Here is the original post from July 25, 2019 that I didn't read until Wednesday. Within five minutes of reading this, looking on this site and reading the story about Tom and Jenny Kern, I spit out my last dip. I have since reached out to the author of this story and have connected. Proud to have quit with you today. JB/Day 5
The following is the original post
From:
RawMeat (on MoSports)
@GrizzlySlave (KTC)
Alright, bear with me folks. I have a feeling this is going to be rather lengthy; however, it may resound with some readers and members here. I’ll do my best to make it brief, but already - I digress.
I got into coaching football at a young age. Having started my public education in Canada (where they start kids at an early age), I had just turned 17 when I graduated from HS here in the states. Played my senior season of football at 16. After being in undergrad school two years, I fell into a gig coaching at a small HS.
It didn’t take long to realize the players wanted to see me more as a “buddy” than as a coach. Heck, looking back, there were a few I swear were older than I was at the time. In the ignorance and vanity of my youth, I decided that dipping tobacco may be a way to make myself seem “older” than the kids I was coaching, After all, I’d seen other coaches in my playing days do it and I thought it looked kind of “tough”.
This, of course, is the epitome of faulty thinking. If I’m to be given a pass for diving headfirst into the wonderful universe of nicotine addiction, it would be solely due to the self-confident (and often self-destructive) attitude that only the arrogance of the teen years can provide.
And that, my fellow MoSportsters, is how I became a nicotine addict. As stupid a reason as most could give, I suppose. It had a real epiphany a couple of years ago when I was in the parking lot of an oncology medical center: On their break, several nurses would step outside to inhale cigarettes. Now, think long and hard about that for a minute and reflect upon how addictive nicotine must be...
So I chewed. And I really excelled at it. The only reason I’m not currently rich and famous is because the Olympic committee kept rejecting my proposals to make dipping an Olympic event. I would have been a gold medal winner, many times over.
For those of you who indulge in this cool, clean and attractive pastime (Do note the sarcasm), you’ll nod your head in recognition of how I’d have those lovely cups hidden everywhere, how I knew where to go in the school building to sneak one in on lunch and during my prep time. You’ll know how to smuggle the spit cups out of the building without them being found in the trash cans and being reported by some overzealous custodian.
About 17 years into this lovely adventure, I had a scare: I developed a white, cauliflower-looking area right where I held my dip in several times daily. My physician wanted an immediate biopsy. So, they go in and cut out a chunk of meat right where my gum line meets my cheek and stitch me up. Now, the rational human mind would declare this would be enough to get me to consider hanging up the habit. Au contraire. I actually put a dip in right on top of the incision as I was leaving the medical center. (Talk about a unique and intense pain, by the way).
I could go on and on, but I think I’ve said enough to paint a picture of how deeply the addiction to this stuff goes. Some of you here can relate. Years ago, it seemed like chewing and athletics seemed to go hand in hand and some here, like me, may have gotten caught up in that.
Fast forward to 31 years of chewing. I am now a hopeless smokeless fiend who dips, on average, 5 cans daily. No misprint or typo here, readers; in fact, I don’t know whether I should puff my chest out at this fact or hang my head in shame....well, let’s go with hanging my head in shame. It’s more appropriate. At this point, I both love it and hate it. I load up my face with the stuff (which has been taxed to the point it’s almost worth more than gold dust) get disgusted, spit it out...only to need to do it again 20 minutes later.
I tried so many times to quit, but could rarely go longer than 24 hours. It just didn’t seem worth it. Nicotine withdrawal, to me at least, was like having my mental psyche jabbed with pins. I wouldn’t wish it on anybody, least of all my family would would be exposed to something akin to having a rabid wolverine in the house.
But, fellow readers, there is a way out that actually works.
A couple of years ago, I took my wife and son on a vacation. My plan was to put myself in a situation where I could not get to any tobacco. Anywhere will work, as long as access to a QT or similar place is impossible. 72 hours will do.
I took one can to get through the flight, checking in, all that nonsense. The first afternoon, I spit out the one tiny dip I’d been trying to savor for hours. I told my wife, “Well, I’m out of chew”, to which she replied “well, we’ll be back in our room soon”.
You should’ve seen her face when I said “No, that’s all I brought”. I swear she turned white, even as I assured her it would be alright.
It wasn’t.
Within 6 hours, I’m driving all over the eastern side of Puerto Rico at night, trying to find a can of chew. I’m up in the mountains, rainforest, along the coast. I have no idea where I am, but determined to find some dip.
Finally, some gal in her twenties shared there has been a ban on the island due to them not labeling them with the “warning that pregnant women” shouldn’t use the stuff. (I’ve never seen a pregnant woman dip, but okay). At this point, I resign to the fact that this may be divine intervention and that I should...really and truly...quit.
This gal leans over the counter and so kindly pats my shoulder and says sweetly “Si, senor...you should qweet”. I’ll never forget her or her kindness. I swear she may have been a Hispanic angel...in pumps.
So, I embrace the hell thats about to follow....and it was. I hiked the rainforest. I snorkeled for hours at a time and actually caught myself shrieking at the coral and shrimp underwater in anger. At the hotel, my family kept me in a room. I had to look like Linda Blair in The Exorcist...and I was about as congenial. Going cold turkey after 31 years of hard core tobacco use is not for anybody. The first 72 hours are the worse physically. The next 100 days are total mind games that have to be monitored perpetually.
So, what’s my point?
I have two.
Although I so regret the funds I’ve blown on that stuff over the years (after all that $ should have been for my family and for positive things, not to feed a nasty, destructive habit), I mostly regret if I influenced any young lad to begin chewing. To say it’s a bad example is an understatement. Despite common perception, there may have been a player or two who took up the habit by emulation. God, I hope not, but can’t help but feel there have been a few.
Secondly, there is hope. I celebrate 2 years of being totally tobacco-free this week. I post this after reading a couple of references to chewing and thought I’d reach out. If I, The most hopeless chew fiend I’ve ever even heard of can kick this....anyone can. I invite anyone struggling with this to reach out to me on:
ktcforum.org
killthecan.org
It made the difference for me in staying with it. Seek me out there (GrizzlySlave. Although now no longer a slave!) and I’d be happy to sponsor anyone who is ready to take the step.
