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Blu Robinson Blu Robinson

A New Method of Recovery

“I didn’t want people to erase their original addiction and replace it with exercise addiction. I really wanted there to be a healthy balance.” Robinson said.

By Sarah Almond Oct 8, 2015

Murray - In March 2010, Blu Robinson was preparing to lead an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in Provo, Utah, when he found many of his clients forging their 12-step papers and putting down false information. This disappointed Robinson because he realized that his clients, who were seeking recovery from an addiction, weren’t getting what they needed out of the 12-step program. 

Instead of forcing his clients to continue with the program, or getting discouraged with the setback, Robinson and his wife Marissa started brainstorming ways to change addiction recovery for the better. 

“That night I sat down and started thinking about what worked for me and what helped me with my recovery – and it was sports, it was athletics and it was a sense of community,” Robinson said. “So a couple days later I went to my bosses with this plan: I wanted to train five people in Group to run a 5K in Provo at the end of April.” 

Robinson, a clinical mental health counselor (CMHC) and a substance use disorder counselor (SUDC) at the County Health Department, had to first convince his bosses that his group members were in good enough health to train for a race. He then had the task of motivating five recovering addicts to consent to train with him. 

Four men and one woman raised their hand, agreeing to join Robinson in his quest for a new form of addiction recovery. 

“It was awesome because we would meet before group, stretch out, go over a few callisthenic things, talk about a few goals, and we’d go outside and start running,” Robinson said. “And what I found was that the more I was out there running with these guys, the more open they would be with me. We’re running in public and they started telling me about their addiction and the pain they’ve endured. They never told me that stuff in my office.” 

Running slowly became a safe space for the athletes, and Robinson found that there were several metaphors he could use during the training process that related heavily to addiction and recovery. 

“I’d tell them, ‘Run to that stop sign,’ and we’d run to the stop sign. Then I’d say, ‘OK, push yourself a little further to that playground,’ and we’d run to the playground,” Robinson said. “We’d talk about how you’re so much stronger than you think you are, just like in addiction.”

The group of six would run hills and stop at the top to discuss how digging deep and pushing past the pain, even when it seems impossible, relates to the often dark and difficult times an addict faces while in recovery. 

“It was awesome because it was all seeming to happen by chance,” Robinson said. 

Five weeks after their first day of running, the six athletes met at the starting line of the Chase the Mayor 5K in Provo. To Robinson’s surprise, one of the members had made t-shirts for the group that read, “Addict to Athlete.” 

“I was like ‘Whoa, are you sure you wanna wear those?’ Because if people will know that these guys had an addiction, that kinda takes away from the anonymity stuff that people preach about,” Robinson said. “And they said ‘Look, we’re not ashamed of what we’re doing. We are proud of this and we are changing.’”

Provo Mayor John Curtis had a two-minute head start at the beginning of the race, and when one of the Addict to Athlete (AIIA) runners, Tyson, passed him, Mayor Curtis asked him what his shirt represented. 

“He told him ‘I’m a recovering heroine addict and I’m using running to help me get sober,’ and Mayor Curtis thought it was really cool,” Robinson said. 

The shirt gave Tyson the ability to talk about his addiction and his recovery in a positive light, not in the type of negative light that’s often cast upon addiction. After being contacted by Mayor Curtis, county commissioners called in Robinson to discuss AIIA. 

“I thought, ‘Oh great, what did they do while they were out there?’ but the commissioners were really impressed in the program and wanted to give me the green light to go ahead and do more,” Robinson said. 

Over the past four and a half years, the program has grown to nearly 900 athletes, with weekly meetings in Utah, Salt Lake and Davis counties. Aside from participating in races around the state, the program hosts a free, annual Addict to Athlete 5K race every September. This year’s race on Sept. 19 has more than 500 runners registered. 

“The program really took on a life of it’s own,” Robinson said. “I didn’t want people to erase their original addiction and replace it with exercise addiction. I really wanted there to be a healthy balance.” 

To prevent athletes from getting addicted to exercise, the program has invoked a lot of service. They run aid stations for different races, they help out Davis County Child Services by raising money for foster children and they donate trees every year at the Festival of Trees for members who have lost their lives to addiction.

“We do a ton of community service and that helps them stay balanced. We also do volleyball and basketball and all kinds of stuff to help give people a more rounded experience,” Robinson said. 

And while changing the recovery process for addicts has been Robinson’s main goal, one of the most rewarding outcomes of AIIA is how the “erase and replace” mentality is changing the public’s perspective on what addiction is. 

“By giving back to the community and being active in the community, these people have the chance to show others that people with addiction aren’t bad people: sometimes they just make mistakes and they struggle with pain differently,” Robinson said. 

At the end of September the group is ran a relay race from Lehi in Juab County to Farmington in Davis County, hitting every main street along the way to promote recovery. To increase the services aspect of the race, however, AIIA teamed up with a young boy who is handicapped by severe cerebral palsy to raise money for a new racing wheelchair. 

“Instead of just going out and doing it for ourselves, we’re doing it for others – we’re doing it for a bigger purpose and we’re excited to show the community we give back,” Robinson said. 

For more information on Addict to Athlete, visit their website at addicttoathlete.org. Meetings are held every Tuesday at 7:00 p.m. Be sure to pack tennis shoes.     

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Washington Post: A Game Of Healing At The Utah State Prison

July 2, 2015 DRAPER, Utah — The prison’s small gym had begun to smell like sweat. The room was filled with heavy breathing, grunts and inmates counting their reps. In one corner, a group huddled around a prisoner on the bench press, spotters standing ready at either side with a third behind him. A prison therapist observed from one corner.

“It’s a really cool process to see,” Kari Bennett said. “They form these bonds while working out, helping them to connect with peers, process emotions, talk to each other about what’s going on.”

Above: In the Addict II Athlete program, Thursdays begin with a weightlifting class, and all sessions include a 30-minute group discussion about addiction and sobriety.

While most American prison systems utilize sports and exercise to help maintain peace and order in a stress-filled, volatile environment, the Utah Department of Corrections has incorporated sport in the rehabilitation of some inmates, using team games and regular exercise as part of a coordinated therapy program.

The Utah system is filled with men who’ve committed crimes big and small, both trivial and heinous. But prison officials are trying to rehabilitate them all just the same, punishing convicts for their crimes but also giving them the tools so they don’t become repeat offenders.

About 45 minutes into a recent morning weightlifting class in the Promontory facility, a lower-security part of the state prison system that houses the Con-Quest program for drug and alcohol addicts, inmate Kurtis Hunsaker began grabbing plastic chairs and positioning them in a circle, not far from a basketball hoop at one end of the gym.

With a cement floor and cinder block walls, the gym feels like something you might find on a middle school campus — aside from the trio of guards keeping watch from one corner. Logos from the facility’s eight dormitories are painted on the walls, including the Falcons, Cougars and Lions. As the inmates finished their final reps, they retrieved water and towels, and each took a seat in the circle.

The group is called Addict II Athlete, and it meets three times a week, every session built around sport, discussion and rehabilitation. Tuesdays and Fridays might include basketball, softball or running. Thursdays begin with a weightlifting class. Most games in prison have the familiar rules with minor wrinkles: In Ultimate Frisbee, for example, when a disc hits the fence, it sets off an alarm in the control room and is therefore considered a turnover; and in softball if the bat comes into contact with a person, the game is automatically over.

Each session includes a 30-minute group discussion about addiction and sobriety, about pressures felt inside these walls and fears about what lurks beyond them. Using sport as a catalyst for discussion, they explore identity, the root of their addictions and discuss ways their future will be different from their past.

“I got one thing,” Nestor Lujan told the group. “Pretty soon I’m out. I’m about five weeks from getting out. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

Lujan is a 40-year-old inmate with the block letters “Brownpride” tattooed on the back of his shaved scalp. He has been in and out of prison most of his life, and by now, he knows it’s easier to get in than to stay out.

“I’m scared,” he said.

In the Addict II Athlete program, Thursdays begin with a weightlifting class, and all sessions include a 30-minute group discussion about addiction and sobriety.

‘Part of my regular life now’

Most of the men in Addict II Athlete are in on drug-related charges: using, selling, stealing to support a habit. Because they have been accepted into the prison’s Con-Quest program, each is required to participate in a therapy program. Groups such as Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous or a church-sponsored 12-step program don’t speak to everyone, so early last year, prison officials adopted Addict II Athlete, a small support group that had found some success in Utah communities by using sport — particularly running — to help men and women confront the torments and temptations of addiction.

Nestor Lujan is scheduled to be released from prison next month, but says,“I don't know what I'm going to do. ... I'm scared.”

“They already have the negative labels of inmate or drug user or addict,” said Blu Robinson, a drug counselor and founder of the group. “What I say is, ‘Let’s erase all that and call you what you really are: You’re an athlete; you’re a champion; you’re a father, a son.’ They start building onto that so that they can have a better view of who they are.”

In the gym, Lujan listed his concerns about his July release date. He has been a drug user more than half his life, in and out of prison for the past 20 years. He doesn’t want to come back.

“I think he’s more worried about change,” offered a fellow inmate, Jake Vanderwoude, “being stabilized in here, as opposed to going out there and taking on all the responsibility.”

They suggest ways Lujan can stay clean and maintain healthy habits. Many here consider sport essential to enduring life inside prison and also having any chance at surviving outside of it. On the track, on the weight bench and in therapy, they work together to understand their flaws while confronting the consequences of their dumb mistakes and poor decisions. One key for Lujan, they agree, is to keep exercising.

Inmate Larry Davis is spotted by Kurtis Hunsaker during their Addict II Athlete program, where therapists noticed that inmates weren’t just tackling their own addictions; they’d taken an interest in the sobriety of others.

“I’ve never wanted to say, ‘Hey, let’s do some drugs and then go work out.’ That’s never happened,” inmate Larry Davis said.

Lujan thought about it. He had hoped he had finally wiggled free from addiction’s clenched fist. He has a wife waiting on the outside, a kid, a loving mother, too. For him, this time felt different.

“I’ve never been an AA or NA kind of guy anyways,” Lujan said. “This right here is probably the best support group, the best setting, the best type of people. This isn’t something I’m doing just while I’m here. This is part of my regular life now. I’m always going to work out wherever I go, whatever I do. If I stop working out, then I’m probably starting to do really bad in life.”

After more than 30 minutes, the conversation began to wind down. The inmates stacked their chairs and left the gym, some for a therapy appointment, a few back to their dorm and most counting the hours until their next workout.

A different kind of prisoner, through blood, sweat and tears

In Utah, the program “Addict II Athlete” is helping a group of men plan new lives through tough workouts and tougher love.

A different kind of prisoner, through blood, sweat and tears

In Utah, the program “Addict II Athlete” is helping a group of men plan new lives through tough workouts and tougher love.

In it, together

Hunsaker, 26, is one of the peer leaders behind bars. He offers advice, counsel and a nonjudgmental ear. Like all of the prisoners here, Hunsaker has been encouraged to search for explanations rather than excuses, learning to draw lines, for example, from a tragic upbringing to a wasted adulthood. Out on the prison yard, he runs five kilometers every day, which gives him a lot of time to think. He has no problem tracing the roots of his addiction.

Growing up, his mother was a school teacher and played an organ at the family’s church. She also ran a meth lab until authorities raided it and arrested her. Hunsaker was 15 years old at the time. “It kind of shattered my whole life,” he said. He began hanging around the wrong sorts of friends, and “instead of going to seminary, I was hanging out behind the seminary building getting high.”

Things escalated quickly. Hunsaker tore an ACL playing high school football and became addicted to oxycodone. Soon he wasn’t just popping pills; he was snorting, smoking and shooting opiates as well. He turned to heroin because it was cheaper and then started selling drugs to pay for his addiction.

“Pretty soon I was doing heroin and meth in the same needle, so that I could stay awake to sell heroin,” he said. “Everything spiraled out of control.”

Burglaries and counterfeit checks were followed by arrests and prison sentences. He initially spurned treatment behind bars. Hunsaker said he’d “rather pull my toes off with pliers” than attend AA meetings. He attended the initial Addict II Athlete meeting last spring and for the first time felt a sense of control. In contrast to programs that encourage patients to surrender to the addiction and call upon a higher power, he was in charge of his own workout, had an outlet for the pent-up emotions and anxieties and was part of a team. And perhaps just as important, he finally had something to look forward to each day.

Kurtis Hunsaker said being in charge of his own workout gave him something to look forward to. “We don’t have a lot of days that are special,” he said.

“We don’t have a lot of days that are special,” he said.

The inmates organized a five-kilometer run last spring and staged a second one this April. More than 50 inmates circled the yard 16 times under the watchful eyes of guards. A funny thing happened: Even as inmates completed the race, they kept running. They caught up with others who were struggling, sidled up beside them and encouraged them all the way to the finish line.

Therapists noticed that they weren’t just tackling their own addictions; they’d taken an interest in the sobriety of others. It stems from a bond, they say, forged by running laps, by benching heavy weights, by competing in basketball tournaments — together.

Corrections experts are unable to quantify the long-term benefits sports and recreation behind bars might offer. Studies haven’t been done and most of the evidence is anecdotal. Jim Bonta is a longtime prison psychologist who helped author the guidelines used by many parole boards in North America to gauge likely recidivism. He said recreation and leisure activities are among several factors that should be considered but warned against making a definite link between athletic pursuits and repeat criminal behavior.

“I used to work in max security prison,” he said. “Even if you sit and watch them engaging in a game of pickup football in the recreation yard — which is fine, it passes the time, takes up their day — but listen to what they talk about. They’re not talking, ‘Geez, I want to get out of prison, I want to go straight, find a job, settle down with a nice girl.’ If you listen carefully, they’re talking about, ‘What’s our next score, can’t wait to find drugs.’ ”

Clint Weeks lifts weights during the Addict II Athlete program. Click for more photos.

When Robinson founded Addict II Athlete four years ago, he knew sport alone wasn’t the solution. A recovering addict himself, he works as a clinical substance abuse counselor for Utah County and said that while exercise might offer a healthy lifestyle, it more importantly also could serve as a trigger for discussion and introspection. The prisoners in Utah spoke glowingly of their experience, and said the impact goes beyond sport and exercise. Inmate Jacob Seaman, 33, called it the “most satisfying thing I’ve ever done.”

“If someone is willing to work out with me and go through that effort, it sets the table for me to be able to talk about what it is that’s really bothering me,” he said. “That’s what works for me.”

Hunsaker won that initial 5k race last year and helped organize the second one this spring. His long brown hair is tied in a ponytail and swings from side to side as he jogs the perimeter of the yard every day along a chain-link fence. He knows he’s in a cage, but for at least an hour each day, it doesn’t necessarily feel that way.

Inmate Jason Penney, 42, saw his weight balloon to 260 pounds when he first was sent to prison as a sex offender 15 years ago. “It was kind of a difficult thing being heavier and trying to run in here,” he said. “Lots of heckles, kind of snide comments.”

‘In here, you can get by’

Elsewhere in the sprawling prison system, sport has sprouted a bit more organically, providing a flicker of hope in one of the most barren places in Utah. While the Promontory facility houses those battling addictions, the medium-security Wasatch facility is home to all sorts of criminals. Jason Penney is a sex offender, and for a long time, he had nothing to look forward to.

With help from his mother, inmate Jason Penney sent a letter to college coaches seeking help with their running program at the Utah State Prison.

The 42-year-old prisoner struggled to adapt to life behind bars when he first came here 15 years ago and became depressed. When his weight ballooned from 200 pounds to nearly 260, he started running in the yard on his own. He was self-conscious in those early days and wore dark sunglasses so he could avoid eye contact with other inmates.

“It was kind of a difficult thing being heavier and trying to run in here,” he said. “Lots of heckles, kind of snide comments.”

Penney eventually became more comfortable and much faster, and he began talking to the prison administration about formalizing a running program. In 2012, he helped stage a half-marathon in the Wasatch yard and then a full marathon the following fall. About 15 inmates finished that initial marathon, and another 35 or so completed either a 10K or half-marathon. Penney felt there remained room for growth.

He sat in his cell with pencil and paper and began scrawling out a note, a plea for help: “[R]unning has become a calming, stabilizing influence in our, at times, chaotic lives. The men taking up the challenge of distance running do not fit the stereotypical profile of a convicted felon. We have all chosen running as our avenue to recovery. Running has inspired each of us to elevate our lives through the endeavor of moving forward.”

He mailed it to his mother in South Dakota to type, and she sent copies to several college coaches and running clubs. Isaac Wood, an assistant coach at nearby Weber State,  responded and began showing up every other Friday to lead a running class. Fliers were posted around the prison, and more than 50 inmates have been showing up for instruction. They’ll stage another full marathon this fall in the prison yard.

How a letter got a track coach inside prison and inmates running

The Utah State Prison is an unlikely place to train for a marathon. Even more improbable: having a coaching pro to help.

Penney lives in Charlie block, a somewhat privileged unit for inmates who have exhibited good behavior. Inmates in this unit sleep two to a cell and have access to a smaller yard, just about 20 yards long — 22 laps for a mile. Six days a week Penney can be found running circles in silence. He can tick off the benefits to running in prison, but perhaps nothing is bigger, he said, than goal-setting. Penney has his summer running schedule entirely mapped out. He spends most days thinking about his last run or planning his next one. He’s certain that will carry over someday to a life outside the prison’s walls.

“I don’t believe society benefits when inmates are released to the community who have forgotten how to set goals,” Penney said. “In here — three hots and a cot — if you just sit back and do nothing, you can get by in here without setting goals. You can go for years without having any goals in mind. I think we benefit from setting goals and working toward them. I think for most of us, running provides a fundamentally different blueprint for how to live our lives.”

In Addict II Athlete, the coaches and counselors stress “erase and replace” — erase your past and replace it with something healthier. Jeff Smith is a disciple. He served time for piling up multiple DUI charges. When he was finally released, he was ready to move on — but to what?

“When you take out the drugs and you take out the alcohol, you’ve got this huge void that you don’t know what to do with,” Smith said.

Addict II Athlete kept him among like-minded people, people who once had lived drink to drink and learned to subsist mile to mile. In addition to the prison facility, Addict II Athlete has about 500 participants spread across three locations in Utah. When inmates are released from Promontory and the Con-Quest program, they’re encouraged to connect with Robinson and continue with weightlifting or running or team sports.

Penney hopes he gets that chance. He has been before a parole board once before and goes again next month. Technically, his sentence is five years to life. He has served 15 so far and has no release date. Like many in the prison, he’s still trying to outrun his past.

“It’s that self-disipline and dedication to achieving a goal that I think will get me there and help me take the steps necessary to successfully reintegrate into society,” he said.

Inmate Michael Wardle, right, shakes the hand of Doug Wamsley during a Addict II Athlete session.

‘Doesn’t have to be a third time’

Lights flicker on at the Promontory facility every morning at 6 o’clock. After a dorm meeting and breakfast, the inmates in the Addict II Athlete program trickle into a room and take a seat. A prison therapist read something one recent morning that Smith, the former felon who’s now running straight, had recently posted on Facebook: “In the end, those are all OUR miles, no one can do them for us. We have good miles and we have bad miles, but we still have to be brave and suffer through each one of them.”

Jeff Smith, who served prison time for multiple DUI offenses, said, “When you take out the drugs and you take out the alcohol, you’ve got this huge void that you don’t know what to do with.”

Jeff Smith, who served prison time for multiple DUI offenses, said, “When you take out the drugs and you take out the alcohol, you’ve got this huge void that you don’t know what to do with.”

Sitting in the front row, 29-year-old Jared Sorenson nodded his head. “That’s right. And you know, the first two miles are usually the hardest. It’s that way with recovery down to a tee.”

A couple of rows back, Bryan Smith, 32 years old with a shaved head and small patch of hair on his chin, said, “When I go out there and run, I’m free in my own mind. I’m not a prisoner.”

Soon they were discussing their struggles again, and Doug Wamsley raised his hand. He’s 54 years old and in on drug possession and distribution charges. It’s not his first stint. He told the group that on June 10 at 5:34 p.m., his girlfriend outside had a baby boy: 6 pounds, 2 ounces, 19 inches long.

“It’s pure hell knowing that I couldn’t be there,” he said. “It’s time to grow up and be a man.”

His voice cracked, and his eyes watered. Wamsley had 18 more months remaining on his sentence, 18 more months before he could have any shot at being a father.

A fellow inmate suggested that baby should be incentive to get out and stay clean.

“I failed at it twice already.”

“Doesn’t have to be a third time.”

“Well, it sure feels like it.”

Hunsaker sat in one corner, listening to Wamsley. He was in jail when he found out his wife was pregnant and in prison when his daughter was born. She is almost 2 now, walking and learning to talk.

“I’m watching her grow up in that visiting room,” he told the room, pointing to another part of the facility.

There were no easy answers, and the conversations don’t always have happy endings during group therapy. Forty-five minutes passed, and they all walked outdoors into the yard to let off steam. About a dozen men hit the grass field to compete in Ultimate Frisbee, and another dozen or so opted to run, jog or walk laps.

The Ultimate game is good-natured. When one man dropped the disc, another teased, “I thought you were an Addict II Athlete? You looked just like an addict right there.”

Most games in prison have the familiar rules with minor wrinkles: In Ultimate Frisbee, for example, when a disc hits the fence, it sets off an alarm in the control room and is therefore considered a turnover; and in softball if the bat comes into contact with a person, the game is automatically over.

On the perimeter, Hunsaker and others counted their laps. Five laps equal one mile. As they run, they could see the Oquirrh Mountains on the horizon. All that separated them is two layers of chain link encased in rolls of barbed wire — or more simply, the completion of their rehabilitation program.

As temperatures topped 90 degrees and the Ultimate Frisbee players were forced to squint to make their catches, Davis, one of the oldest in the group at 57, began to slow the pace of his laps. He has been locked up 10 times and released nine. He estimates  he has been through some treatment program or another a dozen times, always falling into old habits on the outside

He swears this time will be different. He completed the five-kilometer run this spring; he’s present at every weightlifting class and each therapy session. The Con-Quest program, and Addict II Athlete particularly, resonates with him.

“It’s a whole different way of looking at things this time,” he said.

He’s due to be released next March, but said he’d be willing to stick around longer, if they’d let him. He doesn’t want to leave this time until he’s actually rehabilitated, and he feels he has a few more miles still ahead of him.

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Brad Creviston leaves the gym after their weightlifting and counseling session of the Addict II Athlete program.

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Utah Valley Magazine: Hope and Healing- How A Former Drug Addict Learned How To Love

September 2014 Utah Valley Magazine
Hope and Healing
How a former drug addict learned to love

When Blu and Marissa Robinson said “I do” 14 years ago, they were hopeful, happy and excited about their future—despite the odds stacked against them. At the time, Blu was a recently recovered drug addict, and the couple was well aware of the issues former addicts face. But they were determined to make their relationship work. Today, Blu—who has been clean for more than 18 years—serves as an LDS bishop and enjoys a healthy marriage and four beautiful children. Blu and Marissa’s journey hasn’t been conventional or easy, bit it does serve as a much-needed beacon of hope in the face of addictions that plague local families.

Blu’s Beginnings
Blu grew up in a toxic environment filled with unhealthy relationships and abuse. His mother got married at 14 and jumped from one marriage to the next. All of the “stepdads” Blu encountered had anger and addiction problems and often abused Blu, his mother and his siblings.
“Our life was always unstable,” Blu says, “I moved 23 times growing up."
The instability of his adolescence was a result of his mom’s relationship patter, which was: “When things get tough, leave.”
“She never knew how to get from the initial ‘falling in love’ stage to the part where you work through your problems,” Blu says.
In order to survive socially and emotionally, Blu learned to lie to himself and others. When someone asked if his Polynesian half-sister was related to him, he said “no” because he knew that by the time the person figured out the truth, he would have moved. Lying was just the beginning. Blu picked up other destructive habits and started using drugs at 15. He continued to dull the pain in his life with substances, each one more harmful than the last until he was using methamphetamine.
“The root of all addiction is pain,” Blu says, “ I was trying to fill a void and self medicate.”

Seeds Of Change
In his early 20’s, Blu’s rock-bottom moment came. After a long night of using, he sat at the dinner table with his family and realized if he didn’t change his life might not make it to any more family events.
He also had a profound impression that he was meant for more in this life and that he had potential.
He stopped using drugs cold turkey, but all of the addictive behaviors and emotional scars remained.
“Even though I wasn’t physically using, I was still very broken and I still lived in lies and deceit,” Blu says.
He got a job as a courier for a troubled youth center. The center frequently drug-tested their employees, which motivated Blu because he truly enjoyed his job and didn’t want to lose it.
Another employee, Don, took an interest in Blu and was the first person to tell him that his upbringing wan’t normal and that there was a better way to live.

Meet Marissa
The tipping point was when Blu met Marissa, who also worked at the youth center. He liked her, but he was afraid to tell her about his past. So he did what he knew how to do. He lied.
“I lied to feel better about myself, but Don saw straight through it and wanted me to tell Marissa the truth,” Blu says.
When Blu refused to be honest with Marissa, Don took matters into his own hands and told her everything.
“At first I was taken aback and wondered what Don’s motive was in telling me all of it,” Marissa says, “ Then I called Blu and when I asked him if it was true and heard silence, I had my answer.”
Marissa encouraged Blu to get into therapy and suggested they put their relationships on hold.
“I’ve always been a person who wants to fix everything, but I knew this was not something I could or should fix,” Marissa says. “I had tried that with other guys before and realized it did not work.”
The first time Blu went to therapy, he left vowing he would never return.
“The therapist asked me if I knew who I was,” Blu says. “I felt like that was a question no one could answer. Then I asked Marissa if she knew who she was and she went on for 20 minutes.”
Blu reluctantly continued going to therapy and started to take night classes while maintaining a casual relationship with Marissa.

Checking In
One of the turning points in Blu and Marissa’s relationship was when he saw her from the window of his night class driving by to make sure he was there.
“When I saw her out there checking up on me I got mad,” Blu says. “But then I realized she was doing it because she cared about me. No one had ever cared about me like that. No one had ever cared what choices I made.”
Marissa believes her upbringing, while not perfect, prepared her to be emotionally healthy for marriage.
“I few up in a household where you worked on your problems and figured things out,” she says. “We were always helpers, too. We took in foster kids and I got my degree in recreation therapy, so I was familiar with some of these issues on a smaller scale.”
While Marissa was supportive, loving and encouraging throughout Blu’s recovery, they both agree their relationship’s success was possible only because
Marissa was not trying to solve Blu’s problems. If he wanted to get better, he had to do it on his own.
“I could be his best friend, but I couldn’t be his caretaker,” she says.

Couples Therapy
One of the things that made Blu and Marissa’s relationship healthy was their participation in weekly couples counseling throughout their engagement and newlywed stage.
“Blu’s therapist told me, ‘OK come and get to know this because it’s going to be your life,” Marissa says.
The couple says therapy is one of the best things they’ve ever done. They laid a strong foundation and trust early in their marriage.

Overcoming Obstacles
As successful as Blu was at recognizing and dealing with issues from his past, there were still thought patterns and behaviors that manifested in his new life.
“Early in our marriage if we ever got in a disagreement I would come home expecting Marissa to be done,” Blu says. “It took a while for me to trust that she would never do that to me.”
Another instance where Blu’s past bubbled into the future was when he was finishing his bachelor’s degree in social work at UBU, and he couldn’t seem to get through any of the math classes. After he had exhausted every resource available he discovered he had a math- specific learning disability, which would have been easily resolved if diagnosed in childhood.
He worked with school administration to finish his degree in mental health counseling.
 
Cutting Ties
As Blu continued on his path of healing, his mom and siblings sank deeper into their own addictions. From time to time, they would randomly pop up asking for help.
Wanting to be a good son, Blu tried to be sympathetic and help them but things came to a breaking point when his mom fraudulently transferred her cell phone into his name and didn’t pay the bill.
“I came to realize that relationships are a privilege, not a right—even when it comes to your biological family,” Blu says. “It sounds harsh but I couldn’t le try relationship with my mom and siblings hurt my relationship with my wife and kids. I had to cut them off. I had to stop it.”
Blu decided to write a letter to his mom expressing all of his feelings of anger, sadness and frustration about the childhood he endured.
“I actually ended up sending the letter,” Blu says, “It felt food to hold her accountable for the first time.”
Blu doesn’t allow his family to pull him back into the darkness of his childhood, but he also doesn’t allow himself to harbor resentment. When he went to his grandmother’s funeral a few years ago, he met his biological father.
“There were a million things I could have said but I just walked up to him and said ‘It’s nice to meet you,” Blu says.

Open And Honest
As Blu and Marissa’s children have grown, they ask questions and the couple strives to be honest and open with their kids while still being age-appropriate.
Blu remembers a specific experience when he was at a water park with his daughter and she asked him about the scars on his back.
“It broke my heart to tell her that they were from a really mean man who hurt me when I was young,” Blu says.
It’s hard for the Robinson kids to image that the amazing, sweet dad they love endured the challenges he did. ButBlu and Marissa believe the value of being open and honest with the people you love always outweighs the initial discomfort.
“We are all going through this life and dealing with different problems,” Blu says. “I think we should more often share our life’s answers and tips. When you talk about your struggles and how you’ve overcome them, they no longer hold power over you. And if what I share can help someone else, why wound’t I do it? Your mess becomes your message.”

Addict To Athlete
In 2011, Bu and Marissa created Addict II Athlete, a volunteer organization that helps individuals in recovery replace their addictive behaviors with athletic achievements.
You could say Blu was the program’s pilot participant.
When Blu and Marissa were engages, Marissa’s dad asked Blu if he wanted to run a marathon with him. In an effort to win him over, Blu agreed. It wasn’t until after he said yesterday that Marissa told him how long a marathon was.
Blu and Marissa duplicated that experience with Addict II Athlete as a way to give back to the recovery community. Blu had learned first hand that replacing addiction with exercise created small victories crucial to someone wrestling with the low self-esteem that accompanies addiction.
“Signing up for a 5k, training and finishing is a way for them to have those ‘I can do it’ moments that help them heal.” Marissa says.
As a mental health and substance abuse counselor for the Utah County Health department. Blu is acutely aware of the drug use statistics in Utah Valley and understands the barriers to healing. When Blu started Addict II Athlete, he got permission for the group meetings to count as one of the three weekly support meetings required in court-mandated treatment.
The Utah County chapter of Addict II Athlete regularly has more than 60 at each weekly meeting, which is followed by athletic training—whether its’ a trail run, a bike ride or a yoga class. Some attending are addicts themselves and some are friends and family of those who struggle with substance abuse.
When Addict II Athlete member register for races, they often pick events like Relay for Life that raises money for philanthropic causes.
“As an addict, you suck the resources out of everyone around you,” Marissa says. “When you are in recovery, it feels good to give back.”

Here And Now
Looking back on the broken road they have traveled, Blu and Marissa believe their rewarding relationship has been worth all the sacrifices.
“We believe you don’t grow old together, you heal together,” Blu says.

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Deseret News: Finding Healing: Innovative Utah Program turns addicts into athletes

July 16, 2014
By Amy Donaldson

Never really having a dad, just training with this guy, I started bonding with him, and I started doing things I didn’t think I could. I stopped identifying myself as an addict. – Blu Robinson

PROVO — As Shalise Morgan trained for her first 100-mile race, the toughest days she faced had nothing to do with physical demands.

Instead, it was convincing herself that a 39-year-old woman who’d wrestled drug addiction most of her life was capable of accomplishing something many lifelong athletes wouldn’t even consider.

“The hardest part was knowing that I’m worth it,” she said of running the Pony Express 100-mile race last October. “But being involved in this group, they kind of took me in and believed in me until I believed in myself. The help and support from these guys, it really makes you stronger.”

The group she’s referring to is Addict II Athlete. It’s a group whose mission is to help addicts maintain sobriety by replacing addiction with accomplishment, and it was founded by a former addict-turned-athlete — Blu Robinson. A clinical mental health and substance abuse counselor for Utah County, Robinson said he realized the benefits of athletics in his own recovery, years before a group of addicts inspired him to create Addict II Athlete three years ago.

Robinson loved sports as a youth, but a tumultuous childhood meant no real organized or competitive sports in his life. He moved 22 times by the time he was 18, and he started using drugs at 15. He dropped out of high school and “bounced around” until he “hit rock bottom” at 21 years old.

“I really just had enough,” he said. “I just stopped cold turkey.”

Not backing down

He made fairly decent money working as a courier at a youth treatment center, which is where he met his future wife, so he invested in a mountain bike. His first ride, he met a group who allowed him to join them. A year later, when he started dating his wife, the man who was to be his father-in-law enticed him into another experience.

“He said, ‘If you want to date my daughter, let’s run a marathon together,'” Robinson said smiling. “I had no idea what that was.”

He agreed to take the challenge — only to find out later from his fiancee that he’d committed to running 26.2 miles. But instead of shying away from the challenge, he embraced it.

“Never really having a dad, just training with this guy, I started bonding with him, and I started doing things I didn’t think I could,” Robinson said. “I stopped identifying myself as an addict.”

And that’s exactly what Robinson now wants for the addicts who commit to the Addict II Athlete program. He wants them to find new identities while they achieve new accomplishments.

“They’re more than that,” he said of the tendency of therapy programs to require addicts to continually identify themselves as addicts. “It’s a part of them, but it’s not who they are. They’re athletes, mothers, fathers and so many other things.”

Robinson went back to school at night to earn his high school diploma. Then he went to UVU, during which time he received his license to be a substance abuse counselor. After graduating from UVU in 2006, he started with the Utah County Health Department as a case manager. He was working with young boys, and part of the therapy was training for a triathlon. He found that the boys would open up to him while they were sharing a tough bike ride in ways they never did any other time.

In 2011, he was walking through the parking garage on his way to his office when he saw a group of clients huddled together. They were forging each other’s paperwork saying they were attending their required 12-step meetings.

Their excuse for doing so was “all people do in those meetings is complain,” Robinson said. That encounter started him thinking.

While 12-step programs and group therapy are keys to success for many people, others yearned for a different approach. He went to his boss, Bruce Chandler, who loved the idea because he’d started his career (35 years ago) as a recreational therapist.

“There is just absolute power in recreation, in the body and in the socialization, the camaraderie of athletics that’s just powerful,” Chandler said. “And this thing has just gone boom!”

From humble beginnings

Three years ago, Robinson started with five athletes who had hopes of running a Provo 5K. Today, the program has meetings in both Utah and Salt Lake counties, and has a children’s component called “the minor league.”

“When a person comes into treatment, we ask a lot of them,” Robinson said. “There are meetings, therapy, family court, and often the kids are home, neglected. We tell them to bring the kids with them, and the minor league has them in activities like bowling, running or swimming.”

About two months ago, Addict II Athlete was officially incorporated into treatment programs at the Utah Department of Corrections. It’s an optional program, but DOC officials offer incentives to entice inmates into at least trying the program.

“When you have that active piece to anything, it’s a great deterrent for relapse,” said Desmond Lomax, the DOC clinical therapist who led the campaign to incorporate the Addict II Athlete program in the prison’s Con-Quest program. “There are a lot of people who just don’t want to sit. … This is a great alternative. And there is a certain level of anxiety and tension that can be minimized through physical activity.”

Lomax believes in the concept so much, he’s making it possible for inmates to reap the benefits of the program, even before they’re paroled.

They have meetings where 30 minutes are about the barriers to sobriety, followed by 30 minutes of physical exercise. He’s even planning a 5K, 10K and half-marathon this summer to give those engaged in the training a tangible accomplishment to work for in those weekly meetings.

Greg Hendrix, director of Con-Quest, the substance abuse program for men, said he sees the program as just another way officials can help inmates transition from life as an inmate to life as a productive citizen. Nearly 90 percent of those incarcerated by the Department of Corrections have substance abuse issues.

“They need passion when they get out,” Hendrix said. “They’re rediscovering themselves, and they don’t know what their passion is. … We just know the more support they have, the more it reduces the risk they have of getting back into those old traps.”

And support is exactly what those involved in Addict II Athlete say they value most about the experience.

Shared experiences

At a recent Tuesday night meeting, Robinson stands at the front of a room filled with families sitting in folding chairs. He asks them to consider what they’d accomplished with the group that they didn’t think they could conquer on their own.

The stories come slowly at first. Some are punctuated by laughter, others bring group members to tears.

One woman talked about completing a triathlon, and how seeing signs with her name on them filled her with gratitude. Choking back emotion, she said she's never known the kind of support she’s found in the program.

One by one, the members, both addicts and those affected by a loved one’s addiction, share their stories of how accomplishing a physical goal brought them emotional and spiritual healing.

One father said the experience had “made my family whole.”

For most of the addicts in the room, their addictions haven’t just ravaged their own lives. Their uncontrollable urges, their destructive decisions, have cost their families untold pain. The program allows them to work together to rebuild trust, to rebuild relationships and to create productive, joyful lives.

Keith Carter, 48, Orem, is one of the original five members of Addict II Athlete. He’s five years clean and sober, the longest stretch in his life without using substances to numb his pain.

He said group therapy and 12-step programs are only part of the answer. At some point, he said, addicts need to move forward, let go of the pain in the past and embrace the possibilities of the future. While Robinson and others acknowledge the power in sharing stories with each other, sometimes negativity can proliferate those stories, which doesn’t help anyone in the group.

“I think sometimes we focused too much on the past and not on what you’re doing for your future,” Carter said of the group therapy he’s been involved with in the past. “We don’t do war stories in Addict II Athlete. I think we focus on the future.”

Carter, who quit smoking after 25 years so he could run marathons and ultra marathons, said there isn’t any part of his life untouched by the experience.

“Running gave me that reason to quit smoking,” he said. I’m really surprised at what I’ve accomplished. I did my first 5K in May (3 1/2 years ago) and then my first half-marathon six months later and my first marathon six months after that. All of a sudden I’m accomplishing things I never thought I could. It was exciting.”

Robinson said the program operates on a simple philosophy.

“It’s erase and replace philosophy,” he said. “If you erase the addiction and replace it with something of greater value, you’re more likely to succeed.”

He said it was his wife’s family that showed him how athletics can be a productive, life-enhancing way to cope with difficult times. That began when he was training for the St. George Marathon with his father-in-law.

“I’d never really accomplished anything,” he said. “The marathon accomplishment helped me believe in myself.” After that he graduated from college, attained his counseling license and eventually earned a master's degree.

Finding healing

Creating Addict II Athlete has enhanced his life in ways he never expected, as well as the lives of his family. They choose races that benefit charities or community projects as a way to make amends for their own mistakes. And while he was afraid no one would want to wear a shirt proclaiming them a member of “Addict II Athlete,” he’s found just the opposite to be true.

“The biggest thing is, this gave the people in recovery something else to talk about, something else to identify themselves as,” Robinson said. “They didn’t have to identify as an addict. They could identify as a runner, a volleyball player, a basketball player. …They’re not afraid to (wear the shirt). They’re not embarrassed. Why be ashamed of something that really can be inspiring to someone else?”

The group’s Facebook page has become another layer of support. Members have posted about struggles, and immediately, others volunteer to “go for a run or a bike ride and talk,” Robinson said.

“Instead of just talking about your problems, we’re going to do something about it, Robinson said. "We’re going to work out, help you act on the struggle or relapse.”

The group doesn’t ignore failure, but they also don’t dwell on it. Two months ago, they lost a member to a drug overdose. On Sept. 5, they will run a 5K and 10K in Lehi, as it has the highest rate of drug overdose in the state, to honor those they’ve lost and raise awareness about the issue.

After losing their friend, they met for a workout at a track. Robinson told the group that there were shoes in their friend’s closet that would never be worn again. They all ran three laps barefoot in their friend’s memory.

But it was also a reminder of why it’s so important to find a way out of drug addiction. It was a reminder of what’s at stake for them and those who suffer simply because they love them. Lacing up their shoes and running for a cause is one way they can help others while keeping their own demons at bay.

For some of those involved, the insight comes long after the accomplishments. It’s the reason they choose the races they do, and it’s the reason they host their own run to raise awareness about the rough, raw realities of drug addiction and its costs.

“They don’t really realize how important what we’re doing is sometimes,” Robinson said of the group’s run in Lehi in September. “By doing this, we will bring to the city of Lehi an awareness of how important recovery is, and how we can do something about it.”

And then he reminds the group of how they need to view their efforts.

"Remember, it's not recovering from addiction," he said. "It's healing from addiction."

Article HERE

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Fox 13 News story about the 2012 County To County Relay

By: Brittany Green-Miner , Meredith Forrest Kulwicki , Scott McKane

Posted 12:57 PM, Sep 14, 2012

HIGHLAND CITY, Utah - A group of athletes are running a relay from Utah County To Salt Lake County on Friday.

It's the start of a 5K called the Run/Walk for Recovery that begins early Saturday. Many of those taking part are folks recovering from substance abuse.

The group is called Addict to Athlete and it started in 2011 when a recovering addict and substance abuse counselor in Utah County decided to take some clients with him on a lunch time run.

Blu Robinson says the response was incredible, his patients loved the physical challenge and opened up to him more during the run that in the office setting.

"It's an action-oriented program, it erases addiction and replaces it with something better," said Robinson.

Just over a year later, Addict to Athlete has more than 250 members. They are running races, setting goals, staying in contact with others who know the pain of addiction and staying sober.

"Substance abuse disorders are treatable, that recovery is possible and that there are many people in long-term recovery celebrating the fact that they are no longer in the throes of addiction. They are actually living happy, healthy, productive and wonderful lives," said Mary Jo McMillen.

McMillen and others say Addict to Athlete is not a replacement for traditional substance abuse programs, but works in addition, aiding in long-term recovery.

For those who are interested in joining, there's a day long event Saturday beginning with the 5K Run/Walk for Recovery that starts at the Gallivan Center at 9 a.m. Organizers say the events are free and family oriented.

More details can be found online by CLICKING HERE.

Article HERE

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