I gave up caffeine about three months ago. I still hate myself for doing that.
I did it because I had to. Sleep was getting more difficult to enjoy in periods longer than two hours at a time. Caffeine is the only legal drug that most athletes can still enjoy and not have to worry about what’s next on a drug test. I was never a pre-race quaffer of espresso or high-test energy drinks. I’ve seen other competitors suck them down, and always wondered if there was a hidden potty stop out there (besides the 20-yard tree dash) that I somehow missed. How does a body deal with pre-race nerves and a serving of get-up-and-go in a can? And no pun intended.
I did not suffer from the usual withdrawal symptoms, likely thanks to a daily NSAID I take for an arthritic knee. I feel less anxiety and stress, even though life is still stressful, and I fall asleep faster and stay asleep longer. My dream cycle is quite vivid and pleasant; nothing evil happens, and much of what I dream about looks familiar. I’ve read this does happen to some caffeine quitters, as a brain chemical called adenosine is no longer blocked, and deeper REM sleep is possible.
I do feel like a bit of a failure, however. I never thought I would be the one perusing the beverage labels, looking for the word “decaffeinated.” Or looking at a restaurant menu and settling for water when nothing decaf appeared in the drink selections. I am annoyed by the notion that going to a Cuban or Venezuelan restaurant could mean not getting my coffee fix as it should be: a small but brain-jarring brew, dark, rich, sweet, with a hint of milk and foam, and a reward when I race in neighborhoods that offer either or both.
OK, I will behave and mostly stay on the decaf wagon, but when I jump off occasionally, I will make it a small but worthy excursion.
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