As Bermuda's most famous boxer, Clarence Hill endured countless punishing blows in gruelling encounters in the ring, soaking up the worst his opponent could throw at him.

But even his fiercest encounters are nothing compared to the pain the heavyweight put himself through during two decades of drug abuse.

Others too were hurt as the man who put Bermuda on the Olympic map with his bronze medal in Montreal in 1976 went on a desperate crime spree which saw him serve time at Casemates.

But now Mr. Hill is off the canvas and up on his feet, fighting the good fight after finally beating a drug scourge which nearly killed him.

He admits it has been a long time coming.

The turning point? He had simply had enough.

"You get tired of that same lifestyle of having nowhere to live, living from pillar to post and trying to scrape enough money to get something to eat or eating at the Salvation Army.

"I had nothing positive happening in my life but remembered where I came from and the person I was before I got involved. I was living out in abandoned cars or out in the rain. You can imagine sleeping on a bench with a nice warm blanket and then it rains, you get wet, then you get sick.

"I deserved better, I think anybody deserves better out there doing drugs."

It was a far cry from his heyday, enjoying the adoration of huge crowds at BAA gym for Saturday night fights where the quick southpaw would beat all-comers. And then came the Olympic glory as he made Bermuda the least populous nation ever to win an Olympic medal when he took bronze.

"When I stopped boxing I got involved in hard drugs," said Hill in an exclusive interview with The Royal Gazette in the offices of Focus Counselling Services.

He links his descent from local hero into the netherworld of drugs and crime to a combination of depression and peer pressure.

The depression hit after he was barred from returning to the States to pursue a professional boxing career because of a marijuana possession charge.

"I was married and living in Virginia."

The immigration bar, which came after two occasions when the authorities had let him through, ended his career and wrecked his marriage.

"The marijuana wasn't mine, I was the man of the house and took the rap for it."

Ironically it was that drug he then turned to.

Everyone around him was doing it so Mr. Hill followed suit out of curiosity.

"I wanted to be in with the in crowd."

Then he wanted to be in with those taking crack and the trap was sprung.

"I was beyond help, it became an everyday occurrence.

"Anything I could get my hands on, I would use it. I was a walking medicine cabinet."

Pills, crack cocaine, alcohol, cannabis and heroin were all on the menu with only his personal foibles stopping him from the Russian roulette intravenous drug use which took so many lives during the 1980s.

"I was scared of needles so I snorted it.

"Only through the grace of God am I lucky enough to be alive, many of my friends have gone on."

Street life was brutal. "A lot of people don't want to see you doing good. If they are suffering, they want you to suffer along with them.

"They would rather give you drugs before they gave you something to eat."

But when it became all too much, Mr. Hill came in from the cold and sought help with Focus about four years ago but the results were far from immediate.

He said: "I tried treatment and numerous courses and I always went back out because I wasn't ready. I used to come here to Focus high."

Focus executive director Sandy Butterfield chipped in: "He was looking to make sure we were here when he was ready."

Mr. Hill continued: "I tried counselling services three times. The third time I got it and it's been a year and four months since I got clean."

The pair enjoy a joshing relationship borne of a shared struggle with the gruff gentle giant striking a complete contrast with the diminutive Ms Butterfield for whom he has much to be thankful while he also credits Christianity as helping him lead a better life.

For him Focus' philosophy of patience paid off. "It's humane.

"You cannot kick people out at the exact time they need help or the next thing you will read is the obituary saying they killed themselves."

At 52 Mr. Hill's life is finally on the up. He now works removing asbestos although a good work ethic has been a constant even during the bleak times.

"Now it is more stable, I can think better."

He stays in one of Focus' supportive residencies where he can meditate and fellow recovering addicts can keep an eye on him.

Now the simple things please him - having a job and a roof over his head, having a bank account, being able to pay his bills.

Full of praise for Focus he now wants to help others who had fallen into the same trap and believes Bermuda needs more help in dealing with its own drug problem.

Despite his disappointments Mr. Hill doesn't dwell on where he might be now but for some poor choices decades ago.

"I would be further along than where I am now. But I know where I would like to have been - heavyweight champion of the world."