Four years ago, I was drinking alone in my apartment, unable to imagine anything beyond survival. Today, I wake up before dawn to run toward a life I once thought was impossible.
Recently I ran the New York City Marathon. It was my seventh marathon in the four years that I have been in recovery from alcoholism.
In traditional recovery programs there is a saying, “Fake it ‘til you make it.” I was great at faking it. But you can’t fake a 26.2-mile run.
Running is not a byproduct of my recovery; it is one of the main reasons I’ve stayed sober.
Many people need clinical rehabilitation to stop drinking, but it wasn’t enough for me. Once my treatment ended, I was thrown back into the same lonely environment that caused me to drink in the first place.
I needed something more, a community that provided support, accountability and goals.
In 2018 I was devoid of all three. That year my marriage ended abruptly, and I lost my job shortly after. Those back-to-back blows sent me into a spiral of addiction.
I would wake up, intending to apply for jobs, and make a drink that I told myself would help me get started. But it was never only one drink, and often I would end up passed out by the afternoon.
I entered treatment in 2019, thinking I could learn to drink like a normal person — only socially, not when I was sad or angry.
I didn’t yet understand that that’s not how addiction works. And while I may have learned new tools in treatment, I had no structure and no supportive community where I could practice them.
In 2020, a friend invited me to a hike with The Phoenix, a “sober active” nonprofit organization that provides connection-based activities and community to anyone sober for at least 48 hours. Activities might include yoga, weightlifting, rock climbing or coffee meet-ups.
It was the first model that made sense to my goal-oriented brain. You become a member of a supportive team, put in the effort and see proof that you’re moving forward.
Still, I wasn’t ready to let go of drinking.
I volunteered — rolling out yoga mats and helping set up events — while secretly scheduling my drinking around the group’s 48-hour sobriety rule. I’d stop drinking Sunday night to make it to a Tuesday class, drink afterward, and stop again for Thursday.
But, slowly, the model began to change me. I became intertwined with The Phoenix community. Char, who became my sponsor, relentlessly invited me to events and training sessions, and I became more involved.
In early 2021, I resolved to truly get sober. A few months later, I committed to running the Long Beach Marathon.
I wasn’t excited about it and thought it would be a one-time thing. But running took my recovery to another level.
I had never liked running, but it gave me what I was missing: structure, purpose and accountability. It made me keep promises to myself. All my excuses were stripped away.
Nobody was making me get up at 5 a.m. or checking my miles. It was just me and the road. Each run built confidence I hadn’t felt in years. That discipline began to spill into the rest of my life.
Since that first marathon, I’ve become a certified yoga instructor. I regularly lead classes through The Phoenix and help others find their footing in recovery.
I’ll be featured in an upcoming documentary, SOBER, about how connection and physical activity can help people rebuild their lives. We filmed during my first year of sobriety, which I hope helps others taking their first steps into recovery.
Now I live in a condo on the same stretch of beach where I used to train when I first started running. Most importantly, I’ve been able to help others in recovery. And I’ve found extraordinary friends who cheer me on in every aspect of my life.
I want the same success for the 5.6 million other Californians who struggle with a substance use disorder. The blueprint to aid them already exists — build and fund more communities where connection and self-belief replace despair.
Individuals, nonprofits and community leaders can all play a role by supporting recovery programs that bring people together instead of isolating them. The solution can start with each of us: volunteer to lead a sober activity like yoga, invite sober friends to an open mic night or start a running club.
Recovery begins when we create spaces that replace isolation with belonging, where people can rediscover the confidence to change their lives.
Raelynn Franklin is a marathon runner and certified yoga teacher. Her piece originally appeared in CalMatters.