#escapetheeast

I can’t remember the exact day that I started to hate smoking.

Has it been that long? That’s a scary thought.

For years I’ve been an off and on smoker. Mostly on. The lapses in time that I’ve abstained from sucking in that poison have been brief. No more than 4 or 5 months at a time. This 8th year of smoking has been fueled purely by addiction to nicotine. Completely devoid of joy or fulfillment, I’ve become another pawn of Big Tobacco.

Nothing has been able to sufficiently scare me into giving it up for good. Not even the promise of lung cancer - a guaranteed future if I continue my addiction.

After my trip to California, I decided to embark on a new mission in life. I want to move out West. My desire to escape the East has taken priority in my life, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

(Sidenote: how awesome is the hashtag #escapetheeast for my journey?!)

My recent vacation recharged my batteries to get control of my finances, work to the best of my ability, and get my health back. I mean, I can’t go to California a flabby, fast food addicted mess. No. I decided that if I want to feel like I’m committed to being the best version of myself there are some things that must change.

Since I’ve started to pursue this new goal I’ve discovered that smoking has been upgraded in my life. A mere, dirty habit that I used to cope with stress and relax has become a physical barrier between me and my ability to reach a level of health and fitness I crave.

Running hasn’t been easy, but I found ways to fit my miles around my smoking schedule (wow, that looks even crazier in writing than it sounded in my head). I started a new fitness regimen called BBG Guides which has been absolutely amazing. I’m gaining muscle and strength and I feel like a rockstar every time I finish, but smoking has started to severely affect my capacity to do these high intensity work outs.

Two weeks ago I started pre-week 3 of my workouts in Houston and I found that I couldn’t finish. I was physically incapable of continuing. At that moment I knew that smoking had finally defeated me. I was crushed, emotionally and physically - mostly because my lungs felt like they were collapsing.

So naturally, I stopped working out, ordered some Tex-mex from my hotel and decided to quit smoking and pick things back up tomorrow. Oh yes, I’m one of the “I’ll change tomorrow” folks.

It’s been 2 weeks since I’ve gone for a run or attempted to work out at all. I’ve been so fearful that I won’t be able to continue that I defaulted to my old habit of quitting when stuff gets too real to deal with in life.

Misery ensued, obviously. I watched my body start to lose that muscle and toning I was so proud of and started smoking more to deal with my self-induced regression.

Then I thought about California. I thought about the Swedes. I looked at pictures of the women in my workout regimen community who were getting fitter, stronger, better, happier. I window shopped summer clothing and bikinis. And my very best friend surprised me with a free trip to Cancun which forced me to look in the mirror and ask myself if I really wanted to spend a week in Mexico buried in cover ups and loose clothing.

I decided to stop running from my fear and avoiding the struggle and to stop smoking completely. Life is already short, and I know that I can’t keep waiting for the perfect time to quit because it doesn’t exist. Smoking has started to control everything that I do from constantly covering up the smell at work, spending hundreds on cigarettes a year, paying higher insurance premiums, and limiting my physical abilities, to making me feel so shameful and disgusting about my dirty, not-so-well-kept secret that I go to bed disappointed every night.

Last night I bought a pack of cigarettes and a box of nicotine patches. I can’t remember the last time I spent $60 at a Rite-Aid. The way that I look at it, it cost me 5 boxes of cigarettes or 1 month of smoking to start feeling good about my health again. Well worth the cost.