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This is the latest in a series of blog posts by AllSport GPS Ambassador Ben Davis about his recovery path to a healthy, active lifestyle.
On Addiction, Part II: The Lies of Addiction
Read Part I here.
I don’t remember how the hamburger tasted. I’m not even sure I tasted it, now that I think about it. I don’t remember much about the cafe; I just remember the man—a large African-American man with an old trucker hat, probably in his late sixties. His hair was gray; his whiskers were too.
We met eyes for a second, ever-so-fleetingly, but that’s all we needed. Neither of us wanted to be there. We were just there because it was the only place we could be. We both had hotel rooms with beds, but we hurt too much to sleep. Our expressions told the whole story.
It was three in the morning. I was down a thousand dollars. A thousand dollars that wasn’t even mine. Chase Freedom. What a name. A thousand dollars—but at least I got a hamburger out of it.
The clangs of the slot machines echoed through to the cafe. Just hours before, these machines sucked me through the doors as I entered for the night—a personal welcome parade of lights and fancy bells, the sounds of victory.
Right now they just sounded like a death-rattle.
I knew that in a few hours, Tara would wake up; we’d be making our way home to Arkansas and she would ask how the night went.
And, three hours later, she did.
“How’d you do?” she asked. We hadn’t even made it to the car. Her nonchalant inquisition annoyed me; we only like being asked how things are going when they’re going well. But I didn’t show my annoyance.
“I didn’t do so bad,” I replied, naturally. “I actually made up a little ground from when you went to bed. I think I lost two or two-fifty.”
The sincerity with which I replied—with which I lied—caught even me off-guard. I hadn’t even hesitated.
“Oh, not bad. Good job, babe.”
She had no reason to not believe me. I was cool on the outside but on the inside? On the inside I was an emotional train-wreck.
My phone buzzed a little later. Incoming text. It was John. I already knew what it was going to say.
“B went all night? Did you get them good?”
I quick-replied while keeping an eye on the freeway ahead of me.
“Down about five.”
If you added the lies together, the sum still wasn’t close to the grand I actually lost. And I wasn’t just lying to anyone; I was lying to my girlfriend and my best friend.
But that’s how these things work. The lies. The lies of addiction. They come so easily. They flow because we truly want to believe the things we’re saying.
And, for me, it wasn’t just gambling.
I was lying about the things I struggled with on a constant basis. Everything.
“I haven’t actually had much to eat today” translates to: “I’ve eaten a lot more than I should, and I really want to eat more.”
“I’ve got mostly B’s. A few C’s.” — If by “B’s and C’s” I meant “academic probation” and nearly flunking out.
“I played about an hour or two of Mario Kart earlier. I’m starting to get bored with it.”
Lies. I actually played for 10 hours and “bored” would be the last word I’d use to describe it.
When we get sad, it gets bad. And when it gets bad we struggle. And when those struggles become addictions it compounds itself. We deny, we rationalize, and we lie. We lie so much we begin to believe our own lies.
I’ve come to realize a lot about myself and my addictions. And remnants remain. That’s normal. I’ve found, though, that honesty—both to yourself and to those who love you—is the only way to deal with it.
Because we can’t do this on our own. Life sucks sometimes. It sucks a little less, though, when we can share our struggles. We have to. It’s the only way to make it work.
We’re going to struggle. We’re going to mess up. But when we do, it’s a lot easier to figure it out when we have a support system.
So find that. And tell the truth.
And never hit a 16.
The Trimble Outdoors Insider Blog
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Ben Davis on Overcoming Addiction on the Path to Health and Happiness - Part I
This is the latest in a series of blog posts by AllSport GPS Ambassador Ben Davis about his recovery path to a healthy, active lifestyle.
The demons we face in the path to health and happiness come in many forms. My biggest symptom was obesity. By December of 2008, I weighed 360 pounds before I decided to change my life. But the obesity was just that: a symptom, and it had many diseases. Food addiction, of course was one, but not the only one.
June 11, 2008
It’s never bad when you walk in. In fact it’s good. The same way, I’m sure, that the first hit of heroin feels when it starts to have its effect.
No, it never sucks to walk in.
You strut with an air of confidence. A confidence that this time—this one time—will be the time you take them. This time you will get it back. You will atone for your past sins in a 24-hour session of caffeine, attractive cocktail waitresses, and flawless decision-making.
It never works out that way, of course, but the dream is there and that’s all that matters.
We strolled into the Horseshoe Casino in Tunica, MS at 8 p.m. My best friend John to my right, my girlfriend Tara to my left; each of us with our own exaggerated ambitions of how successful the night would be.
As we entered, the oh-so-familiar stench of cigarette smoke barraged our senses. The smoke a metaphor for the foggy haze that would become the next 12 hours. Had I known what was about to happen, the ambush I was about to walk into, I would have turned around and driven back home.
I didn’t.
We grabbed open seats at the Pai-Gow table. Our dealer, Hee, remembered us from previous bouts at the tables. (A little advice: if dealers start remembering you, and you them, it might be time to re-evaluate your life.)
Thirty minutes in, I had burned through $200—halfway to my self-imposed “limit.” Tara eyed me concernedly; I tried to act like I didn’t notice her gaze as I slid another crisp $100 bill to Hee.
“Changing one hundred!” he bellowed. A shout of victory for the house.
John was too busy counting his winnings to think too much about my plight.
Five minutes later I was out another hundred.
When it happens bad, it usually happens quick too.
I looked at Tara.
“Let’s go to the room,” I said, deflated. Demoralized.
The air outside was muggy and overwhelming. Arkansas heat doesn’t stop when the sun goes down. We hadn’t made it 50 yards outside when our friend G and his wife walked up. G lived 30 minutes away in Memphis, so of course he was coming in.
“Ben,” he said, with a grin egging me on and grinning in a way only G could. A grin that only means one thing: “Are we about to take this casino down?”
My dejected reply let him know I was off to a tough start.
“Ugh,” he replied. “How bad?”
“Three,” I told him.
“You gonna get it back?” he asked, hopefully. His session hadn’t started yet and he didn’t need the negativity of losing a partner so early in the night.
“I’ll be back,” I assured him. “I just have to cool down a little. Chlope’s at the Pai Gow with Hee. Go get started.”
We said a temporary goodbye and parted ways.
Tara looked at me after they were out of earshot.
“You’re going back?”
She wasn’t happy. Understandably. I was already in debt. I was in college with no job. I simply couldn’t afford to be here. But here I was.
“It’ll be okay,” I said. An empty promise if there ever was one.
Back in the hotel we laid in the bed. Neither said much, if anything.
“I’m going to bed,” she said, finally. “Be smart, Ben.”
She kissed my cheek and rolled over.
I stared at the ceiling a little longer, before I grabbed my phone. Unfortunately, I was catching my second wind.
I sent the quick text: “A little jank?” (Again… If you and your friends have nicknames for blackjack, maybe consider a different hobby. Putt-putt golf, perhaps.)
“Already there,” G replied, almost instantly.
I grabbed my wallet and headed down.
What happened next, I’m fortunate, I don’t recall. I do, however, still show the records on my credit card history.
10:30 p.m. $150 cash advance
11:25 p.m. $200 cash advance
John had quit by this time, happy to secure his winnings and get a reasonable amount of sleep. G was off doing his own thing.
You don’t know “sickening” until you are alone at a blackjack table on a Wednesday night, the casino curiously empty.
12:30 a.m. $165 cash advance — I can’t explain this odd number. I was either starting to worry about hitting my credit limit or trying to round off some earlier gambling debts. Either is likely and believable.
I do remember switching to roulette in an effort to switch up the luck.
Didn’t work.
I drained it.
Down $815. More than double my limit.
I was done. Heading back to the hotel, where, even though I was in a bad place financially, I could sleep. At least I could sleep.
As I made my way to the exits, unfortunately I passed by another ATM. And like the addict I was—the addict I am—I did some self-rationalization talk and decided to make one last stab. Always a really bright idea…
1:55 a.m. $185 cash advance.
I would put it all on one hand and if I lost, I would be down an even $1,000. As if the numbers mattered anymore. They never do.
I approached the table, no longer confident. I was timid. The gambling gods, no doubt, licking their chops as I approached the table, a wounded lamb.
I put the money down and told the dealer that large chips would be fine.
“Changing one-eighty-five!” she yelled. I cringed.
Three seconds later I was sitting on 16 against her King.
I waved it off. I couldn’t bear to bust and not even have a shot at the money.
She turned over a 4. I had a chance.
She hit a 5 and took my money before I had a chance to do the math. Down a grand, in a span of seven hours. And none of it was mine to begin with.
I made my way to the cafe and ate a free burger that I had been comped. If they had asked me to pay for it, I wouldn’t have been able to. The man sitting next to me made eye contact with me and we immediately empathized with each other. No one sits alone in a casino cafe and eats a burger at 3 a.m. unless they are at rock bottom.
And I was. Financially. Physically. Emotionally.
It’s no coincidence that this night took place in the heart of the biggest depression of my life. Addiction is a powerful thing. It’s a noose that coils at your weakest moments. Luckily, six months later, I decided to change the area of my life that was causing my weakness, my depression. And once you change one area, everything begins to change.
Do I still gamble occasionally? Yes. But I found a thing called moderation. I no longer lose (or win) too much and I owe it all to the fact that I’m not trying to compensate for a sad life by looking for excitement in the wrong places. I’m happy, I’m confident, I’m satisfied. And that’s all that matters.
Change one thing, and everything else will change. Believe it.
Check back soon for part II.
The demons we face in the path to health and happiness come in many forms. My biggest symptom was obesity. By December of 2008, I weighed 360 pounds before I decided to change my life. But the obesity was just that: a symptom, and it had many diseases. Food addiction, of course was one, but not the only one.
June 11, 2008
It’s never bad when you walk in. In fact it’s good. The same way, I’m sure, that the first hit of heroin feels when it starts to have its effect.
No, it never sucks to walk in.
You strut with an air of confidence. A confidence that this time—this one time—will be the time you take them. This time you will get it back. You will atone for your past sins in a 24-hour session of caffeine, attractive cocktail waitresses, and flawless decision-making.
It never works out that way, of course, but the dream is there and that’s all that matters.
We strolled into the Horseshoe Casino in Tunica, MS at 8 p.m. My best friend John to my right, my girlfriend Tara to my left; each of us with our own exaggerated ambitions of how successful the night would be.
As we entered, the oh-so-familiar stench of cigarette smoke barraged our senses. The smoke a metaphor for the foggy haze that would become the next 12 hours. Had I known what was about to happen, the ambush I was about to walk into, I would have turned around and driven back home.
I didn’t.
We grabbed open seats at the Pai-Gow table. Our dealer, Hee, remembered us from previous bouts at the tables. (A little advice: if dealers start remembering you, and you them, it might be time to re-evaluate your life.)
Thirty minutes in, I had burned through $200—halfway to my self-imposed “limit.” Tara eyed me concernedly; I tried to act like I didn’t notice her gaze as I slid another crisp $100 bill to Hee.
“Changing one hundred!” he bellowed. A shout of victory for the house.
John was too busy counting his winnings to think too much about my plight.
Five minutes later I was out another hundred.
When it happens bad, it usually happens quick too.
I looked at Tara.
“Let’s go to the room,” I said, deflated. Demoralized.
The air outside was muggy and overwhelming. Arkansas heat doesn’t stop when the sun goes down. We hadn’t made it 50 yards outside when our friend G and his wife walked up. G lived 30 minutes away in Memphis, so of course he was coming in.
“Ben,” he said, with a grin egging me on and grinning in a way only G could. A grin that only means one thing: “Are we about to take this casino down?”
My dejected reply let him know I was off to a tough start.
“Ugh,” he replied. “How bad?”
“Three,” I told him.
“You gonna get it back?” he asked, hopefully. His session hadn’t started yet and he didn’t need the negativity of losing a partner so early in the night.
“I’ll be back,” I assured him. “I just have to cool down a little. Chlope’s at the Pai Gow with Hee. Go get started.”
We said a temporary goodbye and parted ways.
Tara looked at me after they were out of earshot.
“You’re going back?”
She wasn’t happy. Understandably. I was already in debt. I was in college with no job. I simply couldn’t afford to be here. But here I was.
“It’ll be okay,” I said. An empty promise if there ever was one.
Back in the hotel we laid in the bed. Neither said much, if anything.
“I’m going to bed,” she said, finally. “Be smart, Ben.”
She kissed my cheek and rolled over.
I stared at the ceiling a little longer, before I grabbed my phone. Unfortunately, I was catching my second wind.
I sent the quick text: “A little jank?” (Again… If you and your friends have nicknames for blackjack, maybe consider a different hobby. Putt-putt golf, perhaps.)
“Already there,” G replied, almost instantly.
I grabbed my wallet and headed down.
What happened next, I’m fortunate, I don’t recall. I do, however, still show the records on my credit card history.
10:30 p.m. $150 cash advance
11:25 p.m. $200 cash advance
John had quit by this time, happy to secure his winnings and get a reasonable amount of sleep. G was off doing his own thing.
You don’t know “sickening” until you are alone at a blackjack table on a Wednesday night, the casino curiously empty.
12:30 a.m. $165 cash advance — I can’t explain this odd number. I was either starting to worry about hitting my credit limit or trying to round off some earlier gambling debts. Either is likely and believable.
I do remember switching to roulette in an effort to switch up the luck.
Didn’t work.
I drained it.
Down $815. More than double my limit.
I was done. Heading back to the hotel, where, even though I was in a bad place financially, I could sleep. At least I could sleep.
As I made my way to the exits, unfortunately I passed by another ATM. And like the addict I was—the addict I am—I did some self-rationalization talk and decided to make one last stab. Always a really bright idea…
1:55 a.m. $185 cash advance.
I would put it all on one hand and if I lost, I would be down an even $1,000. As if the numbers mattered anymore. They never do.
I approached the table, no longer confident. I was timid. The gambling gods, no doubt, licking their chops as I approached the table, a wounded lamb.
I put the money down and told the dealer that large chips would be fine.
“Changing one-eighty-five!” she yelled. I cringed.
Three seconds later I was sitting on 16 against her King.
I waved it off. I couldn’t bear to bust and not even have a shot at the money.
She turned over a 4. I had a chance.
She hit a 5 and took my money before I had a chance to do the math. Down a grand, in a span of seven hours. And none of it was mine to begin with.
I made my way to the cafe and ate a free burger that I had been comped. If they had asked me to pay for it, I wouldn’t have been able to. The man sitting next to me made eye contact with me and we immediately empathized with each other. No one sits alone in a casino cafe and eats a burger at 3 a.m. unless they are at rock bottom.
And I was. Financially. Physically. Emotionally.
It’s no coincidence that this night took place in the heart of the biggest depression of my life. Addiction is a powerful thing. It’s a noose that coils at your weakest moments. Luckily, six months later, I decided to change the area of my life that was causing my weakness, my depression. And once you change one area, everything begins to change.
Do I still gamble occasionally? Yes. But I found a thing called moderation. I no longer lose (or win) too much and I owe it all to the fact that I’m not trying to compensate for a sad life by looking for excitement in the wrong places. I’m happy, I’m confident, I’m satisfied. And that’s all that matters.
Change one thing, and everything else will change. Believe it.
Check back soon for part II.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
AllSport GPS and Ben Davis Host Live Q&A on September 22
AllSport GPS Ambassador Ben Davis will be holding a live video Q&A session on September 22nd starting at 11:00am PST.
The chat will allow people to ask Ben questions about his incredible journey, the Do Life Tours, how to achieve their fitness goals and more, and will be held on the AllSport GPS LiveStream page.
Questions can be asked in a number of ways:
1) Via the instant messaging interface built into the video player
2) On Twitter by using the hashtag #DoLife along with their question
3) On the AllSport GPS or Do Live Movement Facebook pages
In addition with this opportunity to interact with Ben, free AllSport GPS Pro apps for iPhone will be given out in random drawings from all people who submit questions.
The chat will allow people to ask Ben questions about his incredible journey, the Do Life Tours, how to achieve their fitness goals and more, and will be held on the AllSport GPS LiveStream page.
Questions can be asked in a number of ways:
1) Via the instant messaging interface built into the video player
2) On Twitter by using the hashtag #DoLife along with their question
3) On the AllSport GPS or Do Live Movement Facebook pages
In addition with this opportunity to interact with Ben, free AllSport GPS Pro apps for iPhone will be given out in random drawings from all people who submit questions.
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