I wrote in my column last week that I intend to quit smoking on May 30th, my 55th birthday. That only leaves me six more days of smoking but who's counting?
As of now, I plan to go cold turkey: no gum or patches or hypnosis or acupuncture - just crying and tantrums. I'm not anal about aids though. (Wicked wits could have fun with that sentence but I'm not that kind of a guy.) If it turns out I'm having a horrible go of it, I'll try whatever I need to in order to stay away from my beloved pipes.
I received a lot of wonderful mail after that column, chockful of stories and tips and cautionary tales from readers who've been there and done that. They were inspiring and I'm very grateful to those folks for taking the time to tell of their experiences.
I'm pretty sure I won't turn into one of "those" reformed smokers; you know, the ones who cough ostentatiously when within 100 yards of someone puffing. They bug me. I plan on exercising more to burn off some of those extra calories I'll probably be ingesting in place of nicotine and to exorcise the heebie jeebies of withdrawal. I just want to feel healthier and look good in a Speedo again. Is that so wrong?
Anyway, I'll be whining about my progress here semi-regularly.
You've been warned.