Thank you to the lovely person over at the Sober Womens Awareness Group on FB who brought this article to my attention and to The Fix for running it (excuse the pun!) This article is about how those of us who were marathon session former drunks make really good (potential marathon!) runners and why exercise can provide an excellent escape from addiction. I’m going to share it in two parts as the author does such a good job of outlining the then and now of running vs boozing.
Many drunks won’t be swayed by the symbolism of a turned calendar page. But each year, plenty of chronic drinkers and struggling alcoholics figure that January is a chance for a fresh start. To them, I say run. You’re already pre-programmed to chew up the pavement—even tackle a marathon. In fact, you’ve spent a good chunk of your bleary-eyed, morally dubious days and nights developing the perfect toolbox: single-minded focus; endurance; tolerance for mental and physical distress; prowess at spending time alone; aptitude at navigating embarrassment. You can use these tools to build a new house, rather than deepening the ditch. So for the newly sober, instead of fretting about how far you have to go, here are eight reasons why you should think, “look how far I’ve already come.”
You know how to keep your eye on the prize. You’ve gutted out hangovers and sweated through anxiety-ridden mornings—all while trying to ignore the song of that first cool sip, the delicious sigh waiting in the cooler case or kitchen cabinet or bartender’s hand. Just get to noon, to 1 pm, to the somewhat respectable hour of 3 pm (that’s when the school day’s done, after all). On the other side of the coin, you’ve danced full-tilt boogie through weekend benders, uncapping and uncorking on waking, passing out and then hitting repeat, often on little food and water. This stick-to-itiveness will serve you well during the long miles of a marathon. You’ve run into doors, pavement and all manners of immovable objects and kept on going—so you’ll be ready when the marathon’s wall starts cracking its knuckles around mile 18.
2. Tolerance of physical and mental distress
You’ve probably woken up with bruises and cuts, perhaps a sprain or broken bone, so you won’t be freaked when a blackened toenail falls off during training. You’ve certainly come to with skull-splitting headaches, a tongue like cactus skin, and wincing rays of guilt slicing your brain. You’ve forced yourself to work, woozy and nauseous. You’ve thrown up in the bushes and then stumbled into the office. You know scalding heartburn and beer shits. You’ll be able to handle any race-day GI issues stirred up by the mix of Gatorade, energy goo and nerves. Plus, you’re used to the performance anxiety of just being awake, so you won’t be so fazed by the starting-line jitters.
3. Pit-stop prowess
You’re a master at sourcing public piss-spots, with a sharp eye for the smallest slice of cover: a lamppost, a sapling, your own shadow. You’ve had no previous problem just whipping it out, or down as the case may be. So you can save yourself valuable time by skipping the lines for the Porta Potties along the race course.
For years, you either convinced yourself things weren’t as bad as they really were or simply censored the subject. You’ve honed your self-deception and denial skills. In the beginning, you’ll need to channel that delusional thinking to convince yourself you can run around the block, around the track, or a half mile, when your heart is laughing at you and your brain reminds you that you haven’t broken an honest sweat since elementary school. These powers of persuasion will also come in handy in a 26.2-miler, when your thighs turn to fire hydrants and you still have seven miles to go.
5. You know solitude
You already spend quite a bit of time alone, huddled in the corner of your head. You know the contours well, the dark corners and the soft spots. And you’ll dwell there as a marathoner, too. Four-plus lung-heaving hours with no energy to spare can reveal a lot. Including, to quote Leonard Cohen, the cracks where the light gets in. That supple head space is also the perfect canvas upon which to start drafting your apology letters.
6. You’re already good with numbers
You’ve done the Terrible Math: tallying the number of drinks you had the night before, converting wine and beer and shots into 12-oz. increments. You’ve had a personal ounces number, which you’ve pledged, with the best of intentions, not to exceed—at least not during the work week or at holiday parties. So you’ll have little problem calculating your pace per mile, your caloric intake and burn, or the number of carbs you’ll need to preserve the precious glycogen energy stores in your legs.
7. Embarrassment, schmembarrassment
Check out some race photos. You’ll see plenty of runners with painful grimaces on their faces, wild sweat-flattened hair, bloody nipples, shorts billowing up to show dimpled cheek, stained crotches and wet ass cracks. And often a gait that looks decidedly zombie-apocalyptic. There may be college-era pics of you with a pair of hairy balls sharpied on your forehead or with your skirt up over your head: You are the dark, sloppy star of family lore. Your tolerance for ridicule is high.
8. If they can do it…
Because if marathoners Richard Dodd (brink of suicide, jail, homelessness; Boston Qualifier), Jackie Kenyon (crack, booze, prison, homelessness; multi-marathoner), Mark Matthews (alcoholism, crystal meth, hospitalizations; Boston Qualifier) and Pam Rickard (alcoholism, jail; 100-miler finisher) could do it, so can you. Google them.
I looked like one of those nodding dogs reading this and at several points I laughed out loud (blackened toenails dropping off and pit-stop prowess!). Every line resonated and struck a chord. I trained for and ran the London Marathon in April 2011 when I was still very active in my drinking. I can attest that every single word he writes is TRUE. All of the above were vital steps in my journey towards believing in myself, believing that I needed to do things differently and finally putting down the drink in September 2013.
So having helped me GET sober tomorrow I present part two of this tour de force about how running helps me STAY sober. Honestly folks lace up your trainers and give it a try. What have you got to lose? 😉
PS If you’d like to hear a well-known UK sportsman talking about their addiction then you can tune into Desert Island Discs on R4 and here Freddie Flintoff talking about his issues with alcohol.
Plus a news story covering it appeared in The Telegraph too: