Day 61 of 100

“Remember how you feel”

I was an athlete in high school. I swam, played football, and wrestled. My coaches had me convinced that if I drank any alcohol it would ruin all my training, and so for most of high school I was sober.

Well sober-ish.

There was that one night that we smoked a ton of weed and wandered the neighborhood convinced that the cops knew we were high and were hunting us.

And there were other nights. Not many. But some.

I believed that I was not a good enough athlete to play sports in college. I later found this not to be true as I played and coached lacrosse throughout my college experience.

But at the time, I figured I was finished as an athlete, and it was my time to shine.

Somehow some friends and I ended up at a house party. In San Jose, going to Independence High School, house parties were the thing. The stories of kegs and drinking and sex were prodigious and bombastic. My nerds ears assumed it was all true, and I needed to experience it all.

I don’t remember much from that party, but I do remember a room full of coats laying on a bed and being amazed at how many coats there were. Thinking about it now, I grew up in California, and we didn’t really wear coats, so maybe that’s a false memory.

What is not a false memory is being handed a Big Gulp full of alcohol. I found out later that it was Bacardi 151 and beer mixed, but for someone who never drank beer, I just assumed it tasted that bad. I drank that Big Gulp like it stole something from me.

That, of course, is why I don’t remember much of that party. Go figure.

I do remember licking everyone’s hand as I left. I do remember getting driven home. I do remember getting the spins as I lay in my bed, and I do remember throwing up in the toilet.

My mom, hearing me throw up, started to head my way, only to be stopped by my dad who reminded her I was drunk, and I would have to deal with it.

The next morning I lay watching tv feeling like the world beat me half to death.

“How do you feel?” My dad asked me.

“Like hell,” I replied.

“Remember that the next time you go out,” he said as he left the room.

Did I know I had an alcohol problem then? No. But I did forget the pain, the embarrassment, and the shame a few days later and did it all over again.