Monday, December 18, 2006

Waterlogged

I inherited many wonderful things from my parents. From my mother, I inherited a strong, independent will, a clear mind with the ability to perceive things as they are without too much emotion getting into the way, and a grateful mind and heart to acknowledge and appreciate the good things in life. From my father, I inherited a reserved, yet amiable personality, one in which attracts the admiration and trust of those with whom I come in contact, a subtle sense of humor that makes people laugh without working too hard at doing so, and a stoic sense of respect and responsibility for the important things in life. Yes, I am a better person because of the things I inherited from my parents.


And then there's something I really could have done without inheriting:

My father's sweat glands.

I have always been a prolific sweater. Not just the little-beads-of-sweat-forming-on-my-brow kind of sweater, but the rolling-streams-of-sweat-running-down-my-body kind of sweater. It's as thoroughly gross as it sounds. I remember being very apprehensive about going to crowded dance clubs when I was younger because I knew within 15 minutes I'd be sweating like a fountain. And it has become no better with age.

This morning, I ran six miles on the treadmill, including some fast-paced interval sprints. Granted, it was a really hard workout, but by the time I was finished, I was soaked head to toe. Not only could I literally wring the sweat out of my sports bra and shorts, but I actually felt sweat rolling down my legs into my shoes.

This is so not feminine.




Fortunately, I was at home with nobody to point and scream, "look at the Geyser Lady!", but I'm not always that privileged. When I go to the gym, I purposely wear black clothes to hide the flooding, but there's nothing much that can be done to hide my hair that resembles a janitor's mop by the time I'm finished.

Obviously, it's something I've learned to deal with, given the fact I'm still out there-- running and sweating-- almost every day of the week. Still, if there were a magic pill to curb my sphitzing, I'd pop them like vitamins.

So, if you see me coming, I beg of you... refrain from screaming and hand me a towel.

2 comments:

Laurel said...

Haha, I think my husband also inherited your father's sweat glands. He is soaked 30 seconds in to any run.
I have just had to come to terms with having to wash the 3-4 shirst he wears a day.

Angie said...

At least he can blame it on being a guy. I have no good excuse. :-)

Thanks for reading!