I'm doing my part to flatten the curve, though it's not doing much for my abs.

Now that we've ensconced ourselves in our home, the last week has been filled with watching episodes of "Match Game '75" on the Game Show Network and "Classic Concentration" on Buzzr between Covid-19 updates, checking Facebook and Twitter every 10 seconds, and eating.

As a symbol of my boredom, I finally relented and started playing "Words with Friends." As of Sunday afternoon, I've lost 35 consecutive games to my wife. While I search my brain for a word that's worth 20 points, she counters with "T-I-L-T-H," which she hooks onto various other blocks to score 200.

I'm thinking of petitioning the WWF executive committee to institute a mercy rule or running clock like the ones used in high school baseball and football, respectively.

Maybe I should play a JV schedule for a year or two before trying to compete on the varsity level.

Like everywhere else, my local gym and swimming pool are closed. Normally I'd just jump on my bike or hit the Cape May Boardwalk - the Cape May Harbor is still about 15 degrees too cold for SUP - but I've got to restrict my physical activity for another week. Although my heart catheterzation last Monday went well - I passed with flying colors with no blockages or problems - I still have to wait for clearance from my cardiologist before resuming training for the 2020 Escape the Cape.

That's if there's a race this year.

The June 14 event, like everything else, is on hold while medical experts fight to control the pandemic that's thrown the entire world into chaos. For us, that means no Sunday breakfast at Uncle Bill's in Cape May, no Monday and Wednesday Trivia at Red Brick Ale House in North Cape May, no Saturday afternoon dip in the "Cool School Pool" at Cape May Elementary with grandsons Hampton and Graham.

To keep our sanity, Karen and I take what we refer to as our "Old People Drive" each day. It consists of a scenic, leisurely lap along the bay and ocean and features stops at Sunset Beach, the Cove and sometimes Poverty Beach. Upon hitting the beachfront, we automatically roll down the windows to get a whiff of the salt air.

Later in the afternoon, I go solo.

It's generally the same route, but I park at the Cove and take a stroll to beach patrol headquarters and back while trying to maintain that six-foot gap known as social distancing. I always touch the flagpole at the Cove at the end out of habit - no workout on the Boardwalk counts unless you touch the pole - but now I just kick it with my sneaker.

Saturday afternoon was different.

I gazed at the ocean and saw two teenaged surfers. Clad in thick, black wetsuits, they took turns dancing on the lips of three-foot waves, carving turns, occasionally laughing and yelling during their rides.

After a few minutes, another surfer joined them.

I ventured onto the jetty to take video and pictures of the session. Rays of sunlight snuck below the clouds and glistened on the water. The Cape May Point Lighthouse loomed in the distance.

I stood on the rocks for a half hour, overwhelmed. One after another, they paddled into waves and rode them to shore, jumping into the bone-chilling water at the end, retrieving their boards, then paddling back out to wait for another swell.

They didn't care about social distancing or self isolation.

And for 30 minutes, neither did I.