A quest to make sense of it all. Or a sense to make a quest of it all.

Tuesday, September 06, 2011


As I approach two 5ks and begin training in earnest for my first half-marathon (13.1 miles), it's become more and more obvious that I really need to quit smoking. I've tried many, many times, and each time I've made it three or four days and then found myself charging, crazed and zombielike, into a gas station and demanding Marlboro Menthol Lights (in a box, please). Then it all starts again and I find myself smoking on the porch, staring at the lit end of the nasty thing in my hand, and wondering why the hell I'm doing this to myself.

Enough. It doesn't matter if I'm "ready" to quit. It doesn't matter if I still sometimes really enjoy it. It's just time. I've done this too long. It makes no sense to buy expensive moisturizer to keep my skin pretty if I'm inhaling something that's just going to make me age faster. It makes no sense to complete a long run and feel awesome, and then light up a cigarette on the way home and feel not-awesome. It makes no sense to wrinkle my nose as smokers walk by, and be offended at the smell, and then do the very thing that creates that funk.

Oh, and I do plan on living into old age and having my own family, so it's not really fair to cheat that family-to-be out of a healthy wife/mom just because....what? I'm weak? Pffft. I'm the stubbornest person you know. So I'm gonna turn that bulldog-like relentlessness on quitting this icky and dangerous habit. So there.

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