Confessions of a Quitting Smoker

2011 marks the 39th revolution of the planet around the sun while I remain conscious of this bewildering existence. I will thence have another year to go before I slide into the 40s.
The forties; I’m not even sure what happened to the thirties, and already I have to learn to write a new digit.
In those quiet moments of the morning when introspection is possible, I have been able to confirm that I remain as spirited, indomitable, adventurous, exciting and curious as I was when I was 18. So I figure that in order to avalanche through the forties, health is going to be an incredibly important attribute in my existential makeup.
My knees creak when I walk down the stairs. They ache when they stay bent for longer than 10 minutes. My left shoulder is recalcitrant on the good days, and frozen stiff exactly when I need it most. I have never played tennis before, nor used a bow and arrow. So how on Earth did I get a left tennis elbow and a right archer’s elbow?
It appears that I have fallen into a terrible trap. I believe the old saying goes something like, “you won’t know you miss it till after it’s gone”. My health; my vigour. I am losing it.
But I still love the great outdoors! I like to kayak. I like to run in the rain; skip rope. Let my whole shoulder drop off when I am paddling. Never mind, it’ll be worth it.
But in all my times doing what I love most, one annoying event keeps taking place that mars the experience. My lungs. Oh, my god-forsaken lungs. They burn!! Before my legs can fail me, before my paddling arms can paddle no more, my lungs raise the white flag first. I strain my diaphragms as hard as I can but I cannot steal enough oxygen from the air! I crave for oxygen and stretch my ribcage till it spasms uselessly. But I cannot get enough of the one commodity in life that is free! Oh, my lungs! My useless, tar-coated