Brendan Cournane

For most of my life, I believed achievement was the answer. I pushed myself hard — through law school, into a demanding legal career, and toward every goal I thought would finally make me feel fulfilled. On paper, I was successful, but internally I was restless and constantly chasing the next milestone. The pressure I put on myself, combined with long hours and perfectionism, eventually fueled a growing dependence on alcohol. What looked like discipline from the outside was often me trying to outrun a feeling that I was never quite enough.

In my early thirties, I moved to Arizona and began the difficult process of getting sober. Running became my new obsession and, in many ways, my new coping mechanism. I chased bigger and bigger challenges — marathons across all 50 states, every continent, and the world’s major races — always asking, “What’s next?” Each finish line brought a brief high, but the deeper questions about happiness and peace never fully disappeared. I didn’t realize for a long time that I wasn’t running toward something as much as I was trying to escape something.

Then life forced me to slow down. During the pandemic, while training for another marathon, I was diagnosed with coronary artery disease. Multiple heart procedures ended my running career and forced me to confront who I was without constant striving. That period became one of the hardest — and most transformative — chapters of my life. Through recovery, mindfulness, and daily meditation, I learned that real peace doesn’t come from accomplishment but from acceptance. Today, I share my story honestly — the struggle with alcoholism, the health crisis, and the rebuilding that followed — because sometimes the worst seasons of our lives are the ones that finally teach us how to live.