That's a pretty big number.
Then again, maybe it's not. Everything's relative. But to me, this is one helluva big number.
So what is it, you ask? Well, 25,564 is an estimate, though a pretty darned good one, of the number of cigarettes I have not smoked in the past decade.
Over 25,000 cigarettes. 1,022 packs. And I couldn't even bring myself to do the math as to how much money I would have spent on those packs had I kept going.
Ten years ago today, on June 1, 2005, I quit smoking for the last time.
And I haven't had even a single drag since.
I started smoking when I was 15. In high school, if you can believe it. I'd sneak a cigarette here and there just over the magical yellow line marking what was and was not high school property. I'd go out in my kilt and cardigan (Catholic school, uniform, etc), whip out a pack of Avanti Light (my brand of choice), spark one up, and revel in my rebellion.
Seeing as I was 15 it should have been hard to get cigarettes, right? But if I think back on it (which is increasingly hard to do considering how long ago it was) if memory serves it was no challenge at all. Even three years under the legal minimum age, I'd saunter in, order up, pay my money, and be out the door, no questions asked.
Smoking was something I somehow hid from my parents for a good number of years. I made it a point to only smoke at school or in my car, which I was fortunate enough to get once I turned 16, and never at home. Too risky. My mother, who watched her parents smoke like chimneys her entire life and had the asthma to go with it was vehemently anti smoking and wouldn't allow anyone, Dad (who smoked himself off and on for years), guest or otherwise, to smoke in the home. And the thought of being caught by her one day was more than enough to keep any packs I had hidden away. Very hidden.
She did find out of course, years later, in the most random of ways. One summer in university I was driving on to campus (she and I both worked there) as she was leaving and she passed me in her car. I was smoking in mine. She saw me. I didn't see her go by, so needless to say the 'I'm very disappointed in you' speech I received when I got home that night came completely out of left field. Yet as much as it sucked in the moment, in a strange way I was glad it was out in the open and I didn't have to hide my dirty little secret any longer.
Not that I smoked around her often anyway, even after it became public knowledge. Her disdain for the habit given her family history made me reticent to do it in front of her. Just felt wrong. But, sadly, never 'wrong enough to get me to quit.
Like many others I'd tried giving it up on a number of occasions. I'd make it a few days, sometimes even weeks, then I'd fall off the wagon and be back on the butts.
Now let the record show that I was never a very heavy smoker. The number I've used to estimate the smokes I haven't smoked is based on a seven cigarette a day habit. Most days I was closer to five, but then there were those weekends where I'd go out to a bar with friends and, well, since you could still smoke in bars back on those days, the more I'd drink, the more I'd smoke, so that accounts for the increase in my estimated my daily average. To this day my urge for a cigarette is highest if I happen to be having a rye and coke, my drink of choice back in my freewheeling 20s. And 30s. But that's another post.
But even at five cigarettes a day, I was well and truly addicted.
So what finally made me quit, you ask?
Was it working at a cancer hospital? Nope. Though that alone should have been a fantastic reason to quit.
Was it because I finally decided that it was the right thing to do? Nuh uh.
Was it because my boyfriend (now husband) told me that he didn't want to bury me 20 years before my time, so if I wanted our relationship to progress I'd need to quit smoking? Ding ding ding.
That's how it all came to pass. I quit smoking for love. Once I realized I loved him more than cigarettes, the decision was made. The smokes had to go.
Was it hard? Hell yes. I'd decided that June 1 was my quit date (I like round numbers) and even then I rationalized that as long as I quit on June 1, I could still have a few smokes during the first half of June 1. So smoked my face off that day, almost to the point where I felt sick, and that was that.
I found a few key things really helped me through my first month. For anyone thinking about quitting, here are a few of my secrets to success:
I realize that not all of these methods can work for everyone but I put them out there just in case because together with much support from those who cared about me, these six strategies made it possible for me to quit for good.
So here I am, ten years later. I now have half the risk of dying from lung cancer as a smoker. And while I'm happy to see that number reduced by 50%, there's still a not insignificant part of me that wonders about the extent of the damage I caused myself during the 17 years that I did smoke. Four short years ago I watched lung cancer violently claim my mother in law, a long time smoker, in an exceedingly short period of time. And from a very selfish perspective it scared me. Huge. Why do we choose this horrible habit? And how do we so willingly do this to ourselves?
They say it's as hard or even harder to quit smoking than it is to kick heroin. While I can't personally weigh in on that particular battle I will say that kicking cigarettes was damned hard, and I wasn't even a pack a day smoker. Quitting sucks, plain and simple. The habit, the routine, that first drag and the sweet relief that comes with it, the social aspects, the delightful combination of first smoke of the day with the first coffee, the break from your desk in the middle of a workday...all are hard to give up.
But what you get back - your sense of smell and taste, not reeking like an ashtray at all times, money, your health - is so far beyond measure, it's not pales in comparison.
People who've met me over the past few years find it almost impossible to believe that I once smoked, especially since I run now and generally live a much healthier lifestyle than I used to. And I'm okay with that. Delighted, in fact, for smoking to be but a part of my history and to have no place in my present.
If you're a smoker reading this and you're thinking about quitting, I wish you all the best moving forward. It's getting harder and harder to smoke anywhere these days, which I can only hope has actually made quitting somewhat less painful since it's not as easy to just go have a smoke as it was when I quit a decade ago.
Do it, you really won't regret it. I'm living proof that it can be done. Find your reason, whatever it might be, and quit, once and for all. I know it's much easier said than done, but there are eleventy billion different resources at your disposal now so take advantage of them. Seek out options and put a plan into motion. I promise you won't regret it. Maybe not for the first few weeks - hell, I regretted it every second of those first couple days! - but it does come.
Today I celebrate 10 years smoke free. And while I will admit that there are still days that, completely out of the blue, I crave a cigarette, all I have to do is look at my husband of almost nine years to know that every single day of these 10 years has bought me infinitely more time with him...and the craving goes away.
I take a deep breath, exhale clean air from my healthier lungs, and I smile.
Every time.
Then again, maybe it's not. Everything's relative. But to me, this is one helluva big number.
So what is it, you ask? Well, 25,564 is an estimate, though a pretty darned good one, of the number of cigarettes I have not smoked in the past decade.
Over 25,000 cigarettes. 1,022 packs. And I couldn't even bring myself to do the math as to how much money I would have spent on those packs had I kept going.
Ten years ago today, on June 1, 2005, I quit smoking for the last time.
And I haven't had even a single drag since.
I started smoking when I was 15. In high school, if you can believe it. I'd sneak a cigarette here and there just over the magical yellow line marking what was and was not high school property. I'd go out in my kilt and cardigan (Catholic school, uniform, etc), whip out a pack of Avanti Light (my brand of choice), spark one up, and revel in my rebellion.
Seeing as I was 15 it should have been hard to get cigarettes, right? But if I think back on it (which is increasingly hard to do considering how long ago it was) if memory serves it was no challenge at all. Even three years under the legal minimum age, I'd saunter in, order up, pay my money, and be out the door, no questions asked.
Smoking was something I somehow hid from my parents for a good number of years. I made it a point to only smoke at school or in my car, which I was fortunate enough to get once I turned 16, and never at home. Too risky. My mother, who watched her parents smoke like chimneys her entire life and had the asthma to go with it was vehemently anti smoking and wouldn't allow anyone, Dad (who smoked himself off and on for years), guest or otherwise, to smoke in the home. And the thought of being caught by her one day was more than enough to keep any packs I had hidden away. Very hidden.
She did find out of course, years later, in the most random of ways. One summer in university I was driving on to campus (she and I both worked there) as she was leaving and she passed me in her car. I was smoking in mine. She saw me. I didn't see her go by, so needless to say the 'I'm very disappointed in you' speech I received when I got home that night came completely out of left field. Yet as much as it sucked in the moment, in a strange way I was glad it was out in the open and I didn't have to hide my dirty little secret any longer.
Not that I smoked around her often anyway, even after it became public knowledge. Her disdain for the habit given her family history made me reticent to do it in front of her. Just felt wrong. But, sadly, never 'wrong enough to get me to quit.
Like many others I'd tried giving it up on a number of occasions. I'd make it a few days, sometimes even weeks, then I'd fall off the wagon and be back on the butts.
Now let the record show that I was never a very heavy smoker. The number I've used to estimate the smokes I haven't smoked is based on a seven cigarette a day habit. Most days I was closer to five, but then there were those weekends where I'd go out to a bar with friends and, well, since you could still smoke in bars back on those days, the more I'd drink, the more I'd smoke, so that accounts for the increase in my estimated my daily average. To this day my urge for a cigarette is highest if I happen to be having a rye and coke, my drink of choice back in my freewheeling 20s. And 30s. But that's another post.
But even at five cigarettes a day, I was well and truly addicted.
So what finally made me quit, you ask?
Was it working at a cancer hospital? Nope. Though that alone should have been a fantastic reason to quit.
Was it because I finally decided that it was the right thing to do? Nuh uh.
Was it because my boyfriend (now husband) told me that he didn't want to bury me 20 years before my time, so if I wanted our relationship to progress I'd need to quit smoking? Ding ding ding.
That's how it all came to pass. I quit smoking for love. Once I realized I loved him more than cigarettes, the decision was made. The smokes had to go.
Was it hard? Hell yes. I'd decided that June 1 was my quit date (I like round numbers) and even then I rationalized that as long as I quit on June 1, I could still have a few smokes during the first half of June 1. So smoked my face off that day, almost to the point where I felt sick, and that was that.
I found a few key things really helped me through my first month. For anyone thinking about quitting, here are a few of my secrets to success:
- I didn't finish the pack of cigarettes I was smoking that day. Instead, I put the remainder of the pack in my freezer and left them there. I knew that my anxiety around smoking was always at its peak when I had only one smoke left in the pack or was completely out. That feeling was like nothing else - the fretting about when you'd be at a store next to get a fresh pack and the subsequent relief once said pack had been procured. So since I didn't want to add that to my mental battle I left a few smokes out of sight but not out of mind so that it was always a conscious choice. I had them so I could smoke them, but I chose not to. Semantics, sure, but it worked. There they stayed for two and a half years until we bought our first house and moved out. I figured by that point my smoking days were indeed behind me so I didn't need to take them to the new place. In the garbage went my security blanket and I was fine.
- I used the patch for the first week as extra backup. Not necessarily because I believed I needed the nicotine but because I saw it as a kind of insurance policy. I instinctively knew how dangerous it would be to smoke WHILE on the patch, so that knowledge alone helped me get through some of the most severe cravings. By week two I realized that the patch was twice as expensive as cigarettes were, given the volume I had once smoked, so I decided to give up the patch, too, and forged ahead on my own.
- I tried to focus on the money I was saving by not smoking. I'd generally buy a pack every three to four days, so twice a week I'd put half the cost of a pack of ciggies aside and save it up. As I'd hit non-smoking time milestones (a week, a month, etc) I'd use that bit of cash to buy myself something frivolous as a reward for my perseverance. I didn't feel the need to put the whole amount aside since I was trying to cut back on my spending by quitting smoking in the first place, but I also knew that what I was doing was a big deal and that those milestones, while potentially trivial to others, were exceedingly important to celebrate so I'd keep going.
- I stayed away from rye and coke for the first month. As mentioned before, the association was so strong that I simply couldn't. Didn't give up coffee, though - that would have been a catastrophe.
- I told everyone I knew, friends and family alike, that I was quitting. And I asked them to call me on it if the saw me slip up. The more people that knew and that I'd have to 'answer to', the less likely I'd be to fail.
- I found a text version of the image below (fancy pics like these didn't exist a decade ago), printed it and kept it in my wallet. It was a lifeline to me, and helped me take pride in how far I'd come. And since I didn't want to have to go back to square one, it also talked me off a proverbial ledge more than a few times.
I realize that not all of these methods can work for everyone but I put them out there just in case because together with much support from those who cared about me, these six strategies made it possible for me to quit for good.
So here I am, ten years later. I now have half the risk of dying from lung cancer as a smoker. And while I'm happy to see that number reduced by 50%, there's still a not insignificant part of me that wonders about the extent of the damage I caused myself during the 17 years that I did smoke. Four short years ago I watched lung cancer violently claim my mother in law, a long time smoker, in an exceedingly short period of time. And from a very selfish perspective it scared me. Huge. Why do we choose this horrible habit? And how do we so willingly do this to ourselves?
They say it's as hard or even harder to quit smoking than it is to kick heroin. While I can't personally weigh in on that particular battle I will say that kicking cigarettes was damned hard, and I wasn't even a pack a day smoker. Quitting sucks, plain and simple. The habit, the routine, that first drag and the sweet relief that comes with it, the social aspects, the delightful combination of first smoke of the day with the first coffee, the break from your desk in the middle of a workday...all are hard to give up.
But what you get back - your sense of smell and taste, not reeking like an ashtray at all times, money, your health - is so far beyond measure, it's not pales in comparison.
People who've met me over the past few years find it almost impossible to believe that I once smoked, especially since I run now and generally live a much healthier lifestyle than I used to. And I'm okay with that. Delighted, in fact, for smoking to be but a part of my history and to have no place in my present.
If you're a smoker reading this and you're thinking about quitting, I wish you all the best moving forward. It's getting harder and harder to smoke anywhere these days, which I can only hope has actually made quitting somewhat less painful since it's not as easy to just go have a smoke as it was when I quit a decade ago.
Do it, you really won't regret it. I'm living proof that it can be done. Find your reason, whatever it might be, and quit, once and for all. I know it's much easier said than done, but there are eleventy billion different resources at your disposal now so take advantage of them. Seek out options and put a plan into motion. I promise you won't regret it. Maybe not for the first few weeks - hell, I regretted it every second of those first couple days! - but it does come.
Today I celebrate 10 years smoke free. And while I will admit that there are still days that, completely out of the blue, I crave a cigarette, all I have to do is look at my husband of almost nine years to know that every single day of these 10 years has bought me infinitely more time with him...and the craving goes away.
I take a deep breath, exhale clean air from my healthier lungs, and I smile.
Every time.
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Congratulations on a wonderful milestone!
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