If you’ve been reading for a while, you may know that I like to swim.

Of course, starting a graduate degree, working ¾ time and moving to a foreign country kind of put that all on hold for a while.

After a summer of really bizarrely warm weather in the UK, full of shorts and skirts and flowy clothes in general, I finally put on a pair of jeans the other day and… I was not pleased with how tight they were.

And this is how I wound up trudging down the giant hill I live on top of, towards the pool in the center of town, with my hair looking a hot mess and corralled by a headband, which surely makes it presentable (it doesn’t), in weird loose, nearly pajama pants (because of the grossness of locker room, which we will revist in more detail below), and a socks and sneakers combo that totally didn’t go with those pants.

It was pretty actively unsexy.

I got to the pool, which is fairly gross. I mean, I think most swimmers will admit most public pools are pretty gross but this one sort of takes the cake for me. It is the grossest place I’ve ever swam but the next nearest pool is very far away.

The locker rooms are literally just a large changing room. The toilets, along with any sinks, are on the other side of the pool. The only showers are the public rinse off showers next to the actual pool.

The first weekend I swam was a weekend and the lap pool is next to a large wave pool with slides for kids. The place was hopping. I really thought I must’ve just missed where the showers to like… shower properly after swimming in a disgusting local pool were. But I did not. There are none. Unsexy, ya’ll.

On the first weekday I went, it was just me and like six old ladies (yay grad school free time schedules) and they pretty much just went for in public. So… okay.

The next day, as I soaped up a thirty or forty something year old dude just stared at me and I thought… nope. Nope. All the nopes. Wrong kind of sexy.

All of that very long and rambly story to share that I am still weirdly sticky when I get changed in the locker room, which smells of cheese and vomit – this is not so surprising considering the number of children that use it, but still… unsexy. And when I tried to put on jeans one day, I nearly couldn’t get them on between the new and improved summer chubbiness and the tacky, chlorinated skin I have after a swim.

So I wear my flowy pants now. When I actually dress up properly, the flowy pants are kind of cute.

When I go to the gym, I don’t look like that.

But getting back to the weight I want to be at, or, even more important, sleeping better and better mental health. Sexy.

What most people see, and comment on, are the sexy bits, right? None of the pile of unsexy that gets you there.

New car? Sexy. Cutting back at home on something you like to clear up some extra money to pay for that car (maybe even to save up enough to pay cash when you need the car)? Unsexy.

Chasing and landing your dream job? Sexy. Side hustling every which way from Sunday to make ends meet along the way? Unsexy.

A new degree? Sexy. The hours spent in the library to get there? Unsexy. No one wants to hear about that part.

So if you’re currently embedded in the very unsexy part of the process (or even better, the very unsexy part of several processes at once), I feel you friend.

You don’t need me to tell you it will be worth it in the end, but we both know it will be. Good luck with your unsexy trudge!

And if anyone else wants to share their particularly unsexy fashion faux paus they’ve managed while trying to achieve their goals, feel free to share below. 🙂