22 Days Left to Smoke Like a Champ

So far I’m doing pretty good at smoking like a champ. It’s really a natural ability. A talent, some would say.

So part of prepping to the road to quitting smoking is telling your friends. So far I’ve been met with quite a bit of doubt. I’m not surprised as this is probably the fifth or sixth time that I have attempted quitting. However, my super supportive friend Karen is on the band-wagon and has decided to sign me up for a 5K in April. I can’t believe I actually agreed to this. Six years ago or so I agreed to do one of these runs, but only because I was told that walking was perfectly acceptable. Sure, it was acceptable, but nobody did it. I came in second to last, being beat by a woman three times my age. My mom took pictures, it was definitely one of my proudest moments.

I mean seriously, in the realm of humiliating myself — there are several other (much easier) means for me to do so.

I really am one of the most naturally un-athletic individuals I know. Even before I was a smoker I have been challenged in this regard. In grade school I was ALWAYS last picked for team sports. Even when my very own sister was the team captain. I’m slow, I huff and puff and my face turns the color of fully ripe tomato. In middle school, I played on the C-Team league of my exceptionally large school’s volley ball team. There was an A-Team and a B-Team. I’ll give you one guess which one’s tournaments strictly involved attempted serving the ball over the net. It was a real nail biter, let me tell you.

Needless to say I agreed to do this 5K with Karen. I’m mortified. I hope between now and April 10th she’ll get preggers. Yeah, that’s how scared I am. I am actually spitefully wishing babies on people. I should probably go buy some decent running shoes. I should probably also go say a prayer for my soul. My only tennis shoes are the remnants of my work shoes from when I worked at a little Mexican restaurant six years ago. Seriously, I think they smell like burritos. I should probably buy some new kicks before I meet with trainer Matt on Tuesday. He might smell like broccoli, but those shoes…

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