As soon as it began, it was over. The Olympics have become the NOlympics and I have the Post-Olympic Blues in a major way. It was exhausting watching all those people exhaust themselves and now all I’m left with is a sore right thumb muscle (from all that fast-forwarding and rewinding) and very depleted tear ducts. Those Mom commercials hit me right in the feel goods.

I love the Olympics. I might even throw myself in the obsessed category. Watching those 80 lb. robo-humans hyperextend all of their appendages while tossing around bowling pins is the stuff my dreams are made of. You don’t have to run away to the circus, kiddies. You can just become a rhythmic gymnast.  Don’t even get me started on synchronized swimming. It is simultaneously the most terrifying and intriguing thing I have ever witnessed and I have falsely convinced myself that, in another life, I could have been the queen of it.

And I certainly will miss all those parent reaction shots. In general the idea of having children is a frightening one to me, but after seeing all of those parent reactions, I can’t wait to have a mini Olympian. The idea of sitting in a bleacher seat bobbing and weaving my way through my son’s pommel-horse routine tickles my ovaries. And I definitely want to be tearfully reunited with him live on The Today Show.

Speaking of Moms, I’m pretty sure my mom is glad there is a four year break before we have to have this conversation again:

Me: Why didn’t you put me in gymnastics when I was a newborn.

Mom: You were always really tall, I don’t think gymnastics would have been your sport.

Me: Well, we’ll never know now, will we? If you started me early enough, it could have stunted my growth!

Mom: We put you in swimming lessons, though.

Me: You want me to be on national television, winning a gold metal wearing a nose plug?

And even though it has only been a few days since the Spice Girls sent us packing and melted my heart, those days have been filled with the Post-Olympic Blues. I am, however, a fierce believer that happiness is a choice. Incase any of you are suffering from similar symptoms, I have compiled a list of strategies to help you cope with your P.O.B.

• Pass the time thinking about the fact that the U.S. leads the world in gold medals and obesity. I guess we just really like to win.
• Replay Michael Phelps’s last swim and pretend you are the sports caster. GOOOOOOLD! Screaming at the T.V. feel so good.
• Wear the same outfit as your best friend and walk around waving at people.
• Play your national anthem and sing while doing your ugly-cry face.
• Cut your hair like the Mayor of London.
• Do some damn sit-ups.
• Wear spandex in public.
• Stand on your couch and scrunch up your face in dissatisfaction.
• Carbo-load on some pasta.
• Film yourself thanking your Mom for supporting your childhood dreams.
• Go to a local walking trail and bring some sidewalk chalk. Pick a busy spot and, with your chalk, draw a big finish line right in the middle of the trail. Stand on the sidelines and as people walk or bike over the line, cheer for them. Act like is Mo Farah is crossin that line.
• Run around with your flag around you shoulders like a cape.
• Divert your obsession to Shark Week.