By Matthew Hoadley
"We get to do this" is what my wife said during our first 100 mile race in 2019 when I was struggling. Her words are something I try to keep in the forefront of my mind when I am training or running an ultramarathon. My journey to running didn't start until the age of 35, one year after I stopped drinking.
On March 24th, 2013, I took my last drink of alcohol. March 25th, 2013, I started to become the person I am today. It is still strange to me that I am writing about running, endurance, and achieving goals. I was a daily drinker at the age of 34 and was about to lose everything. Other than walking the dog, I had no other exercise in years. In my first year of sobriety, I learned how to live while attending a twelve-step program regularly (I still attend a twelve-step program to this day). I was trying to be a better father and husband while learning that life could be lived without a drink. At about a year sober, my wife suggested that along with my twelve-step program, I should start to run as exercise. I hate to admit it, but I couldn't make it a half mile around our neighborhood at 35 years old. However, even in that half mile, I started to feel that I was doing something that was for me and something I started to like. I went from a half mile to a mile without stopping and thought I was on top of the world. Running became a new form of meditation for me early on in this journey. I was able to find more peace within myself.
I did what most people do and signed up for a 5K. I was so nervous. I felt like it was the first day of school, and I didn't know what to do. Everything was new to me, from pinning on the bib to drinking water while running. I finished that 5K with my wife and daughter cheering me on. It was a feeling I had not had maybe since playing Little League as a child. I had stepped out of my comfort zone and challenged myself, something I had been too scared to do for many years. I signed up for another 5K, and then a half marathon. Once I completed that half marathon in two hours and forty five minutes on a hot September Saturday, my mindset really started to change. I, Matthew Hoadley, ran 13.1 miles. Why? How?
2014 Run for Scituate 5K
2014 Run to the Rock Half Marathon
Getting sober allowed me to be the person I was supposed to be. I wasn't supposed to be a daily drinker who reached the point of not wanting to live. I had to change everything in my life, or I wasn't going to be alive. Running became not just a hobby but a new identity. I used to be a "drunk," and now I'm a "runner." I ran my first marathon in 2015 at the Vermont City Marathon. I finished in just over five hours, and that was okay. I crossed the finish line with my family there cheering me on. For me, I had done the unthinkable. There was a part of me that wanted to show my kids we are capable of so much more than we believe. Just because your circumstances look bleak today, doesn't mean the rest of your life will continue in the same way. That night, after finishing the marathon, I could only think about one thing: running an ultramarathon.
2015 Vermont City Marathon
“There was a part of me that wanted to show my kids we are capable of so much more than we believe. Just because your circumstances look bleak today, doesn't mean the rest of your life will continue in the same way.”
When I was drinking, moderation was something I could not grasp. My goal was not to feel my feelings, and only mass consumption of alcohol gave me that reprieve. Running became my new activity, and I have struggled at times not becoming fully obsessed. I have to realize running is something we get to do, not something that should control my life the way alcohol did. I am still a father, husband, friend, and employee, and running should not come before any of those things. I have learned to listen to others when they see my priorities slipping. This challenge with moderation is common with people in recovery who enter the endurance world. Many of us recovering addicts are ultrarunners. We like to do things to extremes and have to remind ourselves to keep that in check.
I loved the way long runs made me feel. Running felt like a legal high and was the only drug I allowed myself. The feeling of accomplishment made me feel better than any drink I ever had. The challenge of distance running is empowering and has been life changing, giving me self-confidence I've never previously experienced. Now I find out who I really am deep into a race, and that is awesome.
I ran my first ultramarathon at the 2015 Farm to Farm 50K in Maine. During that race, I went to the darkest place I had been since getting sober. I was in pain and full of self-doubt. I wanted to quit so bad after about 20 miles, but I worried about being seen as a failure. I shuffled along for a few miles thinking only about how I was not good enough to finish. "I am too fat. I am too slow. I am incapable of finishing this thing I started." Finally, I realized if I could get sober, I could do this. I got a little pep in my step and finished on fumes, but finished nonetheless.
2015 Farm to Farm Ultra
Many other ultramarathons came and went, but running 100 miles was always a goal. My wife began running again during this time after having our second child. She was my biggest supporter, and she was now entering the world of ultras. After many races of different lengths, we finally signed up for the Badger 100 in August of 2019. One reason I wanted to participate was because of one of the race directors, Scott Kummer. He has been someone I've looked up to for years. Getting to know him through his podcast Ten Junk Miles and in person has been a pleasure. Scott is also in recovery, and getting my first 100 buckle from someone in recovery, I thought, would be epic. To say I was scared is an understatement. At 6 AM in the cornfields of Illinois, my wife and I were ready to run 100 miles with like-minded people. We would run from Illinois into Wisconsin and back. The first 40 miles were great, but then it got hot, and I got doubtful. I started to puke and played the old tapes back in my head that I couldn't do this. My wife let me have my pity party and then got my butt back moving. We forged on into the abyss of corn and soybean fields. When night came, we were 70 miles in and stumbling in the dark but still moving. There was another episode of puking and wishing for death. My wife kept saying, "We get to do this." She also said, "You got sober; you can do this." Those words helped remind me of my strength, and what an incredible opportunity it was to be able to experience something like this. We finished the race as we started it, by each other's sides. The interesting part is we don't ever run together. We train at different times because of our children. Usually, during races, we separate after a few miles. However, in this instance, I needed her to remind me that "we get to do this."
2019 Badger 100
Our potentials are so much greater than we allow ourselves to realize. Sometimes, thoughts of failure cause us to fear taking the risk of challenging ourselves. Through suffering, though, we learn that we are truly stronger than we ever imagined. We just have to put ourselves in a position to use that strength. I went on to run another 100 miler in October at the Ghost Train Rail Trail Race, with my wife pacing me the last 40 miles.
2019 Ghost Train Rail Trail Race
For 2020, I was looking forward to running two more 100 mile races, but that has been derailed. I really miss the community of runners. I am a shy person and can isolate myself easily. However, on the trails, it seems the environment lends itself towards being a place to share. I have run three virtual ultramarathons this year: Sugar Badger 50 Miler, Badger 50K, and Yeti 24 Hour Ultra Challenge. I didn't want to stop the challenge of running ultras just because in-person races had been deferred. I had been missing going into that dark place and getting through it during a race. I easily could have quit when it got tough and hot. Running an ultra totally alone takes hours of mental gymnastics to keep going, and I find I am always a better person after a long race or training run. I also feel very lucky to be in a twelve-step program, and I've participated frequently in it during this uncertain time. I am blessed that Zoom is available as a way to connect with other people, and I have been able to make new friendships in recovery that I would not normally have made. I have a Monday night meeting that gathers outside (socially distanced), and this has renewed my spirit. I also have a text group with my wife and other ultrarunners around the country, and we chat every day. This group has been a real blessing as we navigate canceled races, training, and life's ups and downs. I have to remind myself and others that we can do hard things. Just because many races have been canceled, we don't have to let the challenges stop. Go out there and seek adventure. We get to do this!
Matthew on the trails
About the Author
Matthew Hoadley was born and raised in Newport, Vermont. He now resides in Scituate, Massachusetts, with his wife Jennifer, daughters Eleanor and Clare, and their English Pointer Deacon, and works as a Technical Team Manager in the Subrogation department at Arbella Insurance. When he is not running, he loves to be at the beach with his family.
