From Ironman to Alcohol-Free: How Pushing My Physical Limits Changed My Relationship With My Habits

I used to affectionately call myself “Tubby Toni.”

Yep. That was me.

My relationship with fitness has never been a straight line. I was an athlete growing up, and then life happened. Career. Marriage. Babies. I gained 50 pounds during my first pregnancy, and afterward I found my way back to fitness and nutrition. Eventually I became a group fitness instructor and certified personal trainer.

Then I discovered endurance sports.

It started with a duathlon. Then sprint triathlons. Olympic distance. Half Ironmans. Marathons. And eventually I started thinking about the thing I had watched other people do and assumed was probably a little nuts.

An Ironman.

For those unfamiliar, that's a 2.4-mile swim, followed by a 112-mile bike ride, followed by a 26.2-mile marathon.

Because apparently after swimming and biking for 114.4 miles, the logical next step is to run a marathon. LOL.

My first attempt didn't even make it to the starting line. Seven weeks before the race, I crashed my brand-new triathlon bike after a squirrel ran into the road. I went over the handlebars, fractured my shoulder blade and became afraid to ride outside. It took me an entire year to get back on my bike outdoors.

Eventually, I tried again.

I hired a coach. I trained for a year. There were stretches when I was training upwards of 17 hours a week while working full time and raising a family. My calendar was color-coded. There were early mornings, two-a-day workouts, long weekends on the bike and plenty of days when I didn't particularly feel like doing what was on the schedule.

And then, in August 2014, on a 94-degree day in Louisville, I crossed my first Ironman finish line in 13 hours and 56 minutes.

Three years later, I did it again in Chattanooga. That race included a 116-mile bike ride instead of the traditional 112, a VERY hilly marathon and temperatures that reached 97 degrees. My stomach was a mess. There were moments I wasn't sure I could finish.

I did.

It wasn't until years later that I realized Ironman had taught me something far more valuable than how much physical discomfort I could tolerate.

It taught me how I change.

We love the finish lines. The medals. The before-and-after photos. The big declarations.  But I didn't become an Ironman when someone put a medal around my neck.

I became one on all those random mornings when my alarm went off and nobody was watching. I became one when I did the workout I didn't want to do. When I learned from people who knew more than I did. When I recovered from setbacks. When I got back on the bike after being terrified to ride it. When I made thousands of seemingly insignificant choices that eventually added up to something significant.

Years later, when I decided to remove alcohol from my life, I started recognizing the same pattern.

I didn't wake up one morning nearly six years ago magically transformed into an “alcohol-free person.” I started making different choices.

A random Tuesday night without a drink.  A dinner without wine.  A stressful day at work when my brain told me I deserved a drink, and I tried something else instead.  A vacation.  A celebration.  A sporting event.  Another weekend.  Another morning waking up clear-headed and remembering everything from the night before.  Those choices started stacking too.

And somewhere along the way, something shifted. Not just my behavior, but my identity.  That's one of the reasons I'm so interested in behavior change today. We spend a lot of time focusing on the thing we're trying NOT to do.

Don't drink.  Don't eat that.  Don't skip the workout.  Don't do the thing you promised yourself you weren't going to do anymore.

But what if we got more curious about the behavior itself?

When I was training for an Ironman, my entire environment changed. I went to bed earlier because I had to train in the morning. I planned my food differently. I protected time on my calendar. I joined a triathlon club. I hired a coach. I spent more time around people who thought getting up before sunrise to ride a bicycle for several hours was a perfectly reasonable Saturday activity.

I didn't simply rely on willpower.

Why would changing my relationship with alcohol be any different?

That's become the foundation of my healthy lifestyle coaching today. I'm far less interested in telling someone, “Just don't drink,” and much more interested in asking why they reach for the drink in the first place.

Is it stress?  Connection?  Reward?  Boredom?  Celebration?  A way to transition from work to home?  A way to quiet your brain?

Because taking the alcohol away doesn't automatically take away the need it was filling.

And here's something else I think is important to say: being an Ironman didn't make me alcohol-free.

I finished TWO Ironmans and still drank alcohol.

I could be incredibly disciplined in one part of my life and have completely different habits somewhere else. Humans are funny that way.  But endurance sports gave me a blueprint I didn't realize I had.

I already knew I could do uncomfortable things. I knew a bad day didn't erase everything that came before it. I knew there was tremendous value in surrounding myself with people who were working toward similar goals. I knew asking for help could make me better, not weaker. And I knew that doing something over and over again eventually changes what you believe you're capable of doing.

My relationship with fitness has changed since then too.

I'm not interested in training 17 hours a week anymore. Been there. Got the medals. LOL.

These days, I'm much more interested in taking care of my body than proving what it can endure. I still love working out, moving, challenging myself and feeling strong. But I've added other things too. Walking. Meditation. Gratitude. Rest. Better sleep. Paying attention to my energy. And, of course, removing alcohol.

For me, sober fitness isn't about becoming the person who never misses a workout and drinks green juice all day.

It's about alignment.  How do I want to feel?  What behaviors help me feel that way?  Which ones don't anymore?  And am I willing to get curious enough to change them?

You don't need to become an Ironman to learn any of this. Your version might be taking a 30-day break from alcohol. It might be walking for 20 minutes tomorrow morning. Going to bed earlier. Signing up for a class. Asking for help. Or finally questioning a habit you've been thinking about changing for a long time.

Ironman taught me that I could push my body much farther than I ever imagined.  Going alcohol-free taught me something different.  I could change my life without blowing it up.

One choice. One behavior. One day at a time.  And maybe that's the biggest connection between the two.  You don't have to know exactly who you'll be at the finish line.

You just have to be willing to start.