The love affair started in a bathroom stall of a bowling alley sometime shortly before my 13th birthday. This almost definitely made me a cooler version of myself. The obsession lasted six years and by the time I was 19, I was devouring 20 cigarettes a day and had the energy of a particularly lethargic peach. Incidentally, I also somewhat resembled a peach; being rather rotund and fleshy myself, yet still remaining one of the more palatable of the stoned fruit options. Then, five years ago, I finally said goodbye to my one true allies. I did it. I quit smoking.
The day I quit smoking was also the day that I was going on my annual dad visitation trip to California. We'd had the mandatory 'quit smoking party' the night before, during which I had proceeded to smoke copious cigarettes and consume way more liquor than could ever be advisable. I arrived at the airport nicotine starved and hung over, located my gate and trundled over, rather impressed by my rather world savvy self. Too hung over to read, I sat at the gate and counted the minutes, seconds, mili-seconds since I'd last wrapped my lips around a perfectly formed cancer stick. I remembered the good times we'd had. How, even when I had all four wisdom teeth removed and my mouth was raw and swollen, they were there for me. When I was bored, tired, sad, happy, hungry, full, waiting for someone, on the phone, drinking coffee, reading, they were always there. Consumed by thoughts of a love gone by, I joined the queue of people waiting patiently for the plane. About ten minutes in I began to think to myself, 'I'm sure I'm not flying BA, I'm sure I'm flying Virgin.' A few more minutes passed as passengers began to board BA flight 509 to LAX. 'I'm really sure my ticket says Virgin.' Last call. 'Shit. I am completely and without a doubt flying Virgin. This isn't a bloody bus system.' I NEED MY FRIENDS!! Phew. After all that: a missed plane, a tearful conversation with my ever more patient boyfriend and a seat on a much later flight, I still hadn't smoked. And I didn't. Ever again. For two full years.
During the two years after I said bye bye to ciggieciggieboombooms, I lost three and a half stone (49lbs), became a bit of an exercise nut and climbed 13,000 feet to the roof of North Africa (Mount Toubkal). I delighted in such phrases as, "Oh, these stairs are nothing. I climbed to the top of the Atlas mountains you know." Yet for the sake of dramatic irony (and because this is actually what happened), I huffed and bloody puffed like the rest of them.
After the great march up yonder, I moved to Prague to be with my previously mentioned, patient boyfriend . We broke up shortly after, giving me the perfect excuse to consume copious amounts of alcohol, stop exercising and experiment with 'social smoking' (a genius concept which allows for all of the joys of smoking without any of the guilt).There’s a certain kind of satisfaction gained from this level of self-consumption (the 'other' being, in reality, a tangible reflection of our own desires and expectations); like we owe it to our inner void to feel something and yet are desperately trying to escape that very same thing. What followed was three amazing, difficult, heart breaking, enlightening, enriching years spent living in The Czech Republic and China. During this time I got progressively more lazy and gained 20lbs. I felt that a week of no booze was a genuine achievement, worth talking about down the pub, yet I certainly learned a thing or two about the me behind the slightly flabby edges.
After several false starts, I am now rumpaaachumping happily down the wooded path, on my way back to being a healthy 24 year old. I have packed in the cigarettes (this time for good and it really wasn't hard at all, once the decision was made), taken a two month break from alcohol and lost 10lbs. I am reading a book about the connection between running and zenness (hate away, I will simply transcend your negative energy) and I have decided to give the whole thing a try.
This blog is the manifestation of my serious attempt to actually be the person I have always wished to be (and secretly envied). I am determined to go running at 6am five times a week, despite the intense Shanghai heat, and am excited for what I am sure to learn along the way. For me this is more than just losing weight and getting in shape. This is a final taaaraa to the lazy, depressed girl who was ever fearful of the impending cross country race.
The only rule is this: Never walk (I stole that rule from Haruki Murakami, but I doubt he'd mind).
Good for you Soph. I've kicked alcohol due to the legal restrictions placed upon me by my current abode, and carried on smoking. But going to the gym 5 times a week means I don't feel that guilty about carrying on, especially with some of the aforementioned turbulent times I've had here. But remember it only takes one drag and you're hooked again so stay away from smoke, smokers and anything smoke related (barbeques, fires, tobacco farms etc)
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