A Lesson From The Colorado Trail About Sobriety – And Life.

In 2021, two months before I quit drinking and took control of my life, I set out to backpack the 185 mile Collegiate Loop in the Rocky Mountains. I had planned to hike with a friend, but when that didn’t pan out, I decided I was about to learn how to solo hike.

I was scared to death… but I also knew it was something I needed to do.

That 185 miles started an annual tradition that has turned into one of the most important things I do to support my sobriety and my mental health.

Over the past 4 years, I’ve hauled myself out to those mountains, giving them the chance to teach me the things I need to understand about life and my recovery. They never fail to do just that.

One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned:

comparing myself to others will never get me to where I need to be.

My trail name is Turtle.

I’m fairly active, but I’m also a middle-aged stay at home mom. My priority hasn’t been physical fitness these past 20 years, and it shows. So when I set out to hike a couple hundred miles carrying everything I needed on my back, I don’t move fast. In fact, more often than not, I move embarrassing slowly.

This became clear to me on about Day 2. I was meandering along, feeling like I was making pretty good time, when a man in his late 60’s came up behind me. We exchanged pleasantries – a quick, “Beautiful day to be out here, isn’t it? Are you going all the way to Durango?”And as we chatted briefly, my brain started doing that comparison thing it’s so good at.

He was obviously very fit, very active. His backpack was about half the size of mine – clearly he knew what he was doing. He looked like he belonged here. As he continued on past me, I tried desperately to keep pace, but within 15 minutes he was rounding yet another curve and was long gone.

The sinking feeling set in.

Could I really be feeling shame out here? I was out in the mountains, doing this really cool, brave thing – and the sting of shame was burning as I compared myself to this old man and found myself lacking.

It happened over and over for the next several days. A couple of young girls in their 20’s, talking and laughing up the side of a mountain as I was stopping (again) to catch my breath. A young man who had recently come back from the military, out for an adventure and carrying a pack that must have weighed 65 pounds (his trail name was Kitchen Sink.) A husband and wife duo, maybe 10 years my senior, flew right by me as I slogged up Kenosha pass feeling like I might never get to the top. A mother with dreadlocks and her thirteen year old daughter, literally skipping up the trail past me.

It didn’t matter who they were.

Every single person seemed faster. More prepared. Better.

All I could see were there strengths. All I could see were my weaknesses.

Over the course of a few days, as I wrestled with feelings of not being fast enough, not doing good enough, not belonging, I finally started reminding myself of some very important things:

• We are all starting from somewhere different. Different life experiences, different bodies, different reasons for being here, different gear, and different timelines.

• My job isn’t to keep up with anyone. My job is to know my goal, know why it’s important to me, and to get there however and whenever I need to.

• No one is any more worthy of being here than anyone else.

• This journey isn’t about how fast you get to where you’re going. It’s about the experience itself. It’s not one to be rushed, and my experience isn’t supposed to be the same as anyone else’s.

When you quit drinking and Look Around At The recovery community, it’s easy to tell yourself you don’t measure up.

When you hear stories of how happy everyone is, and it feels like you’ve been slogging and suffering for weeks, it’ll feel like you’re doing something wrong. Like you don’t have as much figured out as everyone else. Like they’re flying past you.

When someone in a meeting talks about how they made it through their mother’s funeral without drinking, and you just barely made it through getting a flat tire without drowning the stress in a bottle of wine.

When everyone around you is talking about how much weight they’ve lost, and you’ve put on 20 pounds in two months (because early sobriety sugar cravings are real, y’all.)

When you’ve reset your day counter six (or forty three) times and other people are celebrating a year of sobriety, your brain will start telling you that you don’t belong. That you aren’t good enough. On the worst of days, it might even tell you to just give up.

When you find yourself comparing your sobriety to the people around you, I want you to remind yourself of some very important things:

• We are all starting from somewhere different. Different life experiences, different bodies, different reasons for being here, different gear, and different timelines.

• Your job isn’t to keep up with anyone. Your job is to know your goal, know why it’s important to you, and to get there however you need to.

• No one is any more worthy of being here than anyone else.

• This journey isn’t about how fast you get to where you’re going. It’s about the experience itself. It’s not one to be rush, and your experience isn’t supposed to be the same as anyone else’s.

On the trail, we say “Hike Your Own Hike.” The same goes for recovery. If you try to be like everyone else, you’re going to miss the whole point of it.