Not Sweating the Big Sweat by Gina

Since I’ve probably already  let the “cat out of the bag” that I’m not perfect (Note: that perfection ship sailed many years ago), I’m going to courageously share with you an imperfection that has plagued me for my entire adult life: I have a tendency to sweat during exercise.  A lot.  For visualization purposes, you might imagine  Old Faithful. I used to be self conscious about this, but I’ve repeatedly been informed by friends and exercise gurus that this is indeed a good, if not desirable thing. “Gina, I’m so jealous! You’re getting all that water weight out.”  One kind woman on my Facebook page offered an even more positive perspective; “Sweat is simply fat crying,” she told me.  It made “perfect” sense, since my fat has been blubbering for quite some time.

Despite my tendency to release more water than Niagara Falls during a workout, I have never let it stop me from working out at the gym in my 7 years of membership.  No one really seemed to notice.

Until today.

I had just  completed a grueling 60-minute session on the elliptical (an exercise machine, not a moon-related event) and was making my way over to retrieve spray to clean the machine (my gym hygiene is impeccable) when I noticed two, well-groomed middle-aged women staring, pointing, and laughing at me. What’s more, they were speaking in Spanish.  Though my grasp of the Spanish language is somewhat limited (I barely know  the words to Eres, Tu?”) my instincts told me what I knew to be true — they were laughing at me.

Sweaty, not so little, me.

It wasn’t a nice feeling; if I could have swam out of there, I would have. They were  staring and laughing so openly that I decided to give them a dirty look (a gesture that knows no language barriers.) “I thought to myself. How dare they blatantly make fun of me? We’re adults! Dios Mio!” It wasn’t like I was sweating on the floor or required mopping up after. My sweat was contained, and not to brag, my scent was garden fresh thanks to my new deodorant.

I can’t remember ever feeling more humiliated. On the way home,  I thought of my daughter Katie who has pretty much been stared at during her entire life  for her hand flapping. How many times have other children stared at her? And talked about her  behind her back? Amazingly,  she rarely seemed to let it bother her.

And what did I tell her on those rare occasions when it did bother her?  I repeatedly told her that if someone was making fun of you, it was probably because they were jealous or insecure. I liked that line of thinking. Maybe these women were retaining water, or were jealous that despite the three gallons of sweat in my hair, it was still holding up.

I decided that I would continue to do what I always do — to do the workouts that are so much a part of my sanity.  And to let my fat have a good cry any time it wanted to.

Have you ever felt like someone was making fun of you as an adult? How did you handle it?