Costa Carastavrakis - I am Costa: From Meth to Marathons

Inspirational. Brave. Provoking. Costa bares his soul in the journey of his life, and his story will challenge your own vulnerabilities. I Am Costa is an extraordinary story that will leave you inspired and your spirit rejuvenated.

Aki Anastasiou, media personality

Brutally honest and courageous, this sincere account of the Grecian soul in the diaspora, the Zorba madness in us all, is at once entertaining and enlightening. It is The Catcher in Johannesburg a voice of a warrior, a survivor, a soldier. Prescribe it for schools and let them hear him say, I AM COSTA!

Renos Spanoudes, award-winning theatre practitioner, presenter and educator

Costa doesnt know how to give up

Lindsey Parry, Comrades Marathon coach

I laughed, I cried. Everyone struggling with addiction should read this book.

Kuli Roberts, TV host and producer

Honest, captivating and heart-warming. Costa is a true inspiration. An individual who triumphed over his circumstances and personal demons to become the inspiration he is today.

Kate Murray, Olympic triathlete

COSTA CARASTAVRAKIS

Constantinos Carastavrakis, 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission from the copyright holder.

ISBN : 978-1-928257-58-5

e- ISBN : 978-1-928257-59-2

Published by Bookstorm (Pty) Ltd

PO Box 4532

Northcliff 2115

Johannesburg

South Africa

www.bookstorm.co.za

Edited by Angela Voges

Proofread by Wesley Thompson

Cover design by mr design

Cover photograph by Gareth Jacobs / garethjacobs.com

Book design and typesetting by Triple M Design

Ebook by Liquid Type Publishing Services

For Dad, Mom and Sonia thank you

For cousins Jonni and Michael for teaching us how to live

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

THIRTY-TWO YEARS OLD

Man is a being in search of meaning.

PLATO

It was spring 2002, and there was a heady smell of jasmine in the air. It is always the first flower to bloom in spring in Johannesburg; on this lazy Saturday afternoon I took in a long, slow breath and filled my senses with its rich, sweet smell.

The sweetness reminded me of the honeysuckle bush we had when I was growing up in our family home in the 70s, a comforting smell of family love, carefree days and play. I loved flowers as a little boy and I particularly loved tasting the sweet nectar that dripped off them. The smell of jasmine took me right back to that era in my life.

I had taken the time to smell the flowers that day in spring because I was finally making time for myself and space for much-needed change in my life. Id been feeling that I was losing myself. I was drinking a lot, fighting with a boyfriend I didnt even love, and working way too hard chasing a business goal I didnt even really believe in.

Who was I becoming, at 32?

Smart, energetic and charismatic, I had a lot of people in my life who loved me. I had trouble loving myself, however, and a friend recommended I do more of what they call inner work. I had experienced the help of psychotherapy before, but felt like I needed something different. I wanted to try something new.

I had heard about Julia Cameron and her book The Artists Way a self-help book that positions itself as A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity. I had always considered myself a very creative person. Id loved drama and school plays back in the day, and closely followed art and fashion and movies. By my early 30s, I felt I was so focused on business that I had forgotten that side of myself altogether. Julias book was a well-structured 12-week course with techniques and daily exercises that were aimed at self-discovery. Like most things in my life, I approached this course passionately and devoted myself to unlocking all its coaching value.

A valuable part of the course was a daily activity I found helpful. It was called Morning Pages. Of these pages, Cameron says on her website: The bedrock tool of a creative recovery is a daily practice called Morning Pages three pages of longhand, stream of consciousness writing done first thing in the morning. There is no wrong way to do Morning Pages they are not about high art. They are not even writing. They are about anything and everything that crosses your mind and they are for your eyes only.

Each morning I would wake up and dump my thoughts, feelings and emotions onto the pages. I found them very therapeutic in that they did what she said they would do: provoke, clarify, comfort, cajole, prioritize, and synchronize the day at hand, and more. They became a place for me to feel emotions I hadnt felt in a long time. Most mornings, they were full of anger anger at the world, my boyfriend, my business, the situation I was in, my excessive drinking.

As the weeks passed, the course suggested other creative exercises, and I took up photography. I would take myself on artists dates to disused factories to spend time playing with the light and dark of the old buildings and their broken equipment. I became obsessed with these derelict places, and the mystery and stories they held. A feeling of pain would often come over me after the photographic sessions, as they opened some soul space of my own that was derelict itself, abandoned and hurt.

I took to Julias process of collaging in the form of vision or mood boards. This would often switch off my conscious brain I would find images that felt right and paste them in any way I wanted to. It opened a space where I didnt judge what I picked or how I put the collage together a free form of expression I felt I desperately needed. What I noticed being unlocked was texture, creativity and a new way for my soul to breathe (or, in most cases, vent).

Sometimes I would pick up a pen and write some creative passages. I even took to writing a few poems. The words would flow easily onto the page and over the weeks I kept coming back to an image of myself as a 12-year-old. I would often write poems from his perspective: lines about the music he loved, family moments, the games he played and the holidays he went on soft, sweet times, from his perspective.

On the particular spring day when I smelled the jasmine and the association of the honeysuckle of my childhood came to mind, I was in a still frame of mind. Meditative, in fact; that day, it felt particularly peaceful and somewhat trancelike. My soul felt open. Like I was getting in touch with myself, my true nature.

I sat with my eyes closed and took in the smell. I let it swirl into my head and seep into the soul spaces and heart spaces that had opened in the past few weeks. I picked up a pen; the image of myself as a 12-year-old came to mind. I looked him in the eye and held his stare. He needed to speak to me. He needed to be heard. He needed me to write the following one-line poem, a statement of what was going on inside me: There was once a 12-year-old boy who hanged himself.

HEROS JOURNEY

Bravo, my boy.

MOM, ABOUT PRACTICALLY ANYTHING I DID

The start of an Olympic-distance triathlon! Id grown to love triathlons, but one with the word Olympic in its name stirred a particular emotion in me. Im Greek, and proud of my heritage.

Here I was, standing at the start of a race that would test my all-round athletic ability, Id have to swim 1 500 m, cycle 40 km and finish off with a 10-km run. You often hear people complain that they can do the swim and run, but they cant really cycle. Others love the cycle and the run, but cant swim. I roll my eyes. Theyre missing the point: triathlon is one discipline its all three activities, one after the other.