Sweat

I find something very satisfying about sweating. It is almost soothing. Like I’m earning my breath—working for my pace or each step.

Now not all sweat is created equal in my eyes. Sometimes it’s very inconvenient. I hate to sweat when I’m dressed up. If I’m trying to look formal or professional, I do not appreciate a single bead of perspiration. But if I’m riding my bike, playing volleyball, dancing, or in any way exercising, I welcome sweat. It proves to me that my body is working. It’s a currency I gladly pay to keep moving.

Perhaps it’s my Caribbean heritage, but I do not mind a heat that penetrates. I’ve learned not to fight it. I let high temperatures slow me down. I appreciate a cool glass of water. I receive all breezes with gladness. And if I should sweat, so be it. Hopefully I’m wearing something forgiving of moisture—a fabric that knows how to handle saturation.

I’m one of those people who prefers to be hot than cold. Obviously I’d rather things be temperate than uncomfortable, but if I have to choose an extreme, I’d rather sweat than shiver.