Last night, I attended an event that required a suit. One friend saw me and said, “Are you ok?” Another said, “Did you run here?”
I knew my brow was dripping faster than a coffee maker, and my head hair was matted down in a slick that looked like it had been greased with hair product. I flashed my foldable fan I snuck into my suit and flapped it at nose height. A third friend in the conversation circle grabbed the fan and aired me out it. “You’re working up more of a sweat if you have to fan yourself.”
We all laughed, but I quickly requested my cooling device back (only because I could only imagine how the image of me being fanned down like a pharaoh looked to outsiders).
It’s the same story I’ve had in the 24 years I’ve lived in Florida. I walk, I sweat. I talk, I sweat. I squeeze into a suit, trudge across campus, and get into a warm room full of people… and I faucet everywhere from my head to my [bleep].
For the first class I ever taught at UF, I walked in with a wet spot taking up the entire back of my shirt, and my typical state from March to November is, clinically speaking, melty. It doesn’t really bother me, but I do sometimes wonder what people conclude when I’m the only one who’s patting down my forehead with a sweat rag.
Do people think I’m nervous when I’m in front of class? (I’m not.) Do people think I’m uber- moist* because I’m built like an offensive lineman, minus the muscle? (Perhaps true.) Do people think I’m opposed to deodorant? (I’m not.) Or that I have a condition? (I don’t think so.)
The thing is, I love to sweat. There’s nothing like the feeling of dripping and huffing and working after a great workout. I just don’t love that my body thinks it’s working out as soon as it steps into these 3-5-2 steamy temps. Plus, it doesn’t help that I try to workout in the morning, so I carry my shower sweats right on into work.
When I complained about my dewy status, one of my work friends told me how they couldn’t sweat. Sweat, your body’s cooling mechanism, is a sign that my body was working, they said.
A profound point.
And it wasn’t just about the sweat per se. It was about something bigger — that things we see as weakness can be strengths; that I should stop caring about superficial appearances of something that’s natural and functional; that if one chooses to live in Florida, one maybe stops whining about a little salty solution oozing from one’s skin.
I may always drip, drop, dribble and drizzle. But from now on, I’m reclassifying this state of existence as being something that’s potentially embarrassing to something else: Perspiring will be inspiring
* also how I like my biscuits.
