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If at first you don’t succeed…

I love smoking. There are few things more gratifying to me - both physically and mentally - than the smooth, soothing feeling of a good healthy drag. Menthol never really did it for me, but regular smoke? Oh, sweet lord - that’s just good stuff.

Unfortunately for my fascination with tobacco, I also love cilia. I once read in some sort of science book that in order for humans to survive, we have to be able to breathe. That doesn’t bode well for those of us who love smoking. See, apparently smoking unleashes an all-out assault on our cilia, which portends bad news for our respiratory tracts. Who knew?

Anyways, I’ve tried and failed to quit at least a dozen times in the fifteen years since I started smoking. Never made it more than three months without lightin’ up again, and that time was only due to a bet amongst friends. I normally last only a few weeks before I fall off the wagon. Seductive little suckers, those cigarettes. Always figured I’ve got time to heal before any real damage is done to my body.

But by last Christmas, I’d noticed a significant increase in the severity of my smoker’s cough. After reading up on what exactly I’d been doing to those aforementioned cilia for the last fifteen years, I’ll be honest - I got a little creeped out. I decided it was time to stop killing myself. My New Year’s resolution was to make 2008 the year I get back in shape.

The first phase involved purging my body of the poisons provided generously by the good folks at Philip Morris, while the second phase involved tackling the inevitable weight gain that would surely follow. A couple days ago, I mentioned the weight loss milestone I just reached, but it’s the following accomplishment of which I am the most proud.

On December 31, 2007 at 11:47 PM, I took the last drag of my beloved Marlboros. That was exactly six months ago today. I haven’t smoked in half a year, y’all. That’s the first time I’ve been able to say that since I was seventeen years old. No patches, no nicotine gum, no chew - just six months of will power, baby.

Take that, Big Tobacco.