WEBVTT
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Hey everyone, welcome to Exploits of a Nobody.
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Here, I tell stories pulled from my journal entries about running, addiction, sobriety, fatherhood, and the stuff I internalize and struggle with.
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The thoughts I don't say out loud, the ones that come from shame, obsession, and control.
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The kind that make me question what's actually going on in my fucking head sometimes.
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It's what I call rough draft radio.
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Now, I'm not here to teach anything and I don't have any answers.
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Because honestly, I'm still trying to figure this shit out as I go.
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And everyone, that I'm here to say the quiet parts out loud while I'm still in the middle of them.
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This is Exploits of a Nobody, an experiment in rough draft radio.
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And everyone, just a note for this episode, my voice may sound a little rough and weak and even sick.
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And that's because I I recently had a double hernia repair surgery, and I think I got sick while in recovery.
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So I've just I've been kind of battling with multiple things recently, but I really wanted to get this episode out.
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March 18th marks seven years of sobriety for me.
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I used to celebrate thinking I knew exactly what that meant.
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But I'm not sure anymore.
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I'd hear stories of others constantly struggling with relapse and addiction.
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They seem to be perpetually trapped in addiction's bear hug.
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Yeah, I had my share of struggles and relapses early on, too.
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But once I quit, I dropped the label of alcoholic as fast as I could and moved on.
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Once an addict, always an addict?
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Wrong.
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Not me.
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I'm fucking different.
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But was I?
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I'm experiencing a little imposter syndrome as I write this.
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Once I quit drinking, it felt as if the urge to drink shut off instantly.
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But why was it so easy for me?
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My wife used to say she didn't think I had as much of a drinking problem as I was making it out to be.
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Was she right?
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Was I truly an addict?
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One time, during a conversation about running, someone commented.
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Sounds like you replaced one addiction for another.
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Running in pain replaced your drinking habit.
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And I pushed back.
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Oh no, that's that's not it at all.
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I gave up addiction for a healthy habit, running.
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I knew exactly what he was saying, but I couldn't allow myself to admit that he was right.
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By doing so, I'd have to face the fact that I had never recovered.
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I had never changed.
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I was still the one thing I had tried so hard to separate myself from.
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The truth is I was rationalizing, protecting the story and the identity I had created, the one I so desperately needed to feel at that time.
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I wanted to claim I had beaten addiction and had healed so badly that I lost sight of what addiction really was.
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A whisper in my head always had me looking over my shoulder.
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Something's coming for you.
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If you don't change, it's going to catch you.
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You'd think that would be enough to make me quit.
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But no.
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I needed something else entirely.
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And that was trail running.
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In order to quit drinking, I dedicated all my time and effort into training for a hundred-mile race.
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The dream of finishing this race would guide me through sobriety.
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I owned that story.
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Dude, you need this.
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There was no can I finish this race?
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Only I will.
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It's all I have.
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My sobriety, my everything is hanging on this race.
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And with that, everything alcohol had once provided, running now, replaced with something better and healthier.
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I never questioned it.
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Not once.
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It wasn't until years later that something I had totally forgotten about resurfaced, challenging me to see things differently.
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One afternoon, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, looking at the wall of bibs, medals, and buckles I had earned over the past 17 years.
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From my first half marathon in 2009 to my most recent 100k in 2026, bike rides, road runs, trail races, each was a shell holding a story, reminding me of my journey and what I had accomplished.
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My mind wandered off, distracted.
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Wait a minute, do I still have them?
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I went out to the garage and I started rummaging through boxes of junk.
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I know I wouldn't have thrown them away.
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Standing there, I found three plastic gold plates that were hidden under some junk on a shelf.
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They were cheap plastic plates painted to look like antique gold varnish.
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Each plate had a colored label stuck to the center of the plate with information that no longer meant anything to me, and a beer-related quote.
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I had spent many hours trying to write in hopes anyone at the bar would read it and nod in approval.
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Each plate represented a challenge completed, a set of finishers' medals that I had deliberately chosen to hide.
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I thought back to when I earned my first plate for drinking 200 different beers.
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I was so fucking proud.
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I was given a plate reveal party at the pub.
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I brought my family and invited the few people I knew.
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My plate was revealed in an awkward place on the ceiling, only viewable from an obscure second floor table.
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Not exactly in the public eye like I was hoping for.
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But there it was, my gold finisher's plate on the wall, with a black label stating it was my first, my name, club ID number, date, and a Homer Simpson quote.
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No, sweetie, you don't want to drink beer.
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That's for daddies and kids with fake IDs.
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It was dated June 9th, 2016.
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What are you going to do now?
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My wife asked.
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Are you done or are you going to keep going?
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I casually gave her an answer I knew she wanted to hear.
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Eh, I got my plate.
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I don't need another, I'm done.
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But I knew myself better than that.
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I had other plans.
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Get as many fucking plates on the wall as quickly as possible.
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I I knew I knew I wasn't going to leave it at one.
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No fucking way.
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Why stop now?
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The brew pub chain in Houston had become my second home.
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It had also become the place that kept me in debt, patted my waistline, numbed and spiked my depression, while giving me something I could call progress.
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The drinking club was simple.
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Every day, scan my club card, check my progress on the screen, choose a few beers from a catalog of beers I hadn't drunk yet, print slips of paper with a beer barcode, the server scans the code, serves the beer, I drink, eat, and repeat.
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After my buddy introduced me to the club, whether he knew it or not, it became a race, and he was my competition.
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And once I passed him, my only competition was with myself.
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This had quickly turned into a new identity, and I wasn't just drinking anymore.
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I was winning at my own race.
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This gave me structure, direction, and identity.
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I was so deeply driven by the thought of having my plate on that fucking wall.
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The party, applause, and confirmation that I had done what I said I would do.
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And each day I got three beers closer to reaching my goal of 200 beers.
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This was fucking addiction disguised as ritual.
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And I loved the ritual, and I loved the challenge.
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Once I hit 200, the counter was reset, and the challenge for the next plate began.
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I ate lunch there every day.
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Thirty-five to forty dollars per day.
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And that included food, beer, tip, and parking.
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Sometimes sitting at the bar, I wondered just how much each plate was actually costing me.
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Then I'd stop because knowing that number would make me question my priorities, and I couldn't have that.
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That threatened the goal.
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And sometimes, sometimes I'd drink a fourth beer.
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But I'd feel guilty because I was wasting money on extra beers that didn't count toward the plate.
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I'd have to ask myself why I wanted the extra beer if it didn't move the needle.
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Sometimes I'd have to let it go.
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Other times I'd say fuck it and indulge, thinking of ways to somehow buck the system and make the extra beer count.
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I was so invested in the challenge that any time I felt like going out to eat, I went out of my way to go to the beer club.
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Because, well, drinking beer anywhere else felt like a waste because it didn't advance the fucking goal.
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I went there every day.
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I got to know the bartenders and servers, and I began noticing the other regulars like myself.
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There was an obese man who always sat at the long end of the mahogany bar from me.
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I'd also see him occasionally at brewery cycling rides.
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I learned he was one of the originals to the plate challenge, and he was now working on his umpteenth plate, and I was so jealous, but it also gave me something to aspire to.
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But one day, I sat at the bar and I saw him sitting there alone.
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He looked tired and lonely.
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I was actually feeling the way he looked.
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Fuck man.
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That's me if I don't quit.
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Just keep exercising.
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Remember, ride to drink and drink to ride.
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You'll be fine.
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I had been gaining weight since starting these challenges and beginning to feel like shit.
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That'll never be me.
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I ride a bike.
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As if that was a shield protecting me.
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Well, but the doctor told me my cholesterol's high, my blood pressure's on the rise.
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Dude, you're overthinking it.
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And then there was the money.
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We were already struggling financially.
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But I had to find creative ways to keep my relentless forward progress towards the next plate.
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Every day I would carry a debit card and multiple credit cards to ensure that my ritual was maintained.
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Some days I'd get all the way downtown, and when I tried to pay to park, all my cards would decline.
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Fuck! I drove all the way here for fucking nothing.
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Now what do I do?
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I'd walk around for a bit making photos, or sometimes I'd just go back to work, and sometimes I'd say fuck it and just go home.
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Other times, I'd get to the pub, perform my ritual, and pray the transaction would clear.
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Sometimes it would.
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And sometimes I'd have to spread the tab around multiple cards.
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I felt so fucking desperate, as if I was an addict looking for change between couch cushions.
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I had sat at the bar many times wondering what would happen if I couldn't pay.
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Could I could I ask for an IOU?
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Would I have to wash dishes?
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There was no way in hell I would ever call my wife and ask her to help me pay for this over the phone.
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I would not let myself drop to that fucking level.
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And then one day, it didn't work.
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I was at the bar alone like normal, working on my second or third plate.
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I forget which now.
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I handed the card to the server like I always had.
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Please let it go through.
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Please let it go through.
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Please, please let it go through.
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She brought it back.
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Um, it declined.
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Can you can you try again?
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I I literally just deposited in a check.
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But I knew the truth.
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Um it it declined again.
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Um okay, okay, let's try another.
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I was getting nervous.
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I had stopped checking balances on my credit cards a long time ago.
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Sir, this one declined too.
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Wow.
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Um, that's strange.
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Here's another.
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She looked at me as if this happens all the time.
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That one declined too.
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Hey, we have an ATM right over there if you need it.
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My heart began racing.
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What the fuck do I do now?
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Hold on.
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Let me check on my phone.
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Something's not right.
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I told her this to buy some time to think.
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But I already knew the truth.
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I rummaged through all my credit card accounts online, anyways.
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Overdrawn.
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Overdrawn.
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Late fee.
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I sat there with my finger hovering over the button and called my wife.
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I really don't want to do this.
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Fuck.
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I need to.
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Yeah?
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So fucking what?
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You made this shitty situation happen.
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Now you need to fucking fix it.
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Be a man.
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Fuck.
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I won't be able to show my face here for a while.
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The seconds felt like hours.
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I felt like everyone was watching me.
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I couldn't delay it any longer.
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I had to call my wife from the bar.
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I got the server's attention.
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Um, hey, excuse me, if if I call my wife, can she pay the tab over the phone?
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Sir, I have to make sure that's okay with the manager.
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I watched her walk away.
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I saw the manager look over at me from across the room.
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I recognized him from my first plate ceremony and other passing chats at the bar.
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He gave a nod to her.
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She came back and said it was okay.
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I called my wife.
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Hey, everything okay?
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Yeah.
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Um, yeah, everything's okay.
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Um, oh, okay.
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How's your day?
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How's your day going?
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I'm at work.
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Where are you?
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Sounds kinda busy.
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I'm over at the pub.
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The plate place.
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I thought you were just there yesterday.
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Yeah, I was, but a buddy asked me to go to lunch today.
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Your drinking buddy from work?
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Yeah.
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I thought I'd be sociable.
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I sat there, my heart racing.
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I feared the words I had to say.
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I had been so good at taking care of myself.
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I never had to ask my wife for fucking anything.
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Um, hey.
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Um, my debit card declined.
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I can't pay for my lunch.
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And I don't have any other cards.
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Do you have a credit card?
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Oh shit.
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Please.
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Please have a card.
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Please have a credit card.
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Yeah.
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Luckily, I do this time.
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Oh.
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Can you give the server the card over the phone so I can clear the tab?
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Yeah, okay.
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But you're lucky I had a credit card with me today.
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What would you have done if I didn't?
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I have no idea, but can we talk about it later?
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I handed the phone to the server.
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She cleared the tab and handed the phone back to me.
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Hey, thanks.
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You're welcome.
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I'll see you later.
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We hung up.
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I can't believe I just did that.
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I walked out of the pub heavy with fucking shame.
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I will never let that fucking happen again.
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And you think that would have stopped me?
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It didn't.
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I'd end up making that call again.
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I was so obsessed with earning plates.
00:19:58.559 --> 00:20:03.680
Any opportunity I could use to add to the plate count, I would take it.
00:20:05.200 --> 00:20:10.079
On days I had off where my wife was working, I would take my daughter to the pub.
00:20:10.319 --> 00:20:15.519
I'd tell her how good the chicken strips and fries were, and the ritual would continue.
00:20:16.559 --> 00:20:23.759
Now, with a new addition, my daughter standing with me at the computer as I printed beer chits.
00:20:24.880 --> 00:20:31.039
We'd sit down at a table, the servers would recognize me, and they would come to the table and chat with me and the kiddo.
00:20:33.440 --> 00:20:36.160
She began to learn the pub by name.
00:20:36.480 --> 00:20:48.319
She also began to learn that if she mentioned the pub, whether I felt like going out to eat or not, she knew that me hearing her say it, I would take her.
00:20:49.839 --> 00:20:53.440
But hey, at least I'm not hurting anyone.
00:20:53.599 --> 00:20:55.519
I'm spending time with my kiddo.
00:20:57.519 --> 00:21:02.799
Now I had a reason to go that I could easily justify with my wife.
00:21:06.400 --> 00:21:08.079
What did you guys do today?
00:21:09.519 --> 00:21:11.680
We took a drive and went out to eat.
00:21:12.480 --> 00:21:13.680
Where'd you go?
00:21:15.839 --> 00:21:16.799
Let me guess.
00:21:17.039 --> 00:21:18.319
The plate, please.
00:21:18.559 --> 00:21:19.039
Yep.
00:21:19.279 --> 00:21:21.119
The kiddo asked for it.
00:21:29.519 --> 00:21:34.799
I felt both scared and curious as I stood there in the garage holding the plates in my hand.
00:21:36.720 --> 00:21:38.000
Fuck man.
00:21:38.480 --> 00:21:43.119
After all these years, I thought I had changed.
00:21:44.160 --> 00:21:47.279
Dude, you never stopped being an addict.
00:21:48.319 --> 00:21:50.799
But I left that ship me.
00:21:51.680 --> 00:21:53.039
Don't you get it yet?
00:21:53.200 --> 00:21:54.319
You never will.
00:21:55.119 --> 00:21:57.519
But I thought I had healed.
00:22:00.480 --> 00:22:01.359
Fuck.
00:22:02.240 --> 00:22:04.799
What if the pattern never changed?
00:22:05.039 --> 00:22:06.559
But the ritual did.
00:22:08.319 --> 00:22:12.720
Well, you have said that you feel like you have an addictive personality.
00:22:13.200 --> 00:22:16.400
But but not like this though.
00:22:16.720 --> 00:22:20.799
Wait, should we hang these on the wall with the other metals in the bedroom?
00:22:21.440 --> 00:22:22.240
Fuck.
00:22:22.559 --> 00:22:27.200
No, I don't wanna be, I don't want to ever be reminded of this shit.
00:22:28.160 --> 00:22:30.640
I returned the plates to the box.
00:22:31.440 --> 00:22:36.960
I walked back into the house to my room, and it felt as if something was following me.
00:22:37.599 --> 00:22:41.759
I sat down on my bed looking at the wall of metals and bibs again.
00:22:45.359 --> 00:22:49.359
Why, why'd it take me this long to see it?
00:22:51.680 --> 00:23:00.079
All the bibs, the metals, the plates, they're all the same fucking thing, just wearing a different mask.
00:23:01.039 --> 00:23:02.240
Fuck, man.
00:23:02.480 --> 00:23:06.720
I traded beers for races and plastic plates for metals.
00:23:07.039 --> 00:23:09.839
Nothing's fucking changed.
00:23:14.720 --> 00:23:17.039
Races became my new plates.
00:23:17.359 --> 00:23:21.119
I signed up for as many races as I could schedule and afford.
00:23:21.440 --> 00:23:25.599
And for a while, I was signing up to run trail races weekly.
00:23:25.920 --> 00:23:29.359
Because, well, because that's what runners do.
00:23:34.160 --> 00:23:40.000
The Strava app replaced a club card I scanned every day to log beers and confirm mileage.
00:23:41.279 --> 00:23:46.480
A training plan replaced the beer list, and daily runs replaced the three beers.
00:23:48.000 --> 00:23:55.119
Training runs so I could finish this hundred-mile race not only brought sobriety, but it had also become a fucking obsession.
00:23:58.880 --> 00:24:03.279
I looked at the three golden Leadville lottery tokens on my shelf.
00:24:03.759 --> 00:24:06.480
It hadn't just been another mountain race.
00:24:08.559 --> 00:24:14.000
Dude, the universe gave you three tries and you wasted all of them.
00:24:14.880 --> 00:24:20.160
You put so much pressure on yourself and made it more than it ever needed to be.
00:24:21.200 --> 00:24:23.839
Yeah, it was my salvation.
00:24:24.160 --> 00:24:26.480
I needed it to become sober.
00:24:28.799 --> 00:24:32.319
No, you didn't need a fucking race to get sober.
00:24:32.720 --> 00:24:34.559
You just made it like that.
00:24:36.559 --> 00:24:46.240
Leadville became the purpose, the proving ground, the thing big enough to suck all the air out of the room, leaving nothing for the alcoholism.
00:24:47.039 --> 00:24:50.480
I had made it the container holding my identity.
00:24:51.599 --> 00:24:54.960
If I finished, it meant I had changed.
00:24:55.599 --> 00:24:59.519
If I finished, it meant quitting drinking was worth it.
00:25:00.079 --> 00:25:05.039
And if I finished, it meant I had become the man I said I was becoming.
00:25:07.680 --> 00:25:13.359
I had prioritized running over everything else in my fucking life.
00:25:14.880 --> 00:25:20.880
If it didn't coordinate well with my running schedule, then it would be postponed, modified, or canceled.
00:25:21.039 --> 00:25:27.440
And as far as I was concerned, if I wasn't running, I was risking my goal and failing.
00:25:28.640 --> 00:25:34.160
And just like drinking, I began looking for any excuse to justify and protect it.
00:25:34.559 --> 00:25:36.160
It's my religion.
00:25:36.400 --> 00:25:38.640
It's important for my mental health.
00:25:38.880 --> 00:25:41.119
Running keeps me productive.
00:25:41.599 --> 00:25:44.319
I don't know what I'd do without it.
00:25:45.279 --> 00:25:50.480
I had an excuse ready for anything that challenged my running.
00:25:53.279 --> 00:25:55.680
I kept telling myself, stay focused.
00:25:55.839 --> 00:25:57.599
This is what you need to do.
00:25:57.839 --> 00:25:59.279
You don't have a choice.
00:25:59.519 --> 00:26:01.680
You're going to finish this race.
00:26:02.160 --> 00:26:04.880
Everyone understands and supports you.
00:26:05.839 --> 00:26:10.319
Running every day is so much better than drinking every day.
00:26:21.759 --> 00:26:29.200
How everything revolved around my running and how it just felt like everyone adjusted to me and my needs.
00:26:30.160 --> 00:26:32.640
We get into arguments about our kids.
00:26:32.960 --> 00:26:39.119
Depressed, I would complain that the kids never want to do anything with me.
00:26:39.680 --> 00:26:40.319
Yeah?
00:26:40.799 --> 00:26:42.559
Because you're never home.
00:26:42.880 --> 00:26:44.960
You're always out running.
00:26:47.200 --> 00:26:51.519
But I I try to get them to run or ride their bikes with me.
00:26:52.319 --> 00:26:55.200
But they're not interested in doing those things.
00:26:58.079 --> 00:27:01.519
Have you ever tried asking them what they want to do?
00:27:03.200 --> 00:27:06.480
But I usually don't have the time because I'm always running.
00:27:06.799 --> 00:27:09.759
So I try to incorporate them into what I'm doing.
00:27:11.359 --> 00:27:18.319
But Andre, I'm always taking them out on the weekends to do things while you're out running.
00:27:19.119 --> 00:27:23.759
And when you do get home, you take a nap or are too tired to do anything.
00:27:24.640 --> 00:27:26.240
So they talk to me.
00:27:26.880 --> 00:27:28.880
I know what's going on with them.
00:27:29.200 --> 00:27:31.599
That's why they always come to me first.
00:27:35.680 --> 00:27:39.039
Hearing this fucking killed me.
00:27:42.160 --> 00:27:44.480
I was reminded of my dad.
00:27:45.519 --> 00:27:50.079
He always sat in his little studio on the weekends and built airplane models.
00:27:51.680 --> 00:27:53.200
That was his thing.
00:27:53.599 --> 00:27:56.480
That's how he coped with the shit in his life.
00:27:58.640 --> 00:28:01.440
He would give me and my brother models to build.
00:28:03.039 --> 00:28:05.279
Just like I use drinking and running.
00:28:10.720 --> 00:28:12.799
What kind of dad am I?
00:28:14.400 --> 00:28:16.400
Dude, don't be hard on yourself.
00:28:16.480 --> 00:28:19.279
You're protecting yourself and staying healthy, man.
00:28:19.920 --> 00:28:22.799
And you can't help your family if you're not healthy.
00:28:24.240 --> 00:28:28.799
But my kids don't know me besides dad's always gone running.
00:28:30.400 --> 00:28:32.400
You're just like your fucking dad.
00:28:33.200 --> 00:28:34.720
Don't you see it, dude?
00:28:36.880 --> 00:28:39.440
Well, I guess they do come to my races.
00:28:40.799 --> 00:28:47.440
But and then you get upset when they don't cheer or appear to be excited about being there and seeing you.
00:28:48.319 --> 00:28:53.599
But I thought I was giving them an example of their dad doing something hard to make himself better.
00:28:55.039 --> 00:28:56.400
But don't you see?
00:28:56.799 --> 00:28:58.799
It's still all about you.
00:28:59.200 --> 00:29:04.240
You're making everyone bend to you and your wants and your needs.
00:29:06.000 --> 00:29:07.599
Oh fuck.
00:29:13.519 --> 00:29:18.000
Looking back now, I see something I couldn't see then.
00:29:19.519 --> 00:29:22.000
I thought I was transforming.
00:29:22.240 --> 00:29:28.000
I feel like I needed the illusion that finishing Leadville would prove something about my sobriety.
00:29:30.079 --> 00:29:37.200
It's like I needed the buckle to prove something, a container holding the proof like some religious artifact.
00:29:38.559 --> 00:29:50.880
And when I didn't finish the first time, I was so desperate for meaning and resolution that I kept going back, trying to finish so I could become the identity I had built for myself.
00:29:53.200 --> 00:29:57.920
I remember my wife asking me a question that sounded oddly familiar.
00:29:58.720 --> 00:30:00.960
So what are you going to do when you finish Leadville?
00:30:01.200 --> 00:30:02.640
You gonna keep running?
00:30:04.319 --> 00:30:07.119
At the time I didn't have an answer.
00:30:07.440 --> 00:30:11.839
Because the truth was, the system already knew.
00:30:15.200 --> 00:30:19.359
And now I can't stop thinking about it.
00:30:19.599 --> 00:30:25.759
After all these fucking years, the drinking plates, the bibs, the finisher metals.
00:30:25.920 --> 00:30:31.440
I wonder if it was ever really about running, or Leadville, or sobriety.
00:30:31.920 --> 00:30:36.160
Did the pattern ever change or had it just evolved?
00:30:36.960 --> 00:30:39.440
I can still feel that system lingering.
00:30:40.480 --> 00:30:42.480
It never really goes away.
00:30:42.720 --> 00:30:44.799
It just changes shape.
00:30:45.839 --> 00:30:51.119
And sometimes it makes me look over my shoulder.
00:31:08.160 --> 00:31:10.240
And that's it for this episode, everyone.
00:31:10.480 --> 00:31:11.839
Thanks for listening.
00:31:12.160 --> 00:31:22.640
If this episode meant something to you, or you know someone who really should hear this, please like, share, and comment wherever you get your podcasts.
00:31:23.119 --> 00:31:28.079
Because someone out there is waiting to hear this and they won't find it unless we share.
00:31:29.680 --> 00:31:39.759
And you'll find photos of the drinking plates and my trophy wall mentioned in this episode at our new website, www.exploits of a nobody dot com.
00:31:40.880 --> 00:31:44.960
You'll also find past episodes and other photos there.
00:31:46.079 --> 00:31:49.440
So until next time, happy trails.
