Eight Weeks and Counting

So, never thought I'd get here, but I did, somehow. 8 weeks yesterday since my last cigarette and I'm still alive (and haven't killed anyone either). All the places where I thought I might slip up (travelling for work, Vegas, home alone, the pub) have been done, and the little demons in my head that continually whisper "smoke, smoke, smoke" have quietened down a little bit.

Chantix definitely helped, but I got off that last weekend (a month early apparently) - if you're thinking of quitting, I'd definitely try it - made it a lot more possible for me (not saying it made it easy). It did also make me feel like puking pretty much every day though, along with providing me some of the more spectacular dreams I've had ever, hence the getting off it early. But, worth it.

Last time I quit (ages and ages ago), I managed to put on 20 lbs which never quite went away, so I've been determined not to have that happen this time. This has resulted in me hitting the gym about 5 times a week or so (3 or 4 with a trainer) - I think the workouts have managed to help with the sanity side of things as well. So, despite eating more than I maybe ever have in my life (Chipolte cravings start around 9am these days, and the fish tacos at Baja Fresh are a new favorite), I've stayed pretty much at the same weight. Next step is to try and cut down on the eating like a nose tackle so I can get back to my fighting weight - one goal is to try and get skinny enough that I can beat my brothers racing karts when I next go back home.