“What’s the biggest pot you’ve won?” That’s usually the first question people ask when they find out I used to play poker for a living. And while it’s a great conversation starter, it’s actually not relevant or even interesting if you take poker seriously.
I played professionally from 2009 until 2014. What very few people know is that I went broke twice getting there, and how close I came to quitting before I had my “aha moment” and it all clicked.
The introduction to poker
Back in 2002, I was a bit lost. Playing Diablo II and StarCraft until sunrise at a friend’s place. Then one day, that friend invited a bunch of people for a poker night. I had no money, so I watched from the sidelines. Someone won almost 1,000 kr. It looked easy. I thought — how hard could it be?
A week later I borrowed 200 kr. to play. Lost it in under 30 minutes. Borrowed more. Lost that too. Walked home 800 kr. down, furious at myself for losing money in a game I didn’t even fully understand.
The next day I ordered a poker book. I promised myself I wouldn’t play again until I understood the fundamentals. A month later, I joined another game and won 500 kr. I remember walking home just wanting more of that feeling.
Going online — and going broke
After 6-8 months of winning regularly at live games, a friend told me he was making 30,000 kr. a month playing online. I loaded 2,000 kr. onto Ladbrokes and ran it up to 5,000 kr. the first night. Then over the following weeks, I won a bit, lost more, reloaded, lost again. Two months later I got a popup saying my reload had failed. No money left. Officially broke.
I spent the next few months studying poker seriously — advanced strategy, game theory, mental approach. When I deposited again, this time on 888 with the nickname “GrowAPairPlz,” I was ready.
I worked my way up to NL400, averaging about 20,000 kr. a month.
Going broke for the second time
Five days before a planned trip to Las Vegas with friends, I was playing a recreational player who sat down with $360. After three hours, he had my entire bankroll. $9,000. Gone.
This was the first time in my life I felt real anxiety. Not poker anxiety — adult life anxiety. A Vegas trip booked, no money to spend, no idea where the next paycheck was coming from.
I learned the hard way that poker is a game of emotional fitness as much as skill. When a visibly worse player gets lucky for hours, the temptation to chase losses turns a good player into a bad one. That’s the single biggest reason so many people get addicted to gambling.
The comeback
I borrowed money from a friend who staked me in exchange for 50% of winnings until I’d paid him back. We went to Vegas — it was fine, not the trip I’d dreamed of — and when we got back I started playing again.
In about 2-3 months I went from NL400 all the way up to NL2000 and had won about $150,000. I paid my friend back and didn’t look back.
Eventually I climbed to NL5000, where you sit with $5,000 and matches can end with someone losing $20-70K. This was the hardest level — some of the best players in the world play here. I was stuck for at least six months before things clicked.
Investing in myself
I hired a coach — one of the best heads-up players in the world at the time. Expensive per hour. The single best investment I ever made in my poker career. His level of game theory was beyond anything I’d encountered. I replayed our first session at least 30 times before I started to grasp it.
After 15-20 sessions, things just clicked. From then on, I rarely lost over any meaningful sample. I’ve only lost to four players over a decent number of hands in my career.
Shortly after, no one would play me on 888, so I had to keep adding new sites. That’s when the poker press started covering my results. I ended up playing against Isildur1, which ended well for me. And I won a heads-up tournament at EPT against Bryn Kenney and Daniel Colman — both of whom went on to become two of the biggest names in poker. Colman won $15 million at the WSOP a few years later.
When the passion left
By 2011 I had completely stopped studying. Poker had become a means to sustain a lifestyle rather than a challenge to master. I started going out 2-3 times a week, spending carelessly, surrounding myself with the wrong people.
I played more live tournaments to try to reignite the spark — $7-10K entry fees, flights, hotels — but it never really worked. The game had stopped teaching me anything.
Around this time I invested in a friend’s company and entered the next chapter. But the business ventures didn’t fill my pockets, and after two years without income I was in trouble again.
My dad listened to me complain over dinner for an hour, then said: “You know what you have to do, right? You’re one of the best poker players in Denmark. It’s a means to an end while you build something.”
I hated the idea at first. Then it made sense. I played live games at night, worked on business during the day, for about a year — until I had enough runway to stop and focus.
I love the experiences poker gave me. I’m proud of what I accomplished. But it completely messed up my relationship with money for a while. Making $100,000 a month in your 20s without breaking a sweat makes you think it’ll continue forever. It never does.
It’s also a lonely lifestyle. Living at night, only talking to other poker players, missing regular relationships and structure. Looking back, I’m very happy to have moved on.
Does that mean I’ll never play again? No. But professionally? That chapter is closed.
Oh — and the answer everyone actually wants: $47,800. Biggest pot I ever won.