June…was a whirlwind. I took two separate weeklong trips, started marathon training, ran my first obstacle race, and weathered a scary medical emergency with one of my best friends. This past Thursday I returned home from Orlando, Florida where the Dennehy dancers had another successful North American Championships – and now I’m teaching myself to slow down. I’m rediscovering that blissful feeling of sinking into my couch while digging my bare feet into the downy softness of my favorite rug, and I’m recommitting to my writing.

Yesterday, according to experts, was the busiest online dating day of the year. One might imagine that January 1^st or February 14^th might hold that honor – but no, it’s July 8^th. Let me tell you, I participated fully in the swipe-fest that was July 8^th, 2018. You may be thinking, “Really, Kath? What happened?” Allow me to provide some context.

About two weeks ago, I went way down the rabbit hole, and re-downloaded Bumble. I’ve been happily conversing with men on Hinge for the 3 ½ months, so I thought “what’s the harm?” I had entirely deleted my account, and so I had to recreate it from scratch. It felt good – a real tabula rasa. I enjoyed choosing pictures, all of which had been taken in the last sixth months. It made me realize how much fun I’ve been having. I wrote a short bio, and I didn’t try to be witty or clever – just honest. The whole thing took me about ten minutes to complete and then I left town to go to California and then Florida shortly thereafter. Because the app matches you with people within a certain radius of your current location, I held off swiping while I was bouncing from coast to coast. I didn’t want to clutter my matches with geographically unavailable men.

Then I came home on Thursday, went into work on Friday, woke up early to run a 10 miler on Saturday morning (which my extensive traveling left me woefully unprepared for) and then I hit the town with friends on Saturday night. We got dinner, checked out a street fest, and then ended the night at Innjoy in Wicker Park. For those unacquainted, Innjoy is every young gen X-er/old millennial’s dream hotspot. There offer four dollar beers, dollar jello-shots, and a continuous stream of eighties and nineties dance hits seamlessly strung together by an expert DJ as their corresponding videos play on flat-screen televisions around the bar. There is always a line, you are always rubbing shoulder with strangers, and you are always screaming the lyrics to “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” “Hit Me Baby One More Time” or “Wannabe” at the top of your lungs. It’s a blast.

It was so much of a blast that I stayed until 2 am at which point I ordered an Uber, and proceeded to tell my Russian-speaking driver that I know Russian. Well, I know one Russian phrase. “Мне двадцать пять” which translates to “I am twenty-five.” I learned it – you guessed it – when I was twenty-five. We proceeded to talk about the World Cup and his dislike of American baseball before he dropped my well-served behind off at home and I poured myself into my bed. I woke up the next morning, eyes gritty, mouth dry, head feeling like it was simultaneously stuffed with cotton and whacked with a thousand tiny mallets. My state was entirely my fault.

I did the things you do when faced with a hangover. I drank some water, took some Advil, made a cup of coffee, and sat on my couch staring into space, battling an existential crisis. Gone was the girl who had whooped confidently the night before “I wanna feel the HEAT with SOMEBODY! With SOMEBODY who LOOOOVES me!” Now it was just me and my couch and a lack of a somebody. To stave off the Sunday scaries that were rapidly sucking me under, I did what all self-respecting adults would do – I took out my phone looking for answers. I opened Bumble. And I started swiping.

 I looked at the clock. “Just five minutes,” I told myself. Ten minutes later, I stopped. Glanced at the clock again. “Just a few more swipes,” I promised myself. At first, I was discerning – reading every profile completely, looking at all the pictures, really considering if I had any real interest in the person or who they projected themselves to be. As I got going though, that went out the window. First, I stopped looking at the bios, then I stopped looking through all the photos. My thumb was a trigger finger flicking left and right so rapidly I was startled when my forward momentum was halted by a match. I’m not sure how long I swiped, but it was far too long, and it made me feel worse – not better.

Finally, I made myself change locations so I would stop swiping. I put on a bikini and drove to 31^st Street beach in the hopes that the sun and sand would cure my ailments and distract me from my phone. It worked, for the most part. I drank a huge bottle of water, closed my eyes against the sun, and dug my toes into the sand. By the time I got home, I was feeling better and even carried on a few conversations with men I had matched with.

I realize that, if I am going to continue to use Bumble, I am going to need some serious ground rules for myself. My competitive personality coupled with the unlimited swiping on the app and the dopamine hit of matching with someone is quite simply a recipe for disaster for me. It’s why I quit in the first place. Yesterday, I felt for all the world like an addict who had fallen off the wagon.

On the plus side, today I woke up and went to a mentor training sessions at PAWS Chicago. I toured the facility, learned the ins and outs, and walked an adorable puppy named Solange who showered me with puppy kisses and, yes, a little puppy pee. I talked to some strangers and later went back to Lincoln Park to attend a fundraising workshop for the Chicago Marathon which, as many of you know, I’m running to raise money for PAWS. So yesterday was all about getting lost in my head and on my phone, and today was all about puppies and talking to strangers. You win some, you lose some.

Until next time…