Hiking My Way Sober, One Day at a Time

Today, I woke up hungover.

I started the day as I always do. First, I checked my phone to see if I’d sent any embarrassing texts or (worse) posted anything to social media. Once I determined I was clear on both fronts, I made my way downstairs and out the door to the garden. Throwing myself vigorously into manual labor is my way of pretending that EVERYTHING IS OK, so I weeded for an hour with a nasty headache. After that, finally, I allowed myself a cup of coffee.

But everything is not OK. And it hasn’t been for quite some time. It’s been three years since I’ve admitted to myself and others that I am an Alcoholic, and aside from six actual months of sobriety I’ve been lying to everyone around me ever since then about being sober. I’ve given myself up a few times (those stupid, stupid drunk texts) but for the most part most people in my life think I’m living my life sober.

It’s been exhausting keeping up the lie.

Every morning I tell myself that this will be it. And every afternoon, I convince myself that one more day won’t hurt.

But it does hurt. Literally. I can feel my organs struggling to maintain the daily abuse. If I don’t stop soon, I could easily be dead within the next year. The body can only take so much, and mine has endured 20 straight years of daily alcohol intake.

Outwardly, I’m a picture of health. I eat well, I exercise. I’m active and fit. It’s probably the only reason I’m still alive, to be honest. I take such good care of my body, which is why it’s baffling that I am putting myself in such danger by drinking over a bottle of wine every single night.

The only time I feel myself unclench and unwind is when I’m outside doing something active. Pulling weeds, walking through the woods — I can feel the calmness that I’m always looking for in those bottles of wine. Every time I step into a forest I think to myself, why don’t you do this more often?

It’s because I’m always hungover or hurrying home to start my night of drinking.

After punishing myself with the weeding this morning, I drove 10 minutes to the nearest State Park. I parked my car at the entrance to my favorite trail, which runs along the lake. I hiked over the bridge and up the first set of stairs, and once I was at the top I could find myself relax. There was a wall of deep, pure green in every direction that I looked. I could hear nothing but the birdsong.

As I approached the lake, a beautiful iridescent blue caught my eye. It was a butterfly that perched a log near the water. Without fail, every single time I take a hike something pierces my heart with its beauty.

Which is why I’m challenging myself to hike every day, sober, for the next 365 days.