There comes a time in every athlete¹s life when he or she faces the decision of whether or not to take steroids. I entered and won my first contest in 1980, having trained consistently for three years. At that time I wasn¹t even aware that such drugs were available.

Because the information about steroids was delivered to me in such a harmless way, I immediately assumed that they must be the reason Lisa (Lyon) looked the way she did. So my initial reaction was not one of fear, but rather excitement at the possibility of achieving the results I craved so badly. I agreed to try them.

When I began to see the results, something took control of me. I started neglecting every other aspect of my life and needs as a human being ‹ my work, family, friends, play time. I thought only of my workouts, of being the best, of competing.

I became obsessed with what I didn't have yet and was unable to focus on the gains and progress I had made. I kept trying to reach a state of physical perfection by increasing my drug use and training intensity. Pretty soon I was taking everything all at the same time.

I began to look more and more like a freak. People called me sir; my family could only say, "God! You're huge!" Friends used to tell me I looked like a statue. Little by little I was transformed into a monster of my own creation, and I couldn¹t see it happening.

I started powerlifting and breaking world records left and right. The pressure from others to compete in bodybuilding was killing me, so I did that and became successful in that sport as well. Forty-five pounds and a few years later I found myself doing the same thing to other people ‹ suggesting steroid cycles, offering to get them drugs.

I took every kind of steroid known to man while this trainer coached me for the USA. You somehow associate the progress with the drug and not the training involved.

Physically, your body becomes dependent on the drug because your natural systems shut down and expect chemicals to do the job. When I tried to come off on several occasions, I experienced heavy-duty crash points after about four weeks ‹ low energy, lethargic workouts, low enthusiasm, irritability, loss of appetite. It was awful.

Psychologically, I was suffering a major identity crisis. I was afraid to look normal, terrified of blending in. Being a freak is what gave me my fame. Being normal meant I would become invisible.

Suddenly my estrogen level went sky high. I looked puffy, felt small and depleted. My strength was cut in half and my desire to train was vanishing. The sense of my body being out of control made me crazy. I felt it was pointless to continue pounding away in the gym only to get nowhere.

Emotionally the damage was incomprehensible. I did not know who I was without steroids. The woman living beneath the armor of muscle was a complete mystery to me. I lived in terror of losing everything I had gained while I was on my cycle. I was afraid people competing would pass me by. I felt ashamed of my physique. Every single day I would go over in my head what my next cycle would be. I couldn¹t wait to get back on drugs. I would take more each cycle, for longer periods of time just to make up for having been off. If two worked great, five must be better.

Part of being an athlete is that you become vulnerable to the whim of every trainer, coach, media person, promoter, and sponsor. They want freaks. So you set out to be a freak or go unnoticed. The things you are willing to do for success are humiliating to think about.

Two years ago I met a man from England at the Mr. Olympia contest. He took a liking to me and began to send me packages from England to help me in my career because the drugs are expensive here and many of them are unavailable. One of the packages didn't clear customs in Detroit. The FDA and the local police made a controlled delivery to my house, and I was arrested for possession of dangerous drugs. And so one nightmare ended and another began.

I had to come off everything abruptly, and the legal war proceeded to crush my world. I can't even say how much it cost me in attorneys' fees, court costs, fines and therapy bills, but I do know that the emotional price far exceeded the financial one.

I am not a criminal, you see, I am an athlete. I am your basic old-fashioned girl whose obsession to be the best at something ate away at her principles, morals, and personal standards to the point of crime.

I had become unable to choose whether or not I would use steroids. I had to take them. The sad thing is that this is acceptable behavior in "the wonderful world of sports" ‹ so long as you don't get caught. Nobody questioned why I was using. Nobody thought it was unusual. Everyone I knew at the national and world-class levels was taking them just as I was. I¹d even bought steroids for major league ballplayers.

When I think about the decay that took place in my character while I was using, the reaction my family had to me and my own blindness, I am sick to my stomach. Today I no longer recall the euphoria, nor do I miss the days of feeling larger than life. I rather enjoy being clean, learning my body¹s natural response to my workouts. I no longer experience mood swings, aggressive behavior or a false sense of superiority. I look much better than I did then, and my face has returned to its original feminine self.

I was a hard, suspicious, neurotic woman while I was taking steroids. That just isn¹t me. I've seen marriages dissipate, families break up and financial security dissolve because of these drugs. I've seen men go on a cycle of drugs with the money they'd saved for their children's clothes, and I've watched innocent victims get thrown across a bar room for no reason by men who haven't the ability to control their aggression while using. I've watched happy, energetic and positive guys go from Dr. Jeckyl to Mr.Hyde, and I've seen petite women turn into hulking no-neck bearded monsters with acne all over their backs and shoulders.

Why do we view ourselves and others as inferior, untalented, inadequate and wimpy because we may not happen to be 250 pounds of solid muscle, ripped to the bone and stronger than nine parts steel? When did the standard in our sport change? What happened to raw talent, hard work and believing in our ability to progress?

I could go on forever posing questions that I don't have the answers for, but I hope that at least one person will decide not to use steroids because of my story, or a few people in the same situation will become aware, as I did, and stop before their tragedy comes back to haunt them.