We've Had A Good Run, Soda. I'm Gonna Miss You

About nine hours ago, I posted the following status message on Facebook:

"Brian is honoring Barack Obama's promise of change by quitting soda as of Tuesday. No, really. He is. He put it on Facebook, it must be true."

This pronouncement was, of course, immediately met with an offer to help from my brother's girlfriend (note: bothering me about drinking soda will not make me less likely to drink soda), words of encouragement from my older sister, and a dose of reality from my wife (who knows better than anyone just how difficult a proposition I am making here.

My problems with the bubbly sauce go back to high school, when my mother would buy me several two liter bottles of Mountain Dew on her weekly grocery shopping trip. I had a mini-fridge in my room, so I didn't even have to venture into the kitchen to get a dose of the good stuff. In one of my weirder quirks on record, I would drink about half the bottle, then shake all the bubbles out and down the rest. Yes, I would intentionally create flat soda. Don't ask me why, there's no good reason. Later, when I worked at McDonald's, I became friends with one of the assistant managers, a jovial sort who swore by the Dew and always kept a stockpile in the walk-in refrigerator.

I've tried to give up soda before, usually on the heels of a huge binge. Last spring, I was downing three or four twelve-packs a week, an absolutely ridiculous total that I'm fairly certain was the cause of a liver abnormality that showed up on some routine blood tests my doctor had ordered. At some point, I decided I was killing myself with the sauce and decided to get clean and healthy up my lifestyle so I could maybe be around to see my kid grow up. It lasted until mid-summer, when I fell off the wagon. My drinking hasn't gotten quite as bad as it used to be, but it's still way too much.

So there it is: as of Tuesday night at 11:59, I am off soda. No "I'll just allow myself one bottle a day." No "I'll only drink it when we go out to eat." No "I can have a couple cans at the in-laws house during dinner." None of that. It's over.

As for motivations - obviously, Joey is a key one. Using him didn't work the last time, however, I think because I need something a bit more concrete. Thinking about being around for my son until he's at least my age is a little too abstract to have the necessary daily impact. So here's what I decided: since it was President Obama's campaign-long call for change that inspired me to fix this part of my life now, I'm going to use him to place a concrete time limit on my soda outage. For as long as he is president of the United States, I will not drink soda. Minimum of four years, maximum of eight. I know, it's a long time. As Vicki said today when I mentioned this to her, "You realize that means you might not have soda until you're thirty-seven, right?" (Actually, that was her second reaction. The first thing she said when I told her was, "Yeeeeeeeah." Like I said, she knows me better than anyone else.)

So wish me luck. I'm gonna need it.