Swimming Away a Pandemic Funk

I don’t know about you but this pandemic has really put a dent in my mojo. It’s totally understandable, of course, since our constant companion is a specter of fear that, at least for me, seems to be whispering in my ear a medley of, “Have you washed your hands recently?”  “When was the last time you gave that TV remote a Clorox wipe down?” and “Are you sure that sore throat is just from allergies?”

Then there’s the fact that any outing beyond the boundaries of our homes requires surgical gear. So, for sure, it’s a given that most of us would be feeling more than a tad out of sorts.

 Now add in that a majority of us haven’t worn real clothing in months and that there could be another crisis brewing because I think half of America may have forgotten how a button works.

Currently, I feel like I’m riding shotgun on “Hot Mess Self-Esteem Express” with stops in “Pandemic Pounds,” “Anxiety Avenue” and “Will My Kids Ever Leave My House?”

To be honest recently I felt myself going into a funk. A funk so deep not even the healing properties of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies could shake.

This meant desperate measures were called for. I was going to give myself a kick in the butt. No more stretchy pants 24/7, no more messy buns which is a woman’s way of saying, “I didn’t brush my hair today and I probably won’t tomorrow” and most importantly I was going to have hit the pool.

Now when I say “hitting the pool” I mean swimming laps. The beauty of swimming is that it’s quiet. When your head is submerged the jibber-jabber of the world is silenced. For me it gives my brain a break. I can’t listen to a podcast about how the world is going to end or check my phone for the latest coronavirus clusters.

After a couple of days of swimming laps, I started to feel better. I also had two outings where my pants had a zipper and buttons and I not only brushed my hair but used my volumizing hair dryer. All of this activity was making me a little spunky.

I took that spunkiness to the pool. I upgraded my goggles from a Dollar Store reject circa 2013 and invested in a fancy swim mask made for “triathletes.” Not that I was or will ever be a triathlete but I did enjoy repeatedly asking family members, “Have you seen my triathlete goggles?”

When I was swimming I felt invincible. One day, I was so certain of my prowess I was positive that I was totally lapping the much younger man with mirrored goggles and aquatic webbed gloves swimming in the lane next to me.

I decided to really put some real distance between us and started busting out the flip turns. I tucked my body into a ball, water gushing up my nose causing some sort of chlorine induced brain freeze and propelled myself off the pool wall with a force so intense I feared my swim skirt would fall off.

Funk be gone I thought because I was back – big time. I, who qualified for an AARP membership, was lapping Swim Gloves. The glory was immense and short lived.

When I stopped swimming, I noticed what I thought was Swim Gloves one lap was actually two. Yes, he was swimming two laps to my one.

Whatever. I’m sure it was due to those fancy aquatic gloves because I know, just know, that without those gloves I would have been winning.