It was more than five weeks ago I told myself I’d quit smoking. Four weeks ago, I told the campus I’d do it, too.

Uh … whoops.

Perhaps I was destined to be a smoker. My parents smoked throughout my childhood, and still do, and I spent a number of years harping and worrying about the slew of health hazards they were inflicting upon themselves, never knowing the battle they were fighting. Now, my older brother and I both smoke as well, and in the grand scheme of quitting, I’m fairly certain I’m the wheezing horse at the dead end of the race.

But this challenge was self-inflicted, not something I did for friends or family, and destiny has nothing to do with the plain truth that I just messed this one up.

Be it utter failure or a work in progress, I’ve resigned myself to being the dropout of the three of us that committed weeks of our lives to this experiment in self betterment.

One of the Student Wellness forms in my handbook was like a Cosmo quiz — one of those where you don’t know exactly what the answers and questions mean until you’re all done and calculating the score. I was supposed to find out why I wanted to quit, and, sadly, the reason that topped off the list was purely superficial — I’m worried about my image as a smoker.

The other reasons involved how I’m ruining my lungs, spending lots of money and setting a horrible example to impressionable little children who will see an older boy smoking, begin smoking themselves and ultimately lead a life of debauchery and sin all thanks to my irresponsibility. Valid reasons, rest assured … and yet I’m worried about my car seats getting a scent of smoke in my new sweater.

I know it’s disgusting and dangerous. So why haven’t I quit yet? First off, if you haven’t had that craving for nicotine that can only be fixed by stepping outside, lighting one up and being two wonderful puffs away from hazy bliss, bless you — but you’ll never understand what it is that brings people to breathe in tar and nicotine all in the hopes of getting a little buzz.

I can’t chalk it up to stress. I don’t know what it is that’s led me to smoke as much as I do now. To undertake an effort like this, your heart has to be in it. And right now, my heart’s definitely elsewhere.

While my mind wanders toward how many deadlines I have till my next cigarette break (and my hand wanders toward my pack of Marlboros), I do have to admit I could have tried harder. Months ago, it would have been easier to break the psychological and physical addictions, before I’d fully impressed upon my psyche and personality that I was not a kid who sometimes smoked, but an official smoker.

I launched into all of this without the adequate prep work, thinking I needn’t think about quitting until it was an official project. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t prepared to leave behind my cigarettes, and the more pressure I felt to quit, the tighter my grip on my Marlboros became. Instead of thinking of the benefits of quitting, I thought of my bad habit as some sacrificial camel only I could save from slaughter.

What does it mean to be a nonsmoker in progress? In my case, I hope it means this endeavor will continue once the final “Challenge” piece runs. But my “progress” could stretch on in the same sad way many smokers go about quitting: It may be a years long process that involves much mention of quitting, but no real end to the habit.

There is something in me now that tells me I am a smoker, that when I wander out of doors I will immediately grab for my a cigarette and lighter, because it is convenient, not because it is necessary.

Is quitting quitting the same as losing? In this case, it sure is. I’ve failed “A Daily Challenge,” going down in a blazing fire. But this is a springboard toward the next time I will take a stab at quitting. So it wasn’t a complete loss.

I wish I’d had better support throughout this, though it’s illogical to think that this effort was anything but a self-directed one. That is to say, the loss and fault is all mine. But amid the nicotine fits, headaches, stress and general chaos surrounding my life in the last few weeks, a voice of reason wouldn’t have fallen on deaf ears.

It is hard to know what better tools I could have had to quit. It’s irresponsible to say anyone else but me could have pushed me to win. The pressure of this project has driven me to smoking more, though there are a thousand other reasons — none fit for print —ÿthat I’ve fallen victim to the habit, to a degree more severe than when I began all of this, ironically.

For now, I admit I’ve quit quitting, admit I’m just a silly kid with a dangerous habit who’s content, for now, to fall into the ranks of those chained to tobacco. Soon, with any luck, I’ll see through all the smoke the importance of quitting. But no promises. Not this time around.