With as much enthusiasm as I can muster, I’m pleased to let you know that I have recently been selected to represent Australia at the upcoming Boring Olympics.
As with any elite sport, preparation has been key. I started my training on January 1 by succumbing to the bombardment of Facebook feeds from people telling me how good life is without alcohol. I bought a ticket on the “Dry January” train and took my seat.
A series of qualifying events followed. These included “coming up with a pointless anecdote”.
So I went out to dinner with a friend and told her about the three police cars that drove past me during the day with their sirens on. She waited for me to continue. But there was no more to add.
The judges were impressed by my ability to tell a story with no middle, no end and not a hint of a plot twist.
The next event was scheduled for a Friday afternoon. I knew this one was going to be tricky because since giving up the grog, Friday afternoons have been the hardest hurdle of them all.
Come 4pm on a Friday arvo, it has taken a gargantuan level of strength, willpower and stern self-talk not to pop a cork.
Luckily, I’d done some laundry on the day of the event and the 30-minute monologue I delivered to my partner towards the end of the day about whether the doona cover was dry enough to be taken off the clothesline was enough to get me over the line.
Since qualifying, I’ve been doing a bit of research about the opponents I’ll be up against. The competition looks formidable.
There’s an English lady who started an Excel spreadsheet appreciation chat group, a plain rock collector from France and a Norwegian woman with an extensive photographic collection of letterboxes.
Having only been boring for a month, I know I don’t stand a chance against competitors of this calibre, but this hasn’t stopped me putting in a bit of extra training before the big event. I’ve found the best place for pre-Olympic training is at places where people are drinking.
I warm up by introducing the fact that I’m doing “Dry January”. This always raises a mixed reaction. Some people drain their glass and head for the bar. Others, eye me curiously and ask how hard it’s been. I don’t lie. I say it’s been hard – particularly Friday afternoons – but I tell them it does become easier as the days progress.
The unsuspecting will casually ask if I’ve noticed any difference since ditching the drink. This is where I do my best work. I start by talking about the best sleep I’m having – no interruptions – go to bed, go to sleep and stay asleep until the alarm. I then move to how clear in the head I feel.
My thoughts aren’t jumbled, my mind is calm and I’m concentrating better. By this point, I can see their eyes glazing over so I switch into top gear by introducing a topic that my non-drinking self feels is quite interesting – celebrities who don’t drink.
Bradley Cooper, Kim Kardashian, Anne Hathaway, Naomi Campbell, Brad Pitt – the list goes on. And so does my audience. On to the bar to get refills.
Training completed, I warm down by telling anyone who’ll listen how amazing it is that non-alcoholic beer tastes like the real thing. I want to share some mocktail recipes with them, but I know I’ve finished my training session when I find myself yawning.
Time to go home, have a cordial and watch an episode of the show I’m currently working my way through. As I watch, I can’t help feeling quite smug in the knowledge that I won’t have to replay the episode the next day to find out why the main character has ended up in hospital.
I’m thinking of having a morning tea to raise a bit of money to get me over to the Boring Olympics. Unfortunately, as it turns out, all of my friends and family are busy that day. Any takers?
Annemarie Fleming is a freelance writer and author.
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