I’m a sweaty kind of girl. I can sweat out gallons in the summer, and have to constantly chug water to make up for it. I’ve accepted that hair and makeup just aren’t gonna hold up to my pores in hot weather, and I think I’m doing pretty well if I remember a headband and don’t have to constantly wipe sweat drops out of my eyes.
It’s not my most feminine quality, and it’s one that I raged against for years. I wanted to look like the other girls who weren’t cursed with my generous glands and the salt-stained armpits of my favorite shirts. But like many other things, as I came into my own and learned to love my body and care less about what anyone else thinks, my propensity to need to wring out my workout pants has morphed from curse to blessing. Not only can I sweat, I can sweat it out just as good as Taylor Swift can Shake It Off.
I’m pretty summer-tolerant. I think it must come from my Hill Country ranching ancestors. They did it without air conditioning. I like the summer heat. I don’t mean summers in Maine, I mean summers in Texas. And now that I’ve gotten over myself and wear way less dry clean only, I take advantage of the heat and go for hour long walks in it. I don’t just sweat, I sweat HARD. I love it, because it releases so much. My body lets go of so much when I let it out through my pores. All the water I drank? Through my cells and right back out my pores carrying toxins with it. Anxiety? Too busy sweating to care. Tense against the cold? Nope, I joyfully embrace anything that makes the air move.
If you can sweat mindfully, I am there, loving the cleansing power of sweat.