Greetings Foolish friends,

Sixteen years ago today I decided I'd spent enough time enslaved by Nick O'Tine and set about becoming a non-smoker. I'd been smoking since I was 17, when in a phase of insanity, stupidity, and youthful certainty of immortality, I set about teaching myself to smoke. I remember standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, sucking the noxious, red-hot air into my lungs, coughing and choking, my eyes watering. But I persisted. What was THAT about?

I learned how to smoke, came to enjoy it, even want and desperately need the simultaneous stimulation and relaxation it provided. I smoked after meals, sometimes even during. I smoked at the office. I smoked in the car. I smoked while watching TV, while working at my computer, while talking on the phone. First thing in the morning, I'd light up, and last thing at night was a pre-slumber cig. Sometimes I'd even have a smoke while taking a bath. I burned holes in my clothes and furniture, stained my hands and teeth, and told myself it was not such a bad thing to do, in fact it was good. What was THAT about?

After 10 years, I decided to quit. Well, that's not really accurate. The phone rang one day, and it was someone offering me the opportunity to participate in Smoke Stoppers at a very attractive price. And I thought, hey, why not? Sure, I'll give quitting a try. I went through the program, did the aversion processes prescribed, learned the horrors of smoking, and its action on human physiology. After two weeks, I was actively not smoking, and letting everyone know about it. I had a quit buddy from the program, and we talked on the phone several times a week, supporting each other in the challenge to stay smoke-free.

Pretty soon, a year had passed, and I was home free. Or so I deluded myself. About this time, I changed jobs, going from a highly supportive environment in which almost no one smoked, to a small, high-stress company struggling to survive where almost everyone did. There was a constant blue cloud in the office air. I lasted about a week before the fateful words came out of my mouth. "Can I bum one of those?"

That was all it took. Within a week, I was back to buying my own and smoking about a pack a day. After working so hard to become smoke-free, it was as if the events of the previous year had never occurred. I'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to smoke, and dove back into the habit and friendship with old Nick without remorse, or even a second thought. "What was THAT about?" I now ask myself.

It would be another 10 years before I was ready to try again. This time I make a conscious and deliberate choice to quit. I was taking an aerobics class three times a week, and I'd smoke on my way to the class, and light up as soon as I got into my car to go home. One humid day as I walked out the door of the gym, I suddenly became aware of the scent of burned tobacco on my hair and skin, and it smelled awful. It wasn't that day that I quit, but I continued to be conscious of the fact that when I'd shower, put on cologne, I'd then undo it by perfuming myself with tobacco fumes. What was THAT about?

It wasn't long before I saw my doctor and requested a prescription for Nicorette, which was not yet available OTC. This time I elected to tell no one. It was a matter between me and myself, and I didn't feel the need to advertise it.

The gum became my best buddy, my crutch, and I chewed and chewed and chewed. It wasn't easy, but I was determined. Whenever the urge to light up hit, I'd pop in a piece of gum and chew away, and I kept as busy as possible. My house was sparkling clean, my yard well groomed. Yes, I gained a little weight, but I accepted that as part of the price I had to pay to quit. And after years of physically abusing my lungs, what were a few pounds?

My first priority was freeing myself of the smoking habit, which I believe is much harder to break than the actual addiction to nicotine. It had become so ingrained in my everyday activities that I had to relearn how to run my life without a burning stick in my hand. So I chewed, and chewed, and chewed, and gradually not smoking began to feel normal, rather than enforced. It took probably 18 months before I was ready to wean myself off the gum, but that didn't matter to me. What mattered was not smoking.

About this time, I met RealNGG, and 2-1/2 years later we tied the knot. I felt great. I had a wonderful man in my life, had whittled off most of the weight I'd gained, and was proud to be celebrate my wedding as a non-smoker.

It's now been 16 years since I bid farewell to my "good friend" Nick, and I really don't miss him a bit. I lost a cousin and a close friend to lung cancer during that time, and their deaths reinforced my decision to remain smober for the rest of my life. At this point, I rarely even think about smoking, and when I do, it's usually because I've just walked by someone who reeks of stale smoke, and I think how thankful I am not to smell like that anymore!

So on this smobrieversary, I send my best wishes and hopes for success to all who are working on becoming smoke-free. Please don't give up! You CAN do it. Just keep at it, and if you trip and fall, get back up, brush yourself off, and try again. It's tough, but it does get easier and better. You'll ultimately find it was worth the fight, and your life may literally depend on it.

Regards,

Cori
happily 16 years, 8 hours, 54 minutes and 56 seconds without smoking 175,331(!) cigarettes and saving $26,299.67. Time I hope to have added to my time on earth: 1 year, 34 weeks, 6 days, 18 hours, 55 minutes.