Living my best sober life isn’t just about staying grounded, improving myself, and having sober fun. It’s also about respecting and loving my body, mind, and spirit. It’s about running towards myself and with myself, not away, not trying to escape the experience of living.
Nothing could revive my whole self the way road races have, like the Philadelphia Love Run Half Marathon (13.1 miles) I just raced in April. There’s something magical about the whole experience, from training through to the finish line and even as I hobble on painful legs into the Coffee Corner for my after-race brunch with my kids (and now with my Dad, since my mother passed).
Sure, I ran during my drinking career, and it was great… kinda, sorta… not really. There’s only so far you can go when you’re hungover every morning, existing mostly on a steady diet of self-hate, junk food, and vodka. Hang-over runs, which were the norm, kept me at a constant 2-mile limit.
Passing the open door of Tipsy McStaggers on my morning run, the smell of last night’s spilled beer knocked into me. I’d peer into the dark cavern to see a few dim lights and a handful of bodies who took up residence, already gripping the ghost in their glass, or was it the ghost gripping them? Thank God I’m not an alcoholic, I’d say to myself, feeling my heart pound on its cage and the nausea swoon and swirl in my gut, a gift from the past night’s Stoli. An alcoholic couldn’t run every day like I do.
Ah, but clearly they can… I may have been running past that cave, but I was living the lie just the same, believing the shadows were real and letting them overtake me.
I could give you a long list of the benefits of running, including how it’s a great antidepressant and combats anxiety like nothing else, but this is not a commercial, and that’s not why I run.
I run because I can.
I run because my mother couldn’t (not that she ever wanted to). I run because I need to feel like I am in control of something in this world and because the only thing any of us are in control of is what we choose to do.
In those moments on the road, I choose over and over again to see, feel, and breathe and not wish the miles away, no matter how many times I think there are only three miles left and become distracted by the sharp pain in my foot or the constant ache of my thighs. No matter how many people pass me in a race, no matter how much slower I go than I had hoped, I get to do this. I get to breathe, feel, and see this.
And when I race, I become one with an ocean of runners flowing together. The energy of that isn’t something anyone can describe.
There are times when I choose to expand this gift and be in service by joining a charity team. Raising money for a cause I believe in fills my heart and makes my miles mean even more. I didn’t raise money during the Love Run, but for two straight years, I’ve been part of the Runners for Research Team in the American Association for Cancer Research (AACR) Philadelphia Marathon (26.2 miles). And now I’m part of that team for the Independence Broad Street Run (10 miles) on May 5th, also in Philly. Next year, I’m considering running for Shatterproof in the Marine Corp Marathon in DC. Races typically have preferred charity partners, but you can choose to raise funds for any cause or none at all.
Sometimes, the best cause is self-care! Doing it for yourself is more than enough.
If you’re interested in trying out the Love Run, you have the option of signing up for the 7K or the Half Marathon, both of which start and finish in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. The course takes runners out into the neighborhood and down parts of Market Street, around City Hall, and up along the Schuylkill River, crossing it into neighboring lands and continuing up and back down Kelly Drive, passing the iconic boathouse row to finish in a crowd of cheers.
At just about every race, whether it’s the Philadelphia Love Run or not, all along the route your heart and spirit will be nourished by people of all ages giving shout-outs to loved ones and strangers alike. There are high-fives from adults and 3-year-olds, power-up mushroom buttons and slogans drawn on poster boards, people dressed as bananas and Super Mario, and you just might find yourself behind a runner whose t-shirt almost brings you to tears because it says “Dear person behind me, the world is a better place because you are in it. Love, the person in front of you” (I almost cried at that one).
Then, there are the alcoholic beverages that some spectators hand out.
This is something I had no idea about when I started racing. Actually, I had no idea about any of it! But this one was totally unexpected.
It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been sober – hungry, angry, lonely, tired… they creep up on us all. You may not be angry or lonely, but you will definitely be hungry and tired. Make no mistake: everyone’s vulnerable when you push your body to its limits. That’s one reason it’s so important to always take your sobriety on the run. We come prepared – we accept that these things are out there, we accept our powerlessness over them, and we play it through. Just one is never just one.
We also remember what our caregivers taught us when we were five… don’t take candy (or food or drinks) from strangers. And yes, spectators had baskets of candy and even homemade baked goods! For a moment, I considered taking one; I’m a sucker for chocolate chip cookies. It was hard to resist, but there is no way in hell I’m eating a stranger’s cookies.
And I recommend you avoid it too. Even if you normally would use THC or marijuana, there’s no way to know what’s in those cookies. I believe in the inherent goodness of people, so I know their edibles are gifted in the spirit of kindness. But considering how many people die of overdose from fentanyl or xylazine-laced substances, why risk it?
Back in the day…
Back in my drinking days, I would’ve been all about it. But back in my drinking days, I didn’t care if I lived or died. And back in my drinking days, I didn’t have the ability to race.
But don’t worry; you’re hungry and thirsty, and the race venue has your back! These are definitely not the only food and drink options you’ll find on the road.
As with every race, the Love Run provides hydration stations all along the route every couple of miles. These, you can trust, have only water or their chosen sponsor’s electrolyte drink, typically NUUN or Gatorade. They even hand out nutrition in the form of chews or gels that provide calories, electrolytes, and sometimes a boost of caffeine.
This year, Love Run chose to hand out Vanilla Gu. And yum! I’m so glad I ate it. I’ve used a few other Gu flavors, but this is the only one I’ve had that I can say was enjoyable. Granted, I was 10 miles in and starving, so even some cardboard to chaw on may have made me swoon, but I decided to go with it and bought a case for training. I’ll let you know how it goes!
I typically take the handouts and pocket them for another day. During the race, I only eat what I pack because I follow the runner’s rule: Don’t do ANYTHING different the day before, the morning of, or during your race. This includes any clothing, gear, shoes, hydration, and food that are different from what you were trained with. It can be disastrous. Imagine a sudden kick to your gut from within. You’d be lucky to get away with nausea or a pukey pitstop. Easy to pull off. But it could literally go the other way. Yeah,… not as easy.
Luckily, they do have porta-potties all along the route for such emergencies, but they might not be where you need them. For the Love Run half, they’re frequent enough that there’s no need to pop-a-squat the way I needed to when I ran the full Philadelphia Marathon. Fortunately, I only had to pee. There were plenty of porta-potties, but there were also very long lines. So, in any race, you may want to keep your eye out for bushes just in case, especially if you ate something out of the norm the night before or during your run. And you might want to pack a bit of TP in your gear… better safe than sorry!
But alas, back to the beer. Yes, ice-cold cans of beer, shots of vodka, and little airplane bottles of Jack Daniels. How convenient! Those are just a few of the items in the spectator-selected assortment of alcoholic beverages offered en route at this year’s Love Run. I take nothing from random strangers, so I wasn’t in danger of a mistaken beverage. But safe in hand does not mean safe in head.
At my first Marathon in 2022, while shivering in line to get into the corral (where we wait for the tiered start of the race), I met a twenty-something-year-old woman running with her boyfriend. It wasn’t her first go-around, so she had plenty of tips, including tips about the beer.
“When you get to the wall in Manayunk, there’s always a ton of people giving out beer. They’ll be along the route, too, but when you hit the wall, around mile 20, that’s when you’re going to want to drink one. It’ll give you the carbs you need for energy and take that edge off the pain for those last few miles. You’re gonna want that boost.” Ah, yeah… about that… I just smiled and nodded and said that sounds like perfect timing. And it did. And I thought about it for the whole race. It wasn’t constant, but it was there, growing louder as the pain and tightness in my legs grew louder.
Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired…
I was beyond hungry and beyond exhausted for quite a while and being pummeled by the below-freezing temperatures and wind gusts of up to 26 miles an hour (complete with shards of crispy fall leaves) amplified everything. Now, at mile 19, I could feel the twinges of angry and lonely beginning to rise up as I took in what looked like a mountain ahead of me. Running is mostly a mental game. Our bodies can do so much more than we allow them to. It’s our heads that get in the way. When our bodies and mental faculties are depleted, we’re vulnerable. There’s no way around that. The only way is through. I was one month shy of 17 years in recovery at that point. No one is immune.
From the start and even through training, I was afraid of those 26.2 miles ahead of me. I had never run such a distance before. Training only took me up to 20 miles once. And I had doubts and worries swirling in the back of my mind, gifted by my well-meaning, non-runner family and friends. Now, those doubts are mixed with this woman’s beer wall.
But I was fine. I was tough. I could handle it. And when I got to that wall…
Beer…
Her words, her tip, were now in the forefront of my mind and quite literally all around me. I could smell the rich, malty caramel of the fermented barley and the bitter, earthy citrus of the hops as if someone had sprayed a perfume through the air. And now, instead of offering relief as she promised, it amplified the searing pains in my legs, back, knees, and foot.
Fear of the pain, of not making it to the end, along with the resentment and loneliness of not being able to drink like they can pressed so close I could feel its breath on the back of my neck; the ghosts were all around me pulling shadows from that cave I emerged from all those years ago.
Just keep going.
I kept telling myself over and over. Keep going. I don’t need it. I can do this. But there was an argument in my head tempting the anger, the loneliness, the exhaustion. They get to have relief; why can’t I? Because you are a person with an allergy to alcohol… you have the disease of alcoholism, Mary… only it didn’t really sound like that. It was more like… Cuz you’re a fucking alcoholic, Mary..! Do you wanna die? You are tougher than these pansies who need to numb themselves. Fuck that! You fucking got this, girl. Keep fucking going. And yes, the word fucking was every fucking bit part of my fucking mantra.
I played it through, consciously connected with my higher power, thought about my girlfriend, who would be standing with open arms when I crossed that finish line sober and gave myself permission to finish that race any way I wanted to. It was about seeing myself and loving myself, every single part of me. There was no shame, nothing to change, nothing to run away from, not even the pain.
So, my sober tip to you is – run the fucking race!
So, my tip to you is – run the fucking race! You got this. Take your tools and run toward yourself, embrace every single part of you no matter what you encounter. You are tougher than those people who need a beer. You don’t need to numb out. And you get to feel that pain just as you get to feel the elation at the end of the run, that sense of accomplishment, empowerment, and love for yourself, the world, and everyone in it. If you take that drink, all of that part, the best part, the part you deserve, is gone.
That temptation, though – it doesn’t end at the finish line. That’s where you will be greeted with the ever-present at every race, Beer Garden. Every runner is rewarded with a beer, and the BEER ticket is attached to everyone’s bib. Maybe no one would know if you “rewarded” yourself. But you would. And you would go from that race to the nearest bar and bye-bye you and all you worked so hard for. Gone in a beer. Fuck that!
So, run. Race!
Feel the Love. Eat your banana and drink your Monster. Hobble to your ride, and before you hug them, hug yourself because you did this and loved yourself enough to do it sober.
Racing sober has given me parts of myself that nothing else could. Becoming whole is how we live our best lives, and we all deserve that.
You got this!
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