As I’ve progressed in both sobriety and ultrarunning, I’ve noticed an interesting parallel – both have a way of exposing comfortable lies we tell ourselves. Like my favorite one about being “process-oriented.” You know, that enlightened athlete mindset where the journey matters more than the destination? Turns out, sobriety has a way of stress-testing these convenient philosophies.

The truth is messier. Sobriety isn’t a finish line you cross once and collect your medal. It’s more like the slightly sadistic process in running where completing one event or training block just mentally qualifies you for the next. Each morning brings a fresh starting line, complete with all the pre-race jitters and strategic decisions. Some days feel like easy runs. Others? Pure hell – complete with stomach issues, questionable life choices, and the occasional need to cry behind a tree.

The sneakiest challenge isn’t the obvious stuff – not the cravings or the social pressure or even those dreams where you’re suddenly back at day zero or where you slip up and drink. No, it’s the subtle seduction of complacency. That whisper that says, “Look at that streak! You’ve basically got a PhD in Not Drinking. Time to coast!” It’s the same voice that tells me I can strength training or long runs. Both are equally dangerous fantasies.

The numbers keep climbing, which is great. But here’s what they don’t show: the friend who texts late at night, ten days sober and scared out of his mind. The conversation with my wife about fears neither of us could name when I was drinking. The morning runs that used to be hangover cures and are now moving meditations. The moments where being present isn’t just a mindfulness buzzword but an actual choice I can make.

There’s this quote in AA that initially struck me as one of those eye-rolling recovery platitudes: “You get sober for yourself, but you stay sober for others.” I used to think it was about guilt or obligation. Now I understand it’s about expansion – about how personal growth inevitably creates ripples. Every time I choose presence over numbness, it’s not just my life that expands. It’s like training – the discipline required doesn’t just make you a better runner; it makes you a better partner, friend, human.

The “I’ve made it” mindset is seductive precisely because it promises rest – a finish line, a completion, an arrival. But that’s as mythical as a flat course with a tailwind the whole way. Sobriety, like serious training, isn’t about arriving somewhere. It’s about continuing to move forward, one day at a time, even when the trail markers get fuzzy and the aid stations feel too far apart.

Some days that movement looks like epic mountain adventures. Other days it’s just showing up for a recovery jog around the block, metaphorically speaking. Both count. Both matter. Both keep you in the race.

Tomorrow morning my total days sober will increase. But the real measurement isn’t in the numbers. It’s in the depth of the breaths between them, in the lives touching yours, in the quiet moments where you choose – again and again – to keep moving forward. Not because there’s a finish line ahead, but because the movement itself has become the point.