I turned 21 on November 13, one week from my first half marathon. I had spent years of my life anticipating this particular birthday, imagining what it would be like to walk up to a bar or my local convenience store without the fake ID jitters. But when the day finally came, I was more interested in an early bedtime to rest up for my race than a night of partying. In reverse order of how it’s meant to be done, the year I turned 21 was the year I stopped drinking. 

I should preface that I haven’t always had the healthiest relationship with alcohol. I covered my tracks with straight A’s, an obsessive gym schedule and two jobs, but on the weekends I was far from the little miss-perfect persona I fed to my parents. I would spend Friday and Saturday nights drinking into oblivion and feel as if I had contracted the plague by the next morning. I was miserable, but I convinced myself it was normal, that I was having fun. 

I think my issue with alcohol isn’t so much the substance itself, but the social settings it usually comes along with. I’ve always had a touch of social anxiety. In high school, passing periods were my worst nightmare, and god forbid I went to a party without a healthy dose of pregame. It only got worse in college. I started to feel like I needed to be more and more drunk in large social settings to the point where I could barely hold conversations and would wake up the next day in a panic over my actions from the night before.  

From where I stand, it’s sort of expected in college that nearly everyone loves to party. If you’re one of those people, I respect it. In fact, I envy those with easy social confidence, so don’t think for a second that I’m sitting on a high horse judging others — I’ve simply realized that it’s not for me.

When I decided last summer that this year would be different, running was the nail in the coffin of my drunken past. Something I learned quickly — it’s hard for your friends to be mad at you for not going out when your excuse is, “Can’t, sorry, I have to run 12 miles tomorrow.” Since my dive into antisocialness and sobriety, I’ve been called the boring friend by a handful of people, but I’ve honestly never felt better.

Here’s the thing — I get the world’s worst hangovers. A night of drinking bears the consequence of an entire Saturday or Sunday sacrificed. When I say hungover, what I really mean is immobile. Yes, I’ve tried drinking more water, and taking electrolyte substances, and eating carbs before bed and pretty much every hangover remedy you can find online, but none of it works. That being said, drinking and running is not a plausible combination for me.

So what does a Friday night look like now? Typically a lot of pasta, a movie with ice cream and an early bedtime with a book. Sometimes I feel lonely looking at pictures of my friends all together while I lay in bed resting up for my long run. But come Saturday morning, when I wake up at 8 a.m. hangover-free, it’s all worth it. 

For some people, dedicating an entire day of the week, and arguably the best day of the week, to running sounds like hell. But I love my Saturday long runs. I wake up to a quiet house with nothing planned for the whole day but to get my miles in. Usually, my runs are rushed — squeezed in before a class or meeting — but on Saturday, I take my time. 

In the morning I journal a few extra pages, savor my oatmeal and coffee, add a few extra sets to my warm-up routine and perfect my ponytail. Instead of the same dull route through Amazon Park, I have the luxury of driving somewhere new for my run. Even if the weather is miserable, it feels like an adventure. While I’m running, I have no worries about getting it done quickly, and it allows me to enjoy the experience and sink into the meditation of long-distance running.

When the run is over, I have the rest of the day to do absolutely nothing but eat and rot in bed. I treat myself like I used to treat hungover Jess, with gas station Gatorades, pancakes, a long hot shower, warm comfy clothes and as much screen time as my heart desires. But instead of a headache, nausea and regret from a hangover, I have sore hamstrings, an insatiable appetite and an unwavering sense of accomplishment. 

This doesn’t mean I have sworn off alcohol for good. I love an occasional drink with dinner or at happy hour with friends. So if you see me with wine in my grocery cart or at a restaurant with a cocktail in hand, don’t call me a liar. The official marathon training rule is not to quit drinking completely, it’s to quit binge drinking, and by extension, to quit partying. And honestly, once the race is over, I don’t see myself ever going back.