Typing, Cold-Turkey and Cycling.

On the 14th of May I stopped smoking.
I'd been meaning to get around to it (again) and during my medical I was asked by the very nice nurse if I'd like help quitting.
It's an odd word is quitting.
I'm not sure I know what it means.
What I wanted to do was STOP smoking.
I agreed to pay a visit to the Smoking Cessation Clinic for a chat.
I waited a couple of weeks then made an appointment.

Whist chatting, or at  least confirming several already well documented facts about my name, age and general health, I was asked what types of 'NRT' I'd considered using in my attempt to quit.
I did't know what 'NRT' meant. (Nicotine Replacement Therapy.)
I didn't see the point and was, sort of, annoyed by all this semantic nonsense, acronyms and beating around the bush.
I told the the nurse I intended to stop smoking by stopping smoking.
She seemed quite put out (no pun intended) and I gave her my best smart-arse grin.

I had done a little bit of research and found that smokers who'd stopped smoking completely, foregoing any reduction treatments, had statistically better chances of succeeding than those who chose to stick patches to themselves, chew nicotine gum, use nicotine inhalators  or (Heaven forfend) suck on electric cigarettes.
The nurse told me the danger points were 3 days, 3 weeks and 3 months so I made future appointments around those times and off I went.

The difficulty I've found during the initial stage of stopping smoking is finding something to do with my hands.
I can't play the ukulele all the time because Linda would murder me within the first couple of hours so I decided on typing as something that would keep both my hands and brain occupied while my addiction waned.
This plan killed several birds with one stone.
It certainly did keep my hands occupied, I had something to put on my blog everyday, five obscure publications have been added to the electric-inter-web-hive-mind and my touch-typing is back to a reasonable speed and accuracy.

I only went back to the clinic once.
The nurse seemed completely disinterested in my progress and I think my smug grin really got on her nerves.

My success has had a consequence: weight-gain.
My waist measurement went from 36" to around 40" which means I've had to buy new jeans and a pair of regular trousers.
My t-shirts have all become 'snug' fitting which is kind of unpleasant for the casual observer to behold.
That's why I had to get back on my bicycle and do serious cycling (or "bike wanking" as Mr. Key describes it) rather than the "hello birds, hello trees, hello sky" type riding I've been doing of late.

My green bicycle is still set up as a single speed (not fixed) and I've been doing some medium 30-40 mile rides along the coast round about.
Today was going to be much the same and I headed off toward Chichester with a plan to weave around the quiet local roads for a couple of hours or three when I found myself at the bottom of the hill leading up through the Goodwood estate, past the race-course and on to the Trundle.
It's quite a steep hill, no, it's a very steep hill.
I rode up it and, although my breathing was heavy, I had it under control and I recovered very quickly once the effort had stopped which suggests my core-fittness is pretty good (for a man of my age).
WIN!

I've got a plan.
There's one cycle ride I've always wanted to do: the End to End or Land's End to John o'Groats.
So, around this time next year I think I'll have a go at it.
Not for charity, not to impress anyone, just for me.