December Bridget would like to talk to you about her drinking problem

As I've said before, training for a marathon requires a few minor lifestyle adjustments: "Six months ago, Fridays after work meant a bottle of red, some pizza, a trip to the corner pub, and I'll see you in the morning. Now, they mean water, water, water, a giant plate of pasta, and (if I can stay awake long enough) maybe a few hours with the New Yorker and some serious contemplation about my bowel movements. I just got a horrifying look at what my life will be like in 60 years. And I'm living it now."

And all along I'd said one of the things I looked forward to most post-marathon was reclaiming my Friday nights. But it wasn't just Friday nights. It was any night within a two day period of a long run. And when you train for a marathon, long runs happen fairly often.

A few friends and I were discussing this situation as we set out on the marathon together. And the way my friend Pia saw it was this: December Pia was about to come out to play.

In November (and October, September, and August), we were marathon runners. We were people of discipline, perseverance, sound nutrition, and minds of steel pretty big whiners. But December Pia? Is ready to reclaim her Friday nights. And sweet jebus sleep in on weekends. And do it again on Saturday night. And take back happy hour ANY day of the week. And, inevitably, pack on some winter warmth. And and and and ... the possibilities are endless.

One week in, I think it's safe to say December Bridget is on task. And I'm not sure what it says about me as a functioning member of society that on Sunday afternoon, when I realized I had been out consuming alcoholic beverages with friends for four of the past five nights, I gave serious thought to turning the next three weeks of my life into an all-out bender. Because why not?

What respectable college graduate DOESN'T consider making a game of how many days in a row she can get her drunk on? I'm moving in three weeks. I'm depressed as hell about it. And what better way to fight off the winter worries than by hooking my arm up to an IV of Guinness and spending every waking moment with the people in Philadelphia I care about? Because what goes worst best with sadness? BOOZE!

I have not yet entirely ruled out this scenario. It's gonna be an interesting month.

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