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I started smoking in high school, and by 23, I was smoking a pack a day.
After college, I got a job teaching children's martial arts at my instructors gym. I taught ages 3 to 18 full time.
Now, these kids, man, they think you are the coolest fucking thing ever walk the earth, I'm not even kidding. I'd run into them every so often outside if the gym, and I became terrified they'd catch me smoking, and I'd have to explain why their idol was doing something so terrible.
So, I decided to wean myself off. I went down by one cigarette each week. Eventually, I was smoking only 3 a day. Then, I cut out the one in the morning with my coffee. Then the one on the way to work.
That last cigarette I smoked on the way home for that last week, I dream about it sometimes.
Anyway, someone had told me that when you stop smoking, the third day is the worst. But for me, it was the fifth day. I'll never forget how angry I was that day. But once I got through it, not smoking became a lot easier.
I just never went back. Those kids might have saved my life. Or at least my lungs. :)
Don't get me wrong, it was hard. I think part of the reason I never got back into it is I didn't want to have to go through quitting again.