Sweat

I take a step. Then I take another. And then I am drenched.

What is this strange substance saturating my body? That last sentence is a fine example of alliteration. And that last sentence is the kind of sentence an English teacher would write. I was never much for teaching grammar or literary terms such as alliteration. I was an English teacher more interest in teaching, learning, and transformation that explored worlding. And yet I’m a big fan of alliteration. Worrying at words to welcome new worlds.

Enough about alliteration. This is short piece of writing is about the salty solution soaking my body.

Sweat. The substance I’m writing about is sweat.

***

Did you know corn sweats? It does. I learned this fun fact after moving to the find state of Iowa.

“Why is there 200 percent humidity?” I asked somebody from Iowa as June turned to July.

“Corn sweat,” they said.

“Oh,” I said.

Corn sweat.

Last month, I spent a week in South Carolina. Talk about a jungle. 9,000 percent humidity. Iowa isn’t much better. I dance out the door and am doused. Fretting feet find themselves full of fluid. Bustling biceps bogged down by brine.

That last sentence went too far. Brine? I’ve upset myself with the alliterative riff above. I can only imagine how you experience my words. I hope you made it. And I hope, wherever you are reading these words, that the corn isn’t sweating and the humidity is less than 10,000,000 percent.

***

I ran into another faculty member in the locker room last week. This was after running around the track in the CRWC. When it is too hot to run outside, I run around the track in the CRWC. Then I take a shower. And then I’m sweating again by the time I make it to my office.

“I don’t know about you,” the faculty member said to me, “but I can’t stop sweating.”

Tell me about it.

We attempted to diagnose our sweat issues. Two professors with PhDs in the humanities and social sciences. Doctors all the same.

I never sweat this much when I was younger. Is it living in Iowa? My time in Pennsylvania and Minnesota was dryer. Is it rounding the bend and heading towards my late 40’s? I turned 46 in June.

“You sweat more when you’re in good shape,” my colleague told me.

That must be it. I’m finally swole. Buff. I don’t know what the slang term for ripped is these days. I don’t care, either. Contrary to what many English teachers believe, language is fluid.Being in good shape is an optimistic explanation for the wetness of my body. Old age is less hopeful.

Regardless, I’ll keep rocking and rolling. Heedlessly heading forward. Swimming in a soup of sweat.

This was a gross blog.