My smoking habit isn’t something I talk about much. It’s kind of embarrassing because, yes, I know how bad it is for me and, yes, I know it stinks. I know it causes several varients of cancer, tooth decay, heart disease, and stroke. I’ve had various resources over the years to help me quit. It’s only been recently that I’ve managed to stop with any success, and it’s only because I got sick enough to start coughing up blood, but I’m rolling with it and supplimenting it with the resources I've had before.
Even though both my parents smoked when I was growing up I didn’t think about how the act of smoking and the smell of cigarettes was almost omnipresent throughout my childhood. However, when I was 15 I tried a few puffs off a cigar some friends had pilfered. That evolved to bumming cigarettes at parties and finishing half-smoked butts from my dad’s ashtrays, sneaking out in the middle of the night to burn them by Main Street when my hometown was asleep. By the time I was old enough I started buying my own packs, so I started smoking more. By the time I graduated high school and started going to college I smoked with fair regularity.
I mostly stuck with Marlboro and Camel in my late teens and early 20s, chain smoking while I studied or using them as an excuse to step away from parties. Graveyard shifts were spent smoking to pass the time. Long drives in my Jeep were easier with the rush of wind from the open window and thin, gray ribbons of smoke escaping. Nothing was more luxurious than a glass of red wine and a smoke. Mornings I’d wake up early to watch the sunrise over a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Nights I’d smoke before bed. It was in everything I did.
After awhile it was just something like a nervous twitch. An American Spirit cigarette hanging out of my mouth was a much a part of my personal identity as the way I speak and hold myself, so I didn’t think too seriously about stopping. The price for a pack grew and the number of people who smoked in my social circles shrank, but deep down I felt that didn’t matter; it’s who I am. Even as I grew more health-conscious all I did was switch to lights and cut down somewhat. Friends and family insisted I quit, and though I wanted to withdrawal symptoms and even the prospect of them alone held me back.
Then I recently caught the flu. I’d had colds and the flu before, and I just switched over to menthols thinking the menthol would help my throat and the smoke would dry out the mucus in my nose and throat, despite none of that actually working or making much sense. This time, however, I didn’t feel like smoking. The body aches, chills, and incessent coughing made the prospect of standing outside in the cold and wind less appealing than staying in a warm bed. Withdrawal symptoms intermingled with general illness, and I couldn’t tell what felt more miserable. A few days and a bunch of Tamiflu later I was feeling a lot better. It dawned on me that it was long enough for all the nicotine in me to have cleared itself out of my body, and that I’d done something I’d been meaning to do for years totally on a fluke.
The last few years I've stopped smoking at work so guests wouldn't have to be offended by the smell. I stopped smoking in my car so I can keep the interior nice. When I have a race to run I don't smoke the night before so I can breathe easier. I decided to only smoke after work during the week and after dark on the weekends. After setting personal restrictions, not smoking for a couple weeks, and getting over the withdrawal hump, it's occurred to me that there's no reason for me to smoke at all. It doesn't really do anything for me except take $12 out of my pocket whenever I need a pack and answer a call of a need I don't actually have. It's a way to waste several minutes and spend some time outside, sure, but I don't feel like doing I need it as an excuse anymore; I'm an adult, I can go outside if I want with or without an excuse.
As stupid as it sounds, the closer I get to 30 the more I think about improving myself. I was a regular smoker for nearly my entire 20s, and a heavy smoker for part of them. Nearly my entire life was spent around people who smoked, and half of it was spent smoking. I wasn't even going to acknowledge my quitting publicly, but I feel like euligizing about it can put that part of me to rest. I know if I keep it up I can spend at least the rest of this year in better shape than I've ever been. I'll continue to hold myself accountable, ignore the little urges, and with any luck my nicotine habit will be a thing of the past.
Thanks to coughing up blood for getting me healthier than ever.
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