After a 40-minute run I am drenched in sweat; one look at me and you’d think that I just walked out of a swimming pool, albeit clothed in workout gear instead of a swimsuit. Run next to me and you could float out into the Atlantic Ocean on the rising tide of my sweat. I can wring my socks out after a run; not that I do, for obvious sanitary reasons. The only woman I know who sweats more than me is my girlfriend Maria; we used to kick box next to each other. One firm shake of her head during a workout and I was drenched in sweat. Her sweat. I loved working out next to Maria; no matter how much I sweat, she sweat more. God bless her.
I haven’t always sweat this profusely. Oh sure, I sweat when I ran in high school, but it was the perspiring kind of sweat. You know, tiny little beads of water dotted my hairline. But now? I sweat prodigiously (love that word). The sweat starts in my scalp, drenches my hair, dribbles down my forehead and into my eyes, where it stings and burns. By the end of a run I look like I’ve been on a bender; my eyes are bloodshot from the stinging burning sweat. And I guess it doesn’t help that I always sort of stagger to a stop.
To combat the rising tide I once donned a traditional fuzzy sweatband, thinking I’d channel that ’80s cutie Olivia Newton-John. Instead I resembled that ’80s icon Richard Simmons; the only difference between us was that he wore his shiny red short shorts and I refuse to wear any color but black when I run. And my shorts are significantly longer than his. What happened to the fuzzy sweatband itself? It ended up around my neck; the weight of my sweat turned it into a necklace, a soggy one.
Another time I tried wearing a baseball cap, hoping its terry cloth lining would sufficiently sop the sweat. At the beginning of my run the sweat rolled off my brow and neatly into the hat’s liner, which was great. After about 20 minutes the hat’s liner had reached maximum moisture capacity and the hat itself took over the wicking action. Then it reached maximum moisture capacity and started to stretch. And stretch. By the end of my run the hat’s brim sat low on my nose. Not my best look.
Recently I tried wearing wristbands when I ran. Black ones. As I ran I sopped the sweat with a quick swipe of a terry-covered wrist across my forehead and face. Like Wonder Woman, my bracelets work well. Left, right, swipe. Left, right, swipe. They worked like a charm. For about 20 minutes. Until the sweat running down my arms joined the sweat I swiped off my brow and into those two wristbands. The wristbands reached maximum capacity, but I continued to sweat. By the end of my run I had two sponge-sized wristbands and two fistfuls of sweat.
I am fresh out of ideas. Do you, dear reader, have any suggestions about how I can sop my tsunami of sweat?