I just got back from my walk, and I want to talk about sweating. Can I tell you how much I like sweating? Not ordinary, oh-my-gosh-it’s-such-a-humid-day sweating, the kind where you feel listless and grimy. Not that kind. I mean workout sweat, and post workout sweat. It makes me feel like such a badass, and you know I like working a little of that into my day.
My wicked-fast two and half mile walk is always a mood-booster, but isn’t nearly so satifying in the winter when I come home feeling… sticky. Feh. Sticky gives me no sense of accomplishment.
But on a morning like this one, when I start feeling sweat rolling down the length of my spine and catching in the waistband of my shorts at a mile and a half, when I make the final push on the last quarter mile and realize my tank top is soaked through with sweat on my belly…..I love that. I love that my body knows how to sweat, and that it’s so good at it. When you first start hard exercise this isn’t the case, and so the sweat running freely down my back reminds me that I’m in shape because my body has been doing this for a long time and knows what to do.
I love slowing my pace after two and a half miles, finishing any water I have in my bottle as I walk back to my house, and the feeling that washes over me that I’ve done right by myself. I’ll walk into the house, toss the bottle onto the counter, start chugging water, and then my favorite part: about three minutes after I gulp down a quart of water, every inch of my skin starts releasing all the fluids it held onto during the walk. If I sat down, I’d be sitting in a puddle, and I’ve learned to sit on a towel as rivulets of sweat pour off me.
When the deluge stops and my skin cools and dries, I feel strong and relaxed, competent and healthy, and as if forty one years old is a pretty beautiful place to be.