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It was 9 a.m. on a brisk Tuesday morning in Old Town. I made my semiregular stop at the mom-and-pop store one block from my home. Instead of approaching the cash register empty-handed like usual, I was armed with two packages of Trident White gum.
Being a regular customer at this store is usually a perk. I was often greeted with a “Hi Rick” or a “Heading into work?” from the personable staff.
As I set my purchases onto the counter, the clerk instinctively reached to the rack over her head and retrieves what she knew was is my regular purchase: one pack of Camel Ultra Lights. Was this some sort of sick joke?
Let’s back up a little bit.
It was Tusday – the day I picked to go smoke free for 24 hours, so that I could document my experience in honor of the Great American Smokeout.
I was initially approached via e-mail by the Bangor Region Partners for Heath to take part in the experiment and write about it after the 24-hour smokeout.
Strangely enough, they identified me through a column I previously published, defending the rights of smokers.
There was no getting around it; they already knew I smoked. I could have declined to take part in the experiment, but I am not the type to shy away from a new challenge or dare.
And oh, this was a dare.
More than nine hours before I was assaulted with a pack of smokes at my neighborhood quick stop, the challenge had begun.
It was approaching midnight on Monday evening, and I was heavily engrossed in a drinking competition with several U.S. marines and a slew of co-workers at a local bar. Not the best night to quit smoking, I realize in hindsight.
But the time had come to put out the burning end of my midnight cigarette and 24 hours of no smoking has begun. Operation “clean air” had commenced.
My roommate, Sarah, had become the keeper of the five remaining cigarettes in my pack – to be handed over at midnight on Tuesday.
Perk No. 1 quickly emerged from this experiment. I didn’t have to designate pockets in my jeans for my pack of smokes and my cell phone. My phone now had free reign in whichever pocket I choose to place it.
Baby steps, people.
I arrived at home about one hour deep into the experiment and began the bedtime preparation. The ashtray on my desk stared me down as I replied to e-mails one last time.
I moved into the bathroom and picked up my toothbrush. This was about the time I pause and wondered if I was really ready for bed, or if I was going to want another cigarette before I brush my teeth. It was becoming apparent how much cigarettes dictate the day-to-day in my life.
Laying in bed gave me time to reflect on the day ahead of me. It was hard to remember the last time I had tried to go a day without smoking.
I began, like many I’m sure, as a social smoker. I smoked when I drank in crowds with other smokers. Innocent enough, I thought, until I began to progress. I’d start smoking in the afternoon if I knew I was going to drink later that day. Then it snowballed into justifying smoking if I had been drinking the night before. Soon enough I was cracking a beer just so I could have a smoke. I was creating more problems than I was solving. I had to admit that I was a smoker.
Sleep was a welcomed relief from the nicotine cravings. Waking up was a whole new ball game, as I confronted the smoking rituals I perform daily.
The preshower cigarette turned into a trek downstairs to brew coffee and scrounge for something to satisfy my oral fixation. Alas, my cupboards were bare and I was sticking to coffee.
I contemplated ransacking Sarah’s room to find my confiscated cigarettes.
I emptied the rest of my coffee pot into my travel mug and headed off towards campus.
This brought me up to my encounter at the convenience store around the corner and to being stared in the face with temptation. It was truly a test of my will, and at 9 a.m. no less.
“Not today,” I said with a forced smile.
Driving to campus was another one of those times when I realized how much of what I was doing determines whether or not I’m smoking.
Lighting up a cigarette after I get on the road is usually as natural an action as putting the keys in the ignition or releasing the parking break.
Spending the day on campus was a little more difficult than one might imagine when you’re trying to kick a habit like this. I didn’t have the welcomed relief of lighting up between classes or after meals.
I found that most of the times I was craving a cigarette I would spend smoking if this were any other day.
The worst was the walk between Barrows Hall and the East Annex, where a group of smokers can always be found congregating. Today I resented the freedom they were enjoying but secretly taking pleasure in the fact that I was not the one getting dirty looks for polluting the air. I was a nonsmoker in disguise today.
My phone rang later in the day, and it was my friend Evan, wanting to know how my day was going without cigarettes. Although he is a nonsmoker himself, his call was out of genuine concern. It did little more than to remind me I had forgotten I had about 13 hours to go before I could light up again. Thanks Ev guy.
Eating did something to curb the cravings but still left me yearning for that postmeal smoke. A nap between classes provided about an hour of pure relief from the desire to smoke.
The rest of my day was pretty much the same cycle of cravings during my normal schedule.
My roommate, ever considerate, tells me she had been thinking about me and asks how the nosmoking trial was going – cigarette in hand. I groaned and muttered something not worth repeating and proceeded to my room to start some homework.
Again, my ashtray stared me down from across the room. It looked gross, and I could smell it as soon as I opened my door.
I moved my ashtray out of sight and began to work on my studies when I was suddenly very tired again, despite my afternoon nap. I wondered if cigarettes were really that powerful of a stimulant.
Rather than break from my streak of not smoking less than seven hours away from my goal, I went down for another nap.
The rest of the evening consisted of finishing my homework, a task I was used to being able to smoke during, then dinner at the local restaurant and bar I work at.
Dining with friends and co-workers who smoke was not an easy task. Although we are not permitted smoke inside the establishment, they never hesitated to ask me if I’d join them outside for a cigarette before remembering I still had more than an hour to go before I was allowed to light up.
Midnight came and went during a game of billiards with a co-worker. It was 12:15 a.m. before he reminded me that I was now able to smoke.
And I did. Smoke, that is.
Although my quitting lasted little more than 24 hours, it was encouraging.
I am a regular and an unapologetic smoker, but apparently immune to occasional bouts of sheer willpower. If I can quit for a day, who’s to say I can’t quit for longer than that?
While this little experiment may not have convinced me to quit for good, one day of abstaining from smoking is an experience to behold. For a day, I lost the stigma attached with being a smoker and saved myself $3.55 – the cost of a pack of smokes. Not a bad start.
It’s no coincidence that today is the Great American Smokeout. I encourage all smokers out there to give it up, at least for a day. If for nothing else, to prove to yourself that you can do it. I had my doubts about my ability to kick the habit, even for a day but now have renewed hopes for someday becoming smoke-free.
