Phlegm (24 of 90)

I’m three weeks into my actual attempt to quit smoking (as opposed to my Year of Health, first month waffling).

It’s a good feeling, most of the time. I’ve always had a motor that goes 100 miles per hour, but alcohol and cigarettes kept it running at a much more manage-able rate. (For all practical purposes here, alcohol did help me calm down. Until it didn’t. I’m speaking of the former in this piece.)

My body, though, has started the long process to clear out my lungs and that brings these fits of energy bursts, the ones that send me into an almost manic state unless I do something about them. For me, that means running. I’ve always loved running (well, always in terms of adulthood; I hated it as a kid), which is good because I’ll find myself smoking again if I just try to internalize all this energy.

I go a little bit bat-shit crazy, truth be told.

One of the things I’m learning in my sobriety (or in my middle ages or in my thirties) is how to manage my body. It’s a big science experiment, this piece of flesh-meat, and it’s interesting to tinker with it to see what happens. To see how I respond. To see what comes next. And I know that I do better when I’m running.

So it’s time. My lungs are clean enough to start.

The Year of Health (for me) has officially kicked off.

***

A few years back, one of my two mentors decided to quit smoking. (The other, as far as I can tell, would never touch the stuff). He’d been my smoking buddy at Berkeley, since we were one of a small handful of smokers there. We’d sit out in the courtyard for 10 minutes at a time, griping about something.

I sent him an email one day, asking him how it was going.

“It’s disgusting,” he wrote back. “My body is rejecting just about everything, all the time.”

***

The best advice I’ve ever received from someone in The Program was this: “You think when you quit drinking your life is going to get better. Mine didn’t. It got worse. Fast.”

As the mind clears up, the horrors of your past smash into  you at one time. Those first few days – first few months – of clear-headedness are rife with relapses because of that. It’s hard – and maybe impossible – to explain it to a normal human being but, rest assured, there is very little fun in those moments.

I bring this up because there is a parallel to smoking. You’d think your body would feel great once you quit smoking. After all, you’re removing a poison from your system. What’s so bad about that?

The obvious physical desire can be quelled with medication (I use Commit lozenge). It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s pretty good. I have few “bad” moments.

But the phlegm. That’s a bunch of no fun.

As the street cleaners get going in your lungs, there’s not many places they can get rid of the bad stuff. (In fact, I have no idea what the body does as it cleans the lungs.) There is one place, though: your throat and mouth.

It’s not so bad during the day. You cough and hack a bit. Do what needs to be done and spit The Junk out. Gross, but not wholly unexpected.

During the night is a whole different story. There’s no spitting, so The Junk gets all tangled up in your sinuses. For the first few hours of the day, you’re body is like a maple-syrup oozing mess.

It’s good times.

***

I bring this up now because this morning I had to deal with The Phlegm. Particularly the Maple Syrup Phlegm. And in the middle of the busiest street near my house as I ran towards my home.

There’s no need to go into the details, but it was hilarious – and disgusting. I imagine it looked as though an alien crawled out of my mouth.

Those are the moments I least want to quit smoking, the realities of what I’ve done to my body and what I’ll need to deal with as it attempts to fix itself. Not that I’ll run to the bodega to buy a pack. Simply the realization that it’s easier not to quit than it is to quit.

Fortunately, I have the lozenges right here and friends to help me along the way. Just no more Maple Syrup spitting.