Outdoors/Adventure

Reexamining the role of alcohol and its effect on an active life

I hadn’t had a beer in a long time until last week. It wasn’t on purpose. But between doing dry January, and generally gravitating more toward cocktails, the last time I drank beer was probably October.

The occasion last week was the unexpected, and slightly miraculous purchase of a new — to us — truck. We hadn’t expected to learn that our current truck needed replacing. But within less than two weeks of learning that our old truck was on its way out, we had another one in hand.

Obviously the thing to do to celebrate was invite friends over to have a tailgate party in our driveway during an unexpected snowstorm. And obviously the beverage of choice was beer.

A secret about me: One of the things I enjoy most about beer is simply picking it out. This is the same for other alcohol. I loiter; I look. I always end up not being able to decide what I want and picking out more than what I initially came in to buy. This is an extension of my “too much” personality: I don’t want to make a decision. I want it all.

I spent 15 minutes that Saturday at our local Git N’ Go Liquor Store in the Butte neighborhood in Palmer. If you’ve been to the Git N’ Go, a standalone blue building off the Old Glenn Highway that is just about as Alaskan as it comes, you know that it has a shockingly excellent beer selection, but it’s also not that big of a storefront. I easily could have been in and out of there in three minutes.

But I was enjoying thinking about what I wanted and ogling the different cans and bottles. I ended up with a couple four-packs of limited edition Midnight Sun Brewing stouts.

Back at home, my husband and I got ready to celebrate. We pulled down the tailgates of both the new and outgoing trucks in our driveway. We grabbed the speaker from inside and queued up Hank Williams. Fat, fluffy white flakes filled the air as snow came down fast. Friends trundled down the driveway in puffy coats, carrying six-packs and shouting congratulations.

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I cracked one of my beers, the satisfying sound of metallic release and froth ringing out.

It was delicious. I drank it slowly as I chatted with friends and walked them around our new rig, oohing and aahing at various truck things. I surprised myself by how much I was enjoying the beer. Sometimes they’re just a prop — the kind of thing I drink because it’s part of how I see myself having a good time — but this time it was that, and I was savoring it.

A bit later, I had another one. This one tasted even better!

Eventually, everyone’s jackets were starting to wet out with the snow and our friends headed out. My husband and I put the tailgates back up, grabbed the speaker with Hank’s voice still warbling through, and came inside.

I had the thought: I get to enjoy ANOTHER beer!

As my husband turned on the oven and started pulling things out of the fridge to make dinner, I set myself up at our butcher block table in the kitchen with a new can and a pint glass. Cracking this latest beer, I felt disappointed. The audio effect just wasn’t as exciting as that first time. Still, I held on to my fading enthusiasm, and poured it into the glass.

Sipping it, though, I knew I’d made a mistake. Younger me laughs at the older version that considers beer No. 3 to be too many, but it just wasn’t as tasty and I also knew I was well on my way to being drunk.

Here’s what typically happens then:

My “extra” let’s keep going/let’s go further, do more, do all the things self rejoices in the gluttony of alcohol. One exciting beer turns to two turns to five. This approach teams up nicely with that thing that alcohol does, which is reduce my judgment and inhibition. This makes me do things that sober me doesn’t think is a great idea, like — again — drink 10 beers.

I didn’t do all of that that night. I stopped at three beers, and had a couple nightcaps afterward. I ate more than I wanted to, because alcohol also makes me ravenous. All of this truly is not so terrible — especially, again, considering that younger me might regard this as a tame Tuesday.

But the next morning when I woke up I remembered the three beers and all of the salty, greasy food I’d consumed the night before. Not just remembered it in my mind — my body wouldn’t shut up about it. I felt lethargic and puffy. I didn’t feel terribly motivated to do things I normally like to do, like go outside. I did them anyway, but it was through a fog. I was going through motions because I knew I needed to do it for myself, not because I particularly wanted to, and absolutely not feeling terribly present.

So, I have this conundrum. I don’t want to give up alcohol entirely. I do actually enjoy alcohol — for its effects, yes, but also its taste and the creativity/art behind it. I’ve learned to socialize without it, so that’s no longer as much of a pressure.

But I need to figure out a way to moderate alcohol, so that it’s not undermining the things I want to do. This means I have to work both with my own personality, which is “go-go-go” and then also the uninhibiting properties of alcohol, which eggs me on.

I don’t have an answer. Like many things in my life, I think this exists on a continuum. I can look back and know that I’ve come a long way in maturing my approach to drinking, like — a long way. This means that change and evolution is possible. I think it comes down to knowing what I feel and what I want, and staying true to that. I want to try and remember that the first, and even the second “crack” of the beer are the most satisfying, and to enjoy those. But after that, maybe it’s just the alcohol talking. And maybe I can convince myself, even in that moment, that a good next morning doing the things I love to do outdoors is worth more than beer No. 3, or 10.

Alli Harvey

Alli Harvey lives in Palmer and plays in Southcentral Alaska.

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