Yellow jersey on fire

With the whole Lance Armstrong thing going on recently, I can't help but draw parallels between his story and mine as an addict. Some of the ones that come to mind are:

1) The reason we lie - most often, what it comes down to is fear. I'm sure Lance went over the consequences over and over again, and coming clean just didn't add up to the tsunami of effects that would come from telling the truth. In the past when I would act out I would lie because I was afraid of the consequences, but...

2) The longer we wait, the worse it gets - upon telling a lie or doing something we are ashamed of, we must come clean immediately or it will only get worse. There are no exceptions to this. It will always be worse, and it will always be harder, and it is never worth it to wait. Had Lance come out early rather than waiting after he had sued numerous people for trying to call him out and before winning 7 TDFs, I don't think it would have been near this bad. Had I come out earlier in my addiction, or had I confessed to things earlier rather than hide them, I (and the people around me, particularly my wife) would have avoided a significant portion of the pain my decisions have caused. 

3) Lies escalate - it starts off with a single infraction. Then out of fear we hide the infraction. The first lie we always tell is to ourselves. It comes in the form of - everyone else is doing it. I don't need to fix it this time. One more time won't hurt. I'll be able to stop. No one else needs to know. I can just deal with this on my own. It wasn't that bad, I'll confess next time - if there even is one. It would cause others too much pain, it's best to keep this one hidden. All of these are lies I've told myself, and I'm sure Lance told himself as well. These lies build and build on each other until we would do almost anything to keep from being found out. Lance Armstrong sued people who were (accurately) accusing him. Edwards (a politician in the news a little while back) got one of his staff to claim he had an illegitimate child with someone when in fact it was his own. I'm sure there are countless others. 

4) Lies distort our perception of truth - the more we lie, the less we understand truth. I remember a time when I was unsure what I had lied about and what I had told the truth about. There are stories from my childhood that I lied about that I honestly have no idea what the truth about them is. Some people think that we can get to a point where we don't know truth from lie - it's possible. I've thought that at time and I haven't at others. Either way, it distorts it, and degrades our ability to tell the truth. Learning to tell the truth has been an incredibly difficult and painful experience for me, and I'm still working on it. 

5) Lies destroy trust - when we lie, it destroys others' ability to trust us. Reading this article by Rick Reilly was particularly eye-opening for me. He's a renown sports columnist and had a lot of contact with Lance over the years. The betrayal that he feels is in some ways similar to the betrayal that my loved ones have felt. It will take a long time for Rick to trust Lance again, and it will certainly take a while before people can really trust me again. I believe will happen though as I continue to make good decisions and prove that God is changing me. 

Example: just yesterday I was playing a racquetball game. Earlier in the game when I was ahead in points, I did a double hit (illegal hit), confessed it, and gave the other guy the point/ball. The thing about double hits is that your opponent doesn't really see them unless they are looking closely. Later in the game when it was tied (or maybe I was down a point) and it was a bit more intense I did another double hit and won the point, but this time said nothing. I went up and served it and immediately felt wretched. Looking back, I should've just stopped the game, even if we had played a point or two afterwards and gone back, or taken a penalty. For some reason I told myself that I couldn't do that because it had already happened and we continued to play. 

I ended up winning the match decisively, so in the end it didn't matter to the result of the game, but that is inconsequential. It does matter to me, and it was frustrating for me to see that I was willing to come and tell the truth when it was easy, but unwilling when it was convenient for me. Good news is (my wife helped me see this) I realized it and realized it was wrong. And also that it's about a small thing instead of big things like it used to be. 

Lance and I both have a long way to go. We all do. We have a lifetime of work ahead of us. But it is possible and it is worth it.