Alcoholics are Everywhere. In recovery you're never alone.

“Slow down, if you keep drinking that you’ll get intoxicated” The volunteer said with a grin.

I froze with my paper cup full of water. It was halfway to my lips. At least I thought it was water. I just downed a full cup and started to fill another when the volunteer brandished this warning to me. The large thermos of liquid was placed next to snacks and post-race refreshments. It tasted like water, but in reality, I was so exhausted from my five and a half hour failed ultra marathon that I could have easily downed almost anything that was put in front of me and not have been wiser.

I have fifteen years of sobriety; did I just throw it all away due to my lack of attention? Even worse would the cravings all come back to me? Would my disease, much stronger now than before, hold me hostage while the devil himself smiled outside my cell? What had I just done? Logically I knew it was highly unlikely that there would be alcohol at a post-race aid station, but the fear was there, quickly overtaking me.

I’m not an ultra-runner, see the above paragraph where I say, “failed attempt.” But this race was the first ultra I signed up for and I made it halfway through. I just completed the first 25k (sixteen mile) loop of a two-loop course 50k (total 32 miles) however I wasn’t allowed to start the second loop because I didn’t make the cut off time of the first loop. I was one minute late. Yes, you read that right, I missed the cut off time to keep running by one minute.

Why was I here? I wondered. I was exhausted, cold, and sweating all at the same time. Bruised from hiking and running in a random forest two hours from my house. The icing on my miserable cake was that even though I ran/hiked/crawled for the last five and a half hours I only made it halfway. I would not be returning home an ultra-runner.

I also wouldn’t be recovering in my warm bed with my best friend. A few months prior I lost my cat of seventeen years. It was a devastating blow to my life that was ripe with change. I moved in with my amazing husband and as we started to blend our families together change ran rampant. It was wonderful and all-consuming at the same time. Within two months my beloved companion passed of old age. The loss a felt was palpable. Gone were the nights of my cat snuggling on my lap while I unwind from my day. During this time, I started running every day, hoping to busy my mind and focus on something besides what I lost. As I ran, I signed up for 5k and 10k races just to do something on the weekends. I hoped to give myself relief from the loss I had and if nothing else to distract myself.

At some point in those first few weeks I decided to run an ultra-marathon, because why not? I needed something to focus on. I’ve finished a few half marathons and one full marathon. As the mental pain enveloped me, I decided the physical pain of running 32 miles wouldn’t be anything I couldn’t manage. At best maybe I could finish the race and have accomplished something few others have all the while taking my mind off my furry friend.

I downloaded a running app and clicked the 50k (thirty-two miles) race training plan. For the next four months a ran. I ran a few miles almost every day and, on the weekend, I ran anywhere from thirteen to eighteen miles. I joined Facebook ultra-running groups and learned all I could about proper fuel and nutrition. I became obsessed. I doubted myself many times but regardless of that doubt I picked a race in November and signed up. It was a trail race, and although I wasn’t running trails, I thought I would be fine. Honestly, it didn’t matter if I was fine or not. I didn’t really care what I was getting myself into physically because every single post I read about ultra running told me that ultra’s are mostly mental. Yes, we need to fuel and train but everyone agreed at some point you will be exhausted, that’s when the mental part kicks in.

I reached out to a few race directors inquiring about their specific races. The race I ended up choosing had a director who told me it was a great first ultra and as long as I added hills to my training, I would be fine. Therefore that’s what I did. I added in a few hilly runs. What I didn’t realize until I was in a forest months later was that trail races in reality should be called hikes. Because that is what they are. I should mention that I hate hiking.

I knew the course was two sixteen-mile loops, and you could only start the second loop if you completed the first in a specific amount of time. I did the math and as long as I was running fifteen-minute miles I would be good to start the second loop and finish in time. I was running an average of twelve min miles during my long training runs therefore I wasn’t concerned that I wouldn’t make the cut off. I had plenty of wiggle room. Even a cold three weeks before the race didn’t deter me. I was completing this ultra-marathon for my cat. It sounds stupid but that was my plan.

As I got into the first few miles of the race I started to panic. I quickly realized that this “trail” was a hike. I also observed the other participants running differently then I. The trail path was thin, and the dirt formed a V shape. The other runners put each foot on the side of the ground while I was going slowly one foot in front of the other, almost like walking a tight rope. When I tried anything different, I stumbled and almost fell.

Next came the “hills.” There were about three or four hills I had to climb up onto using my hands and feet. These were the extreme hills. The majority of the race twisted throughout the forest, making it almost impossible to run. What the hell kind of race was this? I kept envisioning my ankle rolling to the side and snapping in it two. I tripped more times then I could count but somehow managed not to break anything.

As I ran I didn’t think about my cat due to all of my mental effort focusing on keeping my bones intact. I also wasn’t fueling properly because I couldn’t get to any of the food I had as I tripped through the forest. I was losing electrolytes and felt terrible.

After five and a half hours I came to the close of the first loop. I was back where I started. I checked in with the race coordinator and he confirmed what I already knew. I missed the cut off time. What I didn’t know was that I missed it by one minute. When I heard how close I was the salesman in me wanted to start talking. I knew I could convince him to let me start the loop a second time, but I also knew that it wasn’t safe for me to do so. I narrowly escaped broken bones when I was fully rested. Staring the second loop completely exhausted would have meant injury. I forced myself to smile, thank him and walk over to my husband who had been patiently waiting for me like the amazing man he is.

I grabbed a few snacks and gulped down my glass of water, getting ready to refill it when I heard “Slow down, if you keep drinking like that, you’ll get intoxicated.” I froze.

“Um, ha ha, that’s funny” I stammered sweat pouring off my brown from anxiety.

“It’s water, right? I mean there isn’t any alcohol in it?”

“No, no alcohol. I was just messing with you.” The volunteer said smiling.

I could breath again. Thank God. In that instant the fear and anxiety dissipated. I was safe. My demons would have to wait another day to attack me.

“Oh good, I don’t drink so I had to be sure.”

“Have you always not drank?” he questioned

As soon as the words left his tongue, I knew he and I were the same. I can’t explain it but if you’re an alcoholic in recovery you get it.

“No, but I haven’t drank for the last 15 years.” I smiled.

“Oh, that’s great, I’ve been sober for 25 years. The drinking almost killed me.” He said.

I smiled and suddenly the lady standing behind the snack table said. “Me either I’ve got seven years sober.”

The man and I both turned to her and smiled. “Congratulations”! We said in unison. The three of us chit chatted for a few more minutes and then I excused myself to get back to my husband. I told him excitedly about the exchange, however as a nonalcoholic he didn’t understand the importance of what had just occurred. Which is okay.

I sat in the car feeling my legs begin to cramp, and I thought about all that had occurred. Even though I did not finish my first Ultra I didn’t care much. I didn’t train for a trail race, so how could I be upset with myself for not finishing? I could be angry at myself for not investigating the race, but I already ran through those thoughts. Hell, I had five and a half hours to think about it during that stupid hike.

The part that I hadn’t known until I spoke with those two souls waiting for me at the finish line was that our five-minute conversation made the entire race and the months of training worth it. Finding those two gave me the knowledge that I was supposed to be there. If not for them just as much as for me.

What about my cat Scooter? Did this race erase the pain of losing him? Of course not. Do I still miss him? Sometimes more than ever. Grief often comes to me whenever I’m in a stressful situation, perhaps it’s because I know that I don’t have him to ease my stress anymore. However, running did help. I found the further I ran during one run the less I thought of him. I was too focused on nutrition, exhaustion and making one foot move in front of the other. He was with me though because in times of true fatigue, I would think of him, knowing that if I were able to breathe through his last moments on earth, I could finish the damn mile I was running. Am I bummed that I’m not an official ultra runner? I sure am. Was it worth running through sixteen miles of forest so that I could share a laugh with a fellow alcoholic? Yes.

If your in recovery or if you need to be in recovery know that you are not alone. You’ve got angels around every corner just waiting and wanting to help you. Remember that you might just find them in the oddest of places.

Recovery resources:

Alcoholics Anonymous: https://www.aa.org/

Narcotics Anonymous: https://na.org/