I’m not a big drinker.

I used to be able to knock back half a bottle of wine and feel relatively sober. Nowadays, I drink a small glass or two, and struggle to converse without slurring and saying really stupid things.

I also can’t handle the next day; I feel tired, sluggish and generally spend most of it vowing to quit drinking alcohol altogether. I think the amount of exercise I do has something to do with it. I don’t think my body can tolerate being messed with, it needs all its energy for recovery, not dealing with toxins and alcohol-inflicted dehydration.

I texted my best friend, Tim, last night and said “What’s the actual point in drinking? Why do we do it?”. He replied, “Alcohol makes people like me look attractive”.

He was clearly fishing for a compliment.

He didn’t get one.

On Saturday night, I polished off two large glasses of red wine at a friend’s house, before heading to a bar, where we ordered a round of Mojitos (despite being aware of my low alcohol tolerance). My friend manages the bar, and let’s just say that he certainly looked after us. We didn’t pay for a single drink, and when I say ‘single’, I am not referring to the measure of alcohol in the Mojitos, that’s for sure. Man, those Mojitos were STRONG.

Needless to say, I didn’t feel too great on Sunday morning and immediately regretted staying out late and drinking, because, ugh, I had a 21 kilometre training run scheduled in. I wasn’t so much hungover (thank god), I just felt sleep-deprived and unprepared, fuel wise, for a long run.

I spent most of the morning drinking water, to ensure I was hydrated, and also ate loads of wholemeal toast and scrambled eggs. I considered not going for the run, but knew that if I didn’t, I’d spend the entire day kicking myself for not going.

Off I went.

The first few kilometres passed by, and I felt pretty good. I was running far too fast, however, and had to concentrate on slowing down and leaving some energy in the bank for later in the run.

I ran past a dead duck on the side of the road. (I don’t know why I just wrote that). Oh well. Poor duck.

8 kilometres in, I started to feel a bit nauseous and tired, so I cranked up the music on my iPod and soldiered on.

After about 12 kilometres, I realised that I wasn’t entirely sure of my route home. I figured it was probably a little short of the full 21 kilometres, and so decided to take a detour through a park. Mathematics has never been my strongest point, (although I’m normally capable of working out distances), and yet on this run, I really struggled to work out how far I had left to go. I just couldn’t quite compute such simple arithmetics whilst keeping my legs moving forwards and my body upright. I think the alcohol sozzled my brain cells.

I ended up hitting the 21 kilometre mark about 3 kilometres from home. I walked the rest of the way.

Once home, I spent a good 20 minutes stretching and yet my legs felt really achy, so I ran a cold bath and threw in an ice pack (the types you use for picnics) to make it even colder. I used to avoid ice baths at all costs, but I really believe that they help my recovery. I always take a cup of tea in with me, and wear all my clothes and a wooly hat – I set my iPhone timer to 20 minutes and then sit there, telling myself over and over that I am sitting in lovely, warm water.

icebath

Do you like my cup? Keepin’ it classy.

After the twenty minutes were up, I had a warm shower and then put on my pajamas and climbed into bed. I felt exhausted. I spent the rest of the day watching stupid documentaries on LOVEFiLM and vowing to quit drinking alcohol altogether.

Do you run the day after a night out?