Who's That Girl?

I have never been someone who sweats a whole lot. To illustrate my point, I will share the two times in my life when I can remember sweat rolling off my face.

First, the summer before eighth grade at basketball camp. We worked out in an old gym with a few oscillating fans to cool us. After a summer spent lying on the couch watching Dirty Dancing every day, my middle-school body was not used to such exertion.

The second occasion was the summer I worked at Sesame Place. A few times, instead of my regular character bodyguard duties, I was assigned to wear a character costume and walk around the park greeting children. As soon as the final snap on the Honker costume snapped, my pores ranneth over.

Even when I trained to walk a half-marathon a couple summers ago, I didn’t have much of a sweat situation (although one day after consuming a Power Bar Gel, I sweat salt, like “could put it on corn-on-the-cob” salt).

So given this history of sweat, I am increasingly surprised by how much I sweat these days—like good, roll-down-your-face sweat. This morning I soaked the bandana I wore to the gym. At first, I was simply going to add this phenomenon to the “30 Ain’t No Joke” list, but I’m beginning to think there’s something else going on.

I think this gym thing is changing me from the outside in.

The outside results are kind of easy to notice—old clothes are baggier, new clothes are smaller, I am, apparently, sweatier. The inside results are more subtle; I’m just beginning to be aware of them. One thing I’ve noticed is that this girl who never left the house in sweatpants will now go to the gym and then run errands. I have been around town in stretchy pants, bandana, pig tails and a t-shirt that says, “Happy Birthday, Peachy!” I’m using my blow-dryer less (and my clothes dryer, for that matter). I’ve joined Freecycle. I eat granola!

Part of me hopes I’m on my way to becoming one of those gangsta old ladies who does whatever she wants and is like, “What are you going to do about it? I’ve got newspapers in my house older than you are.”

But the super-self-aware part of me worries that this is just another phase I’m passing through. Today my feet prefer flip-flops, but wasn’t there a time they wanted knee-high boots? Today I’m wearing a t-shirt and air-drying my hair, but it wasn’t that long ago that I sought out Ralph Lauren and Clinique. (Who am I kidding? I still love me some Ralph!)

So I’ve decided to enjoy where I am, for as long as I’m here. Maybe the Joy-of-the-future will laugh at me some day, but I’m not going to sweat it.