As opposed to puddles of mudd
No, we’re talking about puddles of sweat. Why are we talking about puddles of sweat? Because I’m living off of puddles of sweat at the moment.
Sometimes there’s just a lot going on in the world, and you need to cope. There are lots of ways to cope. Exercise just happens to be one of the more socially accepted varieties (I’d try meth, but I’m pretty sure that won’t get as many likes on Instagram).
I’m moving in a couple of months. I’ll be starting a new job in a new town and dealing with all the natural stressors that come along with it. And I work in a career that can be just as stressful as you want it to be.
Coping means creating puddles of sweat.
I’ve been creating puddles of sweat for a long time now. I started doing sports when I was 5. I wasn’t very good (re: I was downright bad), but I was active. I was a kid who played a lot of video games and read a lot of books, but I was also a kid who spent a lot of time on football fields and basketball courts. As I got older, I spent more time being active and less time on video games (books never went away, though. I even have a handy dandy 2nd blog documenting that habit).
While I was running around as a kid, I didn’t pay much attention to the puddles of sweat. As a teenager, I started paying more attention. One was vanity. 9 times out of 10, being a sweaty mess isn’t how you get a cute girl’s attention in high school. Two was pride. I started seeing a sweat-soaked shirt as a badge of honor. Something I earned the hard way.
This came about from the weight room. You’d have the entire varsity and JV football teams in one weight room lifting a lot and lifting fast. There were days my entire shirt was soaked just from lifting. I couldn’t pull that off if I tried these days (and if I did pull it off, I’d probably be asked not to return to that gym any more, please sir).
But that’s where it started. There was this masochistic urge to feel completely worn out and broken down. That was when you knew the workout was good.
As I got into college, the puddles of sweat largely went away. When I lifted, I was going for strength, not cardio. It was a good workout, one that would often leave me barely able to move, but there wasn’t much in the way of sweat. Unless I ran. When I run, I pour out sweat like a faucet. A stinky faucet.
I probably didn’t start appreciating my puddles of sweat again until I was working on my Ph.D. (did I mention I’m a fake doctor?). I worked on my degree in Florida, which is basically like hanging out in a sauna that has gators nearby.
Running was an easy way to achieve sweaty mess status. I finally soaked shirts all the way through for the first time since high school. But this barely counts. I was running outside in Florida summers (basically March to October). It was earned, but it wasn’t the same as doing it in a weight room.
But you know what does feel the same? Yoga.
I started doing yoga in ’09 to kill time and mitigate back pain. This was just at home in my living room to keep from being an embarrassment in a class. I can’t remember when I first pulled it off, but as I was able to progress in the book I used, I was doing a more vigorous workout. Eventually I was soaked in sweat to a point that my mat was slick and a little dangerous to use for some poses.
And there was pride. So much pride.
In an air conditioned apartment doing what seemed like glorified stretching, I was pushing myself to a point where I was indecently sweating. That was something.
Eventually, I realized I liked being exhausted. Even later, I realized I was craving the exhaustion. There are a whole host of things wrong with that, but the fringe benefit is that you have to work out to get that particular type of exhaustion.
As for the host of things that are problematic, this isn’t the only thing I treat this way. I like to dive into things. I dive into work. I dive into books. I dive into songwriting. I dive into cleaning. I dive into interactions with people (on more than one occasion, I’ve had 2-hour conversations with people I just met). It’s addictive behavior. Addictive tendencies lead to being on reality shows hosted by Dr. Drew. I recognize that about myself.
The real trick is to take that inner addict and channel him toward something useful. It doesn’t always work, but when I get addicted to workouts, at least I’m doing something good for me and probably not being a jerk to the people around me.
But let’s get back to those puddles of sweat. That terminology comes from this video (that I watch entirely too often when I need some inspiration):
The video spoke to me. I understood the benefits of exercise in moments when you weren’t especially happy with yourself or the world around you. I understood the puddles of sweat. I understood how those puddles of sweat could help you function. I understood how those puddles of sweat could help you sleep.
With my knee being an asshole, I had to do without my puddles of sweat for a couple of months, and it about drove me insane.
Physical therapy wasn’t just me getting the chance to help my knee. This was also the window I needed to help my brain. I don’t sit still well. I crave puddles of sweat.
All in all, the past few weeks have been pretty good to me. I was able to stay active between PT and yoga (I was inching toward 5 days of workouts a week at one point). Unfortunately, my favorite yoga teacher stopped teaching classes temporarily and PT ended.
I was dealing with a puddles of sweat problem.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any more. I did the ashtanga workout (mostly) on my own at home. I kept the AC turned up to the I’m-not-home level of mid-80s. I set up shop in my living room, and I went after it. It was about as good as I could hope for.
The next day, I tried to do the ashtanga warmup and actually had my arms give out near the end. Not a win for that day, but at least we know the day before did its job.
A few days later, I was able to go after the full workout again. This time was even better. I think I’d left the thermostat up a little higher. I was dripping sweat.
And the next day (today), what did I do? I went to a heated yoga class. My knee was doing ok, so I took the risk of class with a new teacher when I was still tired from the day before.
It was brutal and it was worth it. Again, so much sweat dropping onto the mat and onto the floor. I earned that sweat. That sweat is currency for sleep and you have to get it as many days as you can manage.
This isn’t the first time I’ve talked about the masochistic therapy of working out before, but sometimes you have to revisit the old topics. If you want another take on this instead of the video or this post, The Oatmeal has a fantastic comic that is well worth your time.
But that’s it from me. I’m going to recuperate from making puddles of sweat and hope my knee likes me enough to do it all over again tomorrow.