I’m not a smoker. I love to smoke though. Well, sometimes anyway. So I guess that means I am a smoker.

Hmmm.

From the break up until last Sunday, my diet predominantly consisted of cigarettes, black tea and Weet-Bix. What can I say? I am a man of exquisite tastes. Now I know this goes against becoming a better person and trying for another chance, but when you’ve no appetite, you’re highly stressed, not sleeping much and somehow have enough energy to establish a small village, you don’t always make rational decisions regarding cigarettes and their uncanny ability to make you feel cooler than you actually are. Nor do you make rational decisions about putting all your Hawaiian shirts in a pile on the ground, hoping they’ll find their own wardrobe to sit in because you’re over their loudness and if they’re going to be loud they need to learn to take care of themselves.

Yes, I own Hawaiian shirts.
No, I do not see a problem with this.
Yes, I do not know what “fashion” is.

I smoked a lot over that brief period. There was one stage where I’m sure that there was so much smoke around me that if you dared to venture inside, you wouldn’t have found me and would have become lost yourself. Maybe you would have eventually found me. Maybe. You would’ve most likely found a hat with a note saying ‘on hiatus’.

By the Sunday just past, I had been sleeping on a pile of fold-out mattress, three roll out single mattresses and egg foam for a week (although the egg foam and one of the roll outs came a day after the mattress pile started). I still had hope and resolve to see my situation through and change, but I was also very bitter and angry. I was waiting to win a futon double bed/couch at the time; not because I hated the mattress pile, but because I really needed to get off the floor fast (I’ve also wanted to own a futon for a long time). The place I live in loves dust so much that it needs to be vacuumed frequently. I had borrowed the vacuum cleaner from Ewe’s house but as I was feeling fairly flat from preparing my ex’s stuff for her moving out, cleaning wasn’t on my mind much, aside from the kitchen, bathroom and backyard. So there was a lot of dust sitting on the carpet.

That combined with my experimental approach to being a healthy individual meant I was going to get sick fast. Had I become sick, I wouldn’t have been able to work and had I not worked I would not have been paid (I have no sick leave hours at the moment) and therefore no rent covered or food bought when I would eventually be hungry again.

Well, I won the futon after being outbid. I had to raise mine as I became so attached to the idea of owning this item that I refused to allow anyone else to win it. Luckily enough, no one else decided they wanted it more than me in the last 4 1/2 hours. But during that time I became quite paranoid and grieved a bit. To me, the futon had become a symbol of my ability to reach goals and if I didn’t win it, I would have failed before I could really take off. My whole being for those few hours revolved around the futon. I became the futon. As our existences aligned and our minds became one, I reached new levels of understanding I thought were previously unattainable. Everything was understood with clarity and the universe made sense.

Then I poured myself a pint of orange juice. But I digress.

So I won the futon and it was a massive relief. A lot of the anger and bitterness faded with the win and I was quite visibly stoked, unlike my usual responses of dull surprise to everything, despite how I’m actually feeling.

I had a few more smokes with Je that evening, somewhat as a celebratory thing, but my want to smoke was fading fast.

Come Monday after work, it was time to pick up my new, better place of rest. I don’t have a car but luckily enough Si was willing to help me pick it up.

We drove out to the place, picked it up and drove back home. Whilst this was happening, we had a very lengthy conversation about a variety of things I won’t go into detail about, but it was one of the best conversations I’ve ever had. It was a side of Si I never knew and although I already had respect for him, it increased more afterwards. It was a strong reminder that people have hidden depths and you shouldn’t expect to completely know someone.

That’s one of the exciting things about any form of relationship. Discovery.

When we got back, Ewe helped Si and I set up the futon. Thankfully, we didn’t have to do much and although we had trouble recalling some of the instructions we were told, the setup went as smooth as… a surface that is mostly smooth.

It was comfortable. Very comfortable. Still slept like crap though.

Come Tuesday, I went to uni in the morning (as I’m required to do) and found myself able to consume something other than my cereal without having to force myself. A bagel with cream cheese and a large cappuccino, to be specific. The cap was passable but the bagel was awesome. It didn’t matter too much though as I was more satisfied with the fact that I was eating something and not feeling like I was going to hurl.

After uni, I met up with Fe at my place and we finished up on the last two instrumental tracks of a demo we’ve been working on for a little over a year now. We also were able to whip up a quick track order to boot. Now we have to work on lyrics and the demo will be finished, ready to redo as proper tracks a little further down the road. It was a small victory for us, considering how much we’ve practiced some of the tracks and I’m quite satisfied with how it’s turning out. Still, we’re not going to rest on our laurels at this stage. There’s so much more for us to do.

When it reahed the evening, I went to join in on a Sydney harbour run. I had been invited by Drew (unfortunately he couldn’t make it) and one of his friends (Justo) was going, so I was fairly keen.

We met at Westfield at Pitt street mall and I broke the news to Justo. He was quite sad about it but he reminded me that I need to change for myself instead of others (to be fair, others had told me the same thing by this point).

Justo, myself and all the others then headed to Hyde park and warmed up a bit before starting. We then had the option to go with different groups at different speeds for two different courses.

The two courses were a 7km one and a 10km one. I can’t remember where the 7km one went. The 10km one went down to the ruins near Circular Quay, up onto the Cahill express way, across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, around the base, back across, through the Millers point and Barangaroo area, through Darling harbour, up to Pyrmont bridge and then back to Westfield.

I decided the 10km course was the sensible choice because I used to run a lot and although I hadn’t cycled for more than 30 minutes in a few weeks, I’d be fine. Besides, it was only 10km. Not that long. Easy done.

Well, apparently I have a really weird idea of what a reasonable thing to do is.

Up until the Sydney Harbour Bridge, everything was alright. I was a fair bit sweaty, but it had been a while since I did something close to this. The first half started to tire me out fast and my left foot started to weaken and hurt. I pushed on though.

Once we were going around the base of the bridge, I really began to suffer. Both my calves were beginning to hurt and my left shoulder was weakening as well. I started slowing a lot. Justo noticed my falling back so he waited for me to catch up before continuing.

Back on the bridge and my chest felt like there was a large cavity where my lungs should have been. I had briefly stopped running before getting on the bridge but by this stage I was having trouble getting back into a jog. My mind started going to dark places I was trying to fight off and even though I was telling myself I could do it, I was seriously doubting my ability to rise above my life’s current station.

I’d like to stop here for a moment to mention that whilst I’ve never been a strong person, I’ve always had more endurance than I probably should and my body has taken some physical abuse that should have at the least broken something but somehow I’ve managed to escape partially unscathed and aside from needing a few days recovery (and my foot, shlulder and knee), I end up fine. So whilst I am wholly aware I am not invincible and will eventually take a blow that will be very serious, my mind likes to see me completely determined to see something through when it comes to physical activity, despite how I am feeling.

I kept pushing on. Justo had waited for me again and started providing pointers. My chest and calves felt very much on fire but I kept pushing on. Eventually we got to the other side and we were able to have a quick breather whilst we waited for another to catch up. Then we kept going.

Eventually my chest stopped hurting as much but I was low on gas. I had to keep walking more often, but once I caught up with he rest of the group I left with, I was able to get back into a steady pace.

Once we reached Pyrmont bridge, I had to walk again. My chest was hurting again and my legs were hurting far too much. I was having a great deal of trouble keeping my left arm moving and I was ready to collapse. I didn’t want to go on any further. I was done. But my mind wouldn’t let me stop. Even though I felt stuffed and down on myself, my mind kept driving me and I picked up pace again.

Then traffic lights gave me enough time to breathe and I managed to muster enough energy to do the last 100-150 metres.

I made it.

Justo had raced ahead once we got to Darling Harbour and congratulated me on finishing, although I’m sure he was congratulating me on not having my calves explode in a fantastic manner. I felt wrecked, but I was also quite proud that I didn’t keel over and finished.

It tool roughly 48 minutes and 55 seconds at a pace of roughly a km every 4.88 minutes. I felt better after hearing that.

We got our stuff we left behind, did some cooldown stretches and headed off. I spoke to Justo a bit whilst we walked, then we parted ways.

The run was a real wake up call for me. The smoking and the mattress pile has so far been the lowest point of my life. I couldn’t continue on gradually spiraling down because it was damaging me far more than I was going to admit.

Sunday was my last smoke. I don’t want to smoke again. I’m done with it.

After saying bye to Justo, I walked the whole way home. All 2.4km. I’m stubborn like that.