to mingle.
- I swatted up on my responses. Surprisingly I didn't get asked too many times about my non-drinking (AF beers are a God send for pretending) but there were about four occasions I was cornered. 'Leave your car here! Get on it, Em!' I simply responded, 'drinking doesn't work for me guys and I hate hangovers. I'm much more fun without it!' Convo end! :)
- I gave myself a curfew. Once midnight hit I was out of there. And out of there I was - leaving my team mates drunk hugging at the bar and downing shots of Jaeger. I sloped out at just the right time and made it home for just gone 12. It was magic.
But in the same way I overcame the fear on holiday (by arming myself to the eyeballs with sober-inspired literature) I ensured I was armed with my SOS (save our sober) tools: My car, my AF drinks, my responses and my curfew. Those seriously simple things enforced an inner strength that really pulled me through. Plus my team mates didn't give a flying shit about my sobriety in any case!
Now I'm approaching my fifth month in recovery I'm learning that hiding from social situations isn't necessarily the best thing to do (for me anyway). I mean sure, there are invitations I absolutely flat-fuck-off refuse because I know I'll hate the vibe (I was batting Halloween house parties away like the plague), but there are booze-heavy experiences I still want to be a part of that simply require a little more stamina and deeper dug heels.
I whole heartedly believe that preparation is key - and if you undertake a bit of early strategy (like I did sharing my intentions to drive) I'm confident your risk will reduce just like mine did, and your night will run smoother and with limited stress. And if anyone gives you grief just ignore the swines.
My mum, aka the brandy vommer, has a favourite saying which is 'Fail to prepare, prepare to fail' and I think it may be mine too. There's a lot of truth in it and you can apply these words to almost every situation whereby you want there to be a positive outcome.
I'm certainly starting to overcome elements of anxiety attached to 'outing' my sobriety, and actually Blix's bastard voice is feeling less and less like a controlling power. Today, I'm relieved that Saturday night is over and done with, and to treat myself I've diarised doing absolutely sod all this weekend. I guess like I used to, just without the insidious hangover :)
Plus I'll be attending hockey practise tonight without a care in the world - no embarrassing toe-curling heart-stopping stories for me! Whoop whoop!
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