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You’d think runners would have this figured out. They wake up early. They do hard things on purpose. They run miles just to feel something. And still…they drink. Not casually. Not occasionally. Consistently enough to notice. Quietly enough to hide. No one says it out loud. But once you see it, it’s everywhere. It’s the “pub run.” Show up. Run a few miles. Then stand around drinking like that was the point the whole time. It’s the “running club” that’s really just a drinking

I want to talk to you about what your kids are seeing. Not what you think they’re seeing. Not what you’re afraid they’re seeing. What they’re actually seeing. Because I think you have this wrong, and it matters that I tell you. What You Think They See You think they see the relapses. The mornings when you weren’t fully there. The evenings when you were just slightly not yourself. The moments you missed — the conversation, the performance, the tiny thing that felt big — becau

I want to tell you about a morning. Not a triumphant morning. Not a “new me, new life” morning. Not the kind of morning you post on Instagram with a sunrise and a quote. This was a 7:42am, standing-in-my-kitchen, heart-in-my-throat kind of morning. A morning where I had a choice. A bottle on the counter from the night before. Or my running shoes by the door. Four days earlier, I had relapsed. Forty‑seven days sober — gone. Not because of some big catastrophe. Not because lif

Drinking is a socially accepted band-aid for everything and anything that happens to us. Breakup? Drink. Stress at work? Drink. Awkward party? Drink. Society hands you a glass and says, “This is how we cope.” But maybe you’re starting to notice the cracks. Maybe booze is wrecking your mornings, your relationships, your paycheck, your peace. Or maybe you’ve hit that moment of savage clarity: you don’t even like drinking anymore. So what now? I’ve got a sobriety tactic that mos

Amber Graziano crossing the finish line of the Rio Del Lago 100 Miler, November 2, 2025 Most recovery programs will tell you to rest. To be gentle with yourself. To take it slow. And I get it. That advice comes from a real place. But here's what they're not saying out loud: They are treating your body like the problem. Like it's fragile. Like it betrayed you. Like it needs to be managed and monitored and kept very, very quiet. And if you've been through any kind of formal rec