Never Let Them See You Sweat ...

There are many excuses I can conjure up to avoid exercising.  It's too early. It's too late.  I'm too tired.  It's too cold out.  It's too hot out.  I'm too busy.  I'm too old.  I'm too fat ...

Yes, there are many excuses that I can conjure up to avoid exercising ... but none of them hold as much merit as my dirty little secret ... I sweat excessively.  No, I don't have hyperhidrosis, the medical condition in which one sweats excessively when it isn't appropriate for the circumstances.  Nor do I have a thyroid problem or diabetes.  Each of which I have insisted my family doctor screen me for.  Nope ... I just sweat ... a lot ... when doing any form of physical activity ... or when the sun is shining just a little too brightly. 

Once upon a time when the peeps were in their heyday, the Sergeant would gather her troops together and lead them on a three-mile hike every morning.  Rain or Shine.  Sleet or Snow.  Hurricane or Earthquake.  Nothing would stop the Sergeant from taking her morning walk.  As an enlisted member of the Sergeant's Army, I would dutifully show up for basic training.  Since Podunk, PA is in the middle of the snowbelt, our winter weather actually overtakes a good portion of our fall and spring as well ... and showing up for basic training dressed in down jackets, scarves, hats and gloves was imperative.  For everyone.  Except me. 

On any given day, passerby could drive down Main Street, Podunk, PA and see three women braving the below freezing temperatures, trudging through the wind and snow all bundled up in their winter best ... and one chunky blonde girl bringing up the rear ... sporting nothing but a long-sleeved T-shirt and yoga pants, looking flushed and drenched in sweat.  Frozen sweat particles stuck to the end of her nose, ears and every place in between. 

I never so much as caught a cold while walking in the middle of a blizzard half naked.  The only incident on record was the day I was wearing a sports bra that zipped up the front and the zipper busted in the middle of our route.  As the Sergeant is a stern mistress ... there was no time to deal with wardrobe malfunctions ... so I continued on my way with my high beams blazing through my thin T-shirt for all of Podunk, PA to see. 

I will never be that girl at the gym with the perfect flowing hair and glowing complexion ... no, I'm the one with the beet red face with hair that looks like I've been caught in the middle of a cyclone ... in the pouring rain ... wiping the sweat away with a beach towel.  Yep ... a beach towel.  That's what I carry to the local YMCA for a workout.  Not a cute little golf-sized towel like I see other members carrying around.  A beach towel.  And wiping down a machine after use?  Well, that's a cardio workout all on its own. 

One time I went to the YMCA for a 20-minute lunchtime ab-only workout that they cleverly referred to as the "Lunch Crunch."  My personal trainer at the time led the group and I specifically asked him if I would sweat profusely if I participated in this lunchtime ritual as he was privy to the buckets of sweat this one female could produce.  He said no.  He lied.  I showed up that day, changed out of my work clothes and into cute color coordinated gym clothes and was beach towel free.  Less than 10 minutes into the class, my mascara was running down my face, my hair was soaked, my clothes were drenched and I had to leave the class early in order to go home and take a quick shower before returning to work.  I obviously never went back. 

I have mentioned on several occasions my passion for dance.  If and when you see me out and I am currently or have recently been dancing ... by no means come up to me and hug me or touch me in any way shape or form.  If you do so ... it is at your own risk.  There is a reason that I hit the dance floor with a napkin or tissue in my hand ... it's to wipe the sweat away.  There is a reason that every dress I've worn to every wedding I've ever been to has to go the dry cleaners immediately the next morning ... it's because I sweat.  At my daughter's 16th birthday party the dance floor was located next to a lit fireplace.  Yes ... a fireplace ... next to the dance floor.  My worst nightmare.  While the dozens of teenagers danced for hours on end and never broke a sweat ... this mama was lured to the dance floor only once ... at the beckoning of Trey Songz ... and promptly left the dance floor when the song was over to hit the ladies room to run cool water over her wrists and place a cold wet paper towel on the back of her neck. 

On one vacation to Mexico my husband, children and I hiked through the fields to get to and explore the Mayan Ruins.  It was over 100 degrees out and shade was nowhere to be found.  My then 12-year old son caught me on video tape saying that this must be what Hell feels like and at one point looking directly into the camera and saying "the white people are melting out here."  A quote from one of my favorite romantic comedies Fools Rush In. 

It doesn't matter if I weigh 98 pounds or not 98 pounds.  I have always been this way.  There is no medical explanation for it ... well there is but it isn't that profound.  The medical reason I have been given by numerous physicians over my 40 years of living is this ... "Some people just sweat more than others."  Brilliant. 

It's embarrassing.  And inconvenient.  And gross.  It's not fun being the crazy girl at the dance party who's sweating like Whitney Huston on crack ... yes, I have used that reference before.  It's my favorite.  Because I've never seen anyone who sweats as much I do other than Whitney Huston ... and I don't do crack ... and I don't sweat that much when I'm just sitting still. 

The only place I can exercise that has proven to be a sweat-free zone is in the pool.  But I'm not a great swimmer ... I don't breathe properly and I only know one kick ... the flutter kick.  So one trip down the Olympic length pool whipping my head from side to side so my mouth doesn't touch the water while kicking vigorously is about all this fat 40-year old woman can handle.  My husband has tried to teach me proper swimming techniques ... but as with most things my husband tries to teach me to do ... I don't really listen and turn into a stubborn child.  Behavior I have been working on for about 18 years now but I'm not really making much progress in that department.  I just don't like it when he tells me to do something ... even when it's productive.  But that's a story for another day. 

So for now, my friends, until doctors find a cure for my excessive non-medically related sweating, I am limiting my time at the gym to the non-peak hours ... when the senior citizens are in the pool, the adults are at work and the children are at school.  Or you can find me in the pool ... using a kick board and/or a noodle.  Or in my living room ... doing some form of exercise video.  Armed with a water bottle and beach towel for each activity. 

My goal ... to workout a minimum of 30 minutes per day ... five days per week.  My real goal ... to never let you see me sweat.  Have a great week!

 © 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved