The Toughest Post Ever

My friend Jil noted via e-mail the other day that I have been quite lax in keeping the blog up to date.

"Is everything okay?" she wondered.

Such a loaded question.

If I write about what's been troubling me, I might get in trouble, so let's just say I apologize for not keeping up with the blog.

That said, I hope to do a better job of keeping up from now on.

I write this from New Smyrna Beach, Florida, where I am on vacation for the week. As a native of central Florida -- Winter Park, specifically -- I have a very deep, emotional attachment to this place. When I was in high school at Trinity Prep, my buddy Frank and I would drive over here on the weekends with friends and basically troll for a condo -- we had so many classmates whose parents owned second homes here, we could pretty much knock on doors until we found a place to stay overnight.

At least, I remember it that way. Knowing my mother, she may well have called everyone we knew to make sure somebody took me in. Still, I remember it as I choose to, and every time I come here as an adult, especially with my own children, I feel good. Pleasant memories.

My son, it should be mentioned, is a water rat. Whether he inherited that from me, or just comes to it naturally, is irrelevant. When I take him to the beach, he is as happy as an 8-year-old can be. He will literally ride his bodyboard until I drag his soaking ass out of the ocean. Pretty special that I can bring my own child back to a place that meant so much to me, and see him embrace it as I did. It makes me happy to see him happy, which makes me a parent.

So anyway, I haven't been updating this blog very often, for a variety of reasons. In all honesty, there has been some stuff going on at work that has demanded my attention, the results of which I'm sure I'll be answering e-mails about by this fall.

But there's this other thing, too, that has kept me off the computer for a while. I haven't written about it because it embarrasses me immensely. As I sit here, on the third floor of a wonderful home in New Smyrna Beach, I honestly have no clue as to why I feel compelled to write about this, seeing as how I haven't discussed it with anyone beyond my wife and my parents.

Two months ago, I stopped dipping.

My smokeless tobacco habit went back to Little League Baseball, slowed during high school, but was reinforced with a vengeance in college and continued unabated until two days after my 37th birthday, which was in April. On that night, I woke up with a start and decided that I didn't want to be a dipper anymore. It was as random and as unplanned as you can possibly imagine.

I dipped every day. My co-workers knew about it, my wife knew a little bit about it, my parents knew very little of it. I planned my days around dip. I always made sure I had a tin handy. From the age of 25 through the age of 37, I never played a single round of golf without a tin of Skoal in my bag -- and if you knew how much I play golf, that would shock the hell out of you.

Yet, for whatever reason, I sat bolt upright in bed one night two months ago and said, enough. The next day, I made a great ceremony of tossing out my tins, even as I gritted my teeth and hollered. Again, no clue as to why I made that decision on that night. I only know that it was immediate and it was final.

I found a website to assist me with my quit, one that was not attached to the Tobacco Free Florida campaign recently highlighted on "Under The Lights." In fact, the timing of that show was a coincidence. I would love to tell you that this experience has left me happier and feeling 'better off,' but I cannot. It's been bloody miserable. Honestly, it's the hardest thing I have ever done, and it has nothing to do with anyone, and it sucks. Sucks.

But here I am. Two months quit. My friends on my website, who, like me, are completely anonymous, are psyched about how well our group is doing. I know that I will make it, but for the moment, it sucks.

When we were shooting that "Under The Lights" episode on Tobacco Free Florida, I considered making a public announcement of my quit as part of the show's narrative. I decided against it, because I thought it might seem self-serving, and because I'm not typically one to discuss such things in public.

"So why write about it in the blog?"

Hell, I don't know. Really. I don't know. I figure, the audience for this blog is far smaller than the potential audience for "Under The Lights," and those who take the time to read this might actually care, as opposed to those who stumble across the show on Sun Sports. And, I suppose, there's the chance that someone might read this and make a decision of his or her own. Understand, however, that I don't care.

What I mean is, I will never use this forum to preach for or against anything, and therefore, you won't see any links to any sites that outline the dangers of tobacco. While I respect the efforts of any organization that tries to wean people off addictive substances, I believe it is a personal decision, and therefore there's not a damn thing anyone else can say.

So, anyway, Jil (and anyone else who cares enough to be reading down to this point), I've been lax about the blog for a while because it's been years since I could sit in front of the computer without a dip. I'm trying.

It sucks. A lot. But I'm trying.