On Aging and Alcohol

There was a time that I lavished in the drunken moments with friends or on my own and recoiled at the thought of sobriety. I recall stubbornly, nervously sitting in front of many therapists in my late teens and early adulthood silently agreeing with the notion that alcohol could be playing a pivotal role in the chaos that was my life. Yet, still, I rejected the idea that I could ever stop.

For many, alcohol is a means to let loose and relax, a liquid prize enjoyed in good company to unwind, which gives your thinking mind a break and worries a chance to fall into background noise. For me, it was a way to feel . I felt numb during the day, perhaps having learned that keeping your guard up was crucial to survival. I didn’t want to drink to escape the ghosts, I wanted to drink so that I could welcome them in, embrace them as old friends, and act as a consenting witness to my traumas that I vowed to never forget. And in doing this I crafted a toxic relationship with alcohol, one that drove me from friends and caused me to forget moments and still I clutched the icy glass thinking immaturely that it was my friend.

As the years went on and my early-twenties rolled into my mid-twenties and then into my late-twenties, the drinks had felt less like a friend and more like a dark crutch that I once welcomed fondly. I and those around me even found humor in my struggle as we played off the night prior as unlucky or accidental blackouts. But I was starting to feel the negative impacts. I dreaded the heavy drinking nights with friends and would wake the next morning filled with anxiety and regret. I felt heavy, unhealthy, and knew that continuing on like this wasn’t going to end well. And the pudgy beer belly was becoming less cute by the day so let’s be honest that needed addressing.

I’m grateful for whatever gust of feeling or fate came over me but in early 2024 when I made the uncertain trek to Savannah with my boyfriend and dog I thought differently about my relationship with alcohol. And I say that I’m not sure what it was that turned this leaf for me but it really was my marathon training that forced me to take my health more seriously. Training distanced me from alcohol, I was getting all of these unfamiliar endorphin rushes and confidence from running long distances that it took priority. My long runs were on weekends so I put hydration and quality sleep first over a bottle of wine. Not only that but in all honesty I also didn’t have any friends in Savannah so I fell earnestly into my well-being and newfound running journey.

Now, it wasn’t that I leapt into the arms of running and felt cured, it was slow and at times painful to realize how unhealthy my relationship with alcohol was and how negatively I thought of myself. Also, running hungover absolutely sucks. But, I had to talk and cry myself through it. I would push myself of course but the positive encouraging talks with myself on mile 5, 8, 10, and beyond allowed me to reclaim my self-esteem and helped to repair my confidence. I think when you go through something that strips you of yourself, that leaves you raw and vulnerable, you’re not just going to be okay and for me it took years of trudging through the mud until I found a lifeline.

I was an athlete growing up and fell into running very naturally. It wasn’t until my mid-twenties when I moved to Austin, Texas that I really went downhill without the support from my home and family, but it was time to spread my little wings and go out on my own. I won’t spin the tale on how hard COVID was for me because it was hard for so many of us, but it took its tole on me. When I finally came up for air after lock-down and months of mask wearing, I could barely run a mile. I felt embarrassed. I could blame the Texas heat all I wanted but in reality I had really deteriorated. Then, I found yoga again and I joke that it saved my life but it really did. With each movement and pose I would feel my trauma wiggle and press until finally I could really feel the pain and gently let some of it go. Piece by piece I had begun to heal after so many years of pain. I would cry after some of those at-home classes. Once I felt stronger, I sought out yoga studios where I became even more connected to my body and my emotions. I also felt a community of men and women around me and I embraced the hum of growth around me.

I was growing and dare I say blossoming? But, it wasn’t enough. The move to a completely new city and commitment to a marathon — one of my biggest life goals — was the most important next step for me. It was daunting but without much thinking or any idea on how to train I clicked the sign-up button knowing my $100 non-refundable registration would push me to at least try. I told myself that even if I walked the thing I would still be a marathoner, but of course I tried and found local running groups to join. The other runners were incredibly intimidating at first, but listen everyone starts somewhere and my favorite run club promised a beer at the end so that was motivating. Long story short I took a month off of drinking to kick off my running journey and took one little, blistered, painful step at a time. Like I said, though, the hungover runs were the worst, though, because I had a habit that gripped my regular life, one that I wasn’t keen on just letting go. But, those runs were the most powerful as I had some difficult conversations with myself in between rushing feelings of nausea and headache.

And then the day came. My marathon day. Between you and I, I hadn’t run more than 13 miles so half of this run was unknown and I wouldn’t learn until afterwards that my sneakers were worn and a size too small. I was struggling with some pain in my right leg that halted my training but I was still determined to try. With the pink, orange sky slowly forming over the city, I walked towards the mass of women — it was the Every Woman’s Marathon after all — and slipped into an open gap. Comforted by other nervous first-timers we patiently awaited go-time and couldn’t they turn up that microphone? I couldn’t hear any of the inspirational speeches from all the way back here! We finally started and I swear within the first ten minutes a girl had tripped and fallen, her run ending as soon as it began. I happily jogged the first half of the marathon but hit serious anguish after mile 16 and let me tell you there are few way to talk yourself down from panic knowing that you have 10 miles and a couple more hours of discomfort to run through, but I did and here’s what I learned: I’m really fucking strong because I did it. I couldn’t walk for a few weeks afterwards and just barely was able to start running again after six months but I finished and so did hundred of other women. I think it taught me — and I hesitate at the risk of sounding cheesy — that we are much stronger and capable than we think and I mean that genuinely and if you can push yourself to the edge, I swear you can still go a little further and that might surprise you.

Listen, I’m not magically better now. I still live with trauma, I still need to be very conscious of my drinking but I will tell you that it gets easier. And it gets better. For me, a shake up in my routine was what I needed and finding discomfort allowed me to learn how to encourage myself kindly which led to just being more kind to myself in general. It’s a lifelong process but one I finally feel comfortable in.