Information for Our Alumnae:
"Oh No...Not Me...I Never Lost Control..."
Northwest Runner may seem like an unlikely place for me to tell you this story, but stick with me; there very likely is something in it you can relate to a use, if not for yourself, than for someone close to you.
I’m a mother, a wife, a professional and have been a very devoted athlete for the last 27 years. [The magazine notes that Kim is one of the top local long distance runners.] I’ve probably run alongside you in races. I’m also an alcoholic. By the time you read this, I will have graduated from my Intensive Outpatient Treatment Program at Residence XII; a treatment center for women in Kirkland, and I will be living my life very differently than I was before.
It was easy for me to tell myself I was different than “those other people” because I had more knowledge and more self-restraint— that I would never allow myself to appear drunk or fall down or vomit on my own shoes and therefore, I was not an alcoholic. And I have been a competitive athlete for a long time, and athletes aren’t alcoholics. I don’t have a red nose, bloodshot eyes, a distended abdomen, shaky hands, or other attributes commonly associated with alcoholism. At the age of 45, I’m still disciplined about my training; I work hard to stay fit and be attentive to my diet. I even took extra thiamine while I was drinking to replace some of what alcohol destroyed. Of course, the obvious solution to depleted thiamine would have been to stop drinking but up until September 11, 2003, I wasn’t willing to go that far.
Up until then, I actually congratulated myself for being a really “good” drinker because I followed my own rules pretty well... all except for the amount I drank which steadily increased... I wouldn’t dream of drinking before...a workout, but I sure looked forward to drinking as soon as possible afterward. I drank the night before races, but not a lot, so I felt justified in having... martinis before dinner after the race. I had many rules about how and when I could drink.... I became even more adamant about all the other rules governing my life because I needed to feel righteous about drinking.
Finally on September 11, 2003, I could no longer bear the weight of my addiction. I wanted to see myself as an athlete and a capable parent worthy of love and respect, but my addiction to alcohol was making it nearly impossible, so I returned to the doctor I’d seen the year before and told him I had failed miserably at quitting by myself. “I need help.” I heard myself say. “I can’t do it alone,” was very hard for me to say because I pride myself on being able to do most anything I set my mind to and giving in to something as seemingly innocuous as a bottle was really difficult for me to accept. “Kim, he said gently, “You need to be in outpatient treatment.” On the one hand I was terrified of what that meant, but on the other hand, I felt relief because I was ready to surrender and put myself into a situation where I would be supported.
I went to Residence XII in Kirkland known by its graduates as “The Res” and the moment I walked in the door...I felt as though I’d finally come home....I am aware that it is very dangerous for me to feel complacent for even one instant, because it only takes an instant and one drink to start the addiction cycle all over again. My life as a mother is the most important thing I have done and will ever do, and I want to be the kind of mother that my children look forward to seeing as they get older and have children of their own. My life as an athlete will change as I get older, but it was running that saved me as a 17-year-old, and I want it to be a part of my life for a long time to come. I am thankful that the legacy of addiction in my family can stop with me; with patience, faith, and the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference today.
* (From “The Man Who Sold the World” by Kurt Cobain) The above article is an excerpt from a longer article in Northwest Runner Magazine. It is reprinted here with permission from the magazine and Kimball Bender, the author.