That's Fit

In most cases, staying healthy requires that you do something. Work out, watch what you eat, etc. All said, it's clear that it's much easier to be unhealthy than it is to be healthy. But one of the few cases when not doing something is actually better for you is smoking cigarettes.

There have been numerous studies on the ill effects that smoking has on the human body. From your lungs to your skin, smoking will do a number on you. And, in some men, it can even cause erectile dysfunction.

Now, as for not doing something -- that is, not smoking -- the effects are almost immediate. Within 20 minutes of quitting, your heart rate and blood pressure will lower. After two weeks, your circulation will improve and your lungs become more functional. What do you say? Is it time to quit?

We are a decidedly interesting breed, joggers. Fat, thin, quick, cumbersome or quasi-Olympian we're heading out into our neighborhoods, parks and city streets hoping to mold a better version of ourselves through repeated physical masochism regular exercise.

I started jogging because I needed a fitness-inducing activity I could do whenever I had time (read: late at night), and by myself (read: away from potentially embarrassing public failure). I'm a busy guy with a family, a job, a job, and another job, who, nevertheless, doesn't want to be fat. So, even though the thought of becoming a jogger, was, for me, akin to George W. Bush joining a Michael Moore fan club, I bought some shoes, got a pair shorts with the undies sewn in (that "breathe," apparently), and hit the pavement.

What I've quickly discovered, is that while most of my body is still in pretty good shape (I'm in my early 20s, and was at one time very athletic), I'm perpetually held back by the part of me whose fitness I'd all but forgotten: my lungs. OK, so maybe I was smoker, and maybe it's been about three years since I last raised my heart-rate on purpose, but this searing pain that rips the breath straight from my chest is completely out of left field.

While my legs would gladly push on to infinity, my lungs scream like a neglected animal being mercilessly burned alive. For hours after I've quit, I feel like I can't quite beat that last little bit of tightness out of my chest, and I've generally worked up enough phlegm to be coughing and hacking for the better part of the following morning. (Apologies for that image.)