Sweet Sweaty Goodness!

So, I've come to the conclusion that I'm the sweatiest person I've ever met, well, at least the sweatiest girl I've ever met. I'm not just saying that because I have to put a towel down on leather furniture during the summertime so I don't leave drip marks. This really has been an issue since I was young.

I've always been a "hot" person. Of course I'm talking about my temperature not my looks--let's be clear about that. When I was young, my hair would curl up on the ends into some to-die-for blonde cuteness in the summertime. The heat and the humidity took a hold of my hair and it was all over. As I got older and the heat would have a different effect on my body. My face would get redder, then my neck started heating up a little bit more, and sure enough beads of sweat would run down my face when the temperature started rising. The cuteness was replaced by a little bit of an "ewwww" factor.

It wasn't until I went to junior high did underarm sweat rear its ugly head. In seventh grade I borrowed my sister's long-sleeved turquoise t-shirt. It was so cute with the hot pink and black lettering of B.U.M. Equipment on the front. I was so excited to wear it that morning and show off this very chic piece of clothing for 1993. I found my good friend at her locker and we made our rounds around the school chatting it up with all sorts of cute boys and girls. When the homeroom bell rang, we raced up to our classroom, battling the hundreds of students milling the hallways.

We made it just in time for the tardy bell to ring. Sitting down at my desk I realized that I WAS HOT! It was then that I made the biggest mistake that I would come to regret for the next 7 years. I happened to lift up my arm to re-adjust my barrett. If I could take back that innocent gesture, I would in a heartbeat, because I believe it was at this moment I hit puberty with an audience. A very nasty, popular girl called out to the rest of the students, "Oh, my gosh! Is that sweat in your armpit?"

Horrified, I quickly put my arm down and stammered, "Uh, I don't know, I guess so. I'm just really hot." This was followed by several students gathering around me to see this freak of a girl who was able to produce sweat in such a disgusting place. They asked me questions like if I wore deoderant or if I took a shower. Little did they know that I had been using Secret since I was in third grade and of course I took a shower! I was mortified! And to top it off, when we were taking lunch count, I told the teacher I would be having hot lunch. The same icky girl piped up to the whole class, "Oh, are you SURE?" as she raised her hands over her head showing off her bone dry underarms. I have truly hated her since that day and have hated anyone who had the same dry armpit affliction.

The next day, I took great care in choosing an outfit to camouflage my sweat. This also set off my new wardrobe selection which would carry me through both junior high and high school. I was only going to wear clothing that hid those horrid armpit stains, because the more I would think about them, the bigger the stain got. I wore black, I wore layers, I wore plaid, and I wore white like it was nobody's business. I couldn't borrow anyone's clothes for fear that I would leave a sweat stain. I hated shopping because my mom would pick out pinks, blues, reds, and yellows on the cutest of clothing. I would scoff at them and tell her she had no taste, but deep inside I would have given anything to comfortably wear a green cardigan set. The times that I would buy those pastels, I would end up having the worst day ever trying to cover up the deep coloring under my arms. I would never raise my hand in class, I only used long strapped bookbags--there was no way I could wear a backpack, it's a deathwish for sweaty armpits, and I would leave class to find the restroom with the hand dryers to blow away a sweat stain. White t-shirts had a drawer life of roughly 2 months before they turned yellow. I was ultra-sensitive to those that didn't sweat. The lucky bastards leading their carefree lives.

In high school I wanted a boyfriend so badly. I just knew it would never work because I could never hold his hand or snuggle closely to him. I would surely drive him away or maybe he would just slip out of my slimy grip. I kept a distance with boys, for fear they would find out about my baloney-sized sweat problem. It literally paralyzed me in many parts of my life and created a mountain of laundry at the end of each week.

By the time I went to college, I had learned many tricks of the trade to hide this embarrassing secret. We were still wearing plaid shirts under sweatshirts and layering was a really big deal. I lucked out in some ways that first year of college. After my freshman year, I came home and I finally came to grips with this issue. 7 years of shame and embarrassment needed to end. I told my mom that I was going to see the doctor and tell her that I sweat a lot. She looked at me quizically and asked what they could do about it. I told her I didn't know, but it wouldn't hurt to ask. Much to my surprise there was a treatment. I was not alone and there was help to be had! I was given a prescription liquid that was to be rubbed in my armpits at night and then washed off in the morning.

Not quite believing that this would actually work, I filled the prescription, went home and waited for bedtime. I rubbed the liquid on my underarms and it burned like nothing else. Did that mean it was working? I wasn't sure but I had a restless night's sleep as the stinging raged on. That morning, I woke up and was ready to start my day. In the afternoon a friend and I were going to babysit my cousin's children. When we arrived, the temperature was hot and the house had no AC. I started playing with the kids and my face was getting red, my neck was starting to overheat, and soon enough I had beads of sweat on my brow. This was going to be a true test to see if this really worked, was it worth the pain? I rubbed my armpit with my finger and it slid across the skin. Sweat? Hmmmm.... It didn't feel like sweat and I immediately identified it as my deoderant. I rubbed that off as fast as I could and touched my armpit several times to truly capture what it felt like to have dry armpits in a hot house. It was beautiful. I nearly cried.

This was the beginning of the end for me. I continued using the medication. I arrived back at school a new woman. On one of the first nights back, I was with some girlfriends in a hot dorm room with no AC and of course super dry armpits. One of them said, "I'm sweating terribly right now." I rolled my eyes, because I've heard that before from girls who will lift up their arms only to show a dot the size of a pencil eraser. Puh-lease. Only this time, my friend lifted up her arm to show a rather large stain the size of a peanut butter jar top. I stared in amazement. Another friend chimed in and notified us that she, too, was very hot and sweaty. She lifted up her arm to show us a likewise stain. Again, I was shocked. Kindred spirits of sweaty armpits!

I almost couldn't get my words out to express my understanding and empathy with sweat stains. I told them of my gift of prescription medication to alleviate such embarrassment. We swapped stories of volleyball jerseys ruined, of a friend's gymnastics leotard that had a sweat stain from elbow to hip, and other stories of home remedies that have failed miserably to cure such a vanity ailment.

Since that year of college, I have become immune to the medication, but I no longer keep this problem a secret. I embrace it with love as part of who I am. I love reading articles about people who sweat a lot and are healthier than others. It makes me proud to do any sort of exercise and have the sweatiest back, stomach, neck and of course armpits. It makes me look like I've worked a little harder than the rest.

Don't get me wrong, life isn't perfect, I still sweat, but not nearly as much only because I don't worry about it anymore. I still use the blow dryer in public bathrooms to dry up big stains, I still never wear blue button-down shirts (don't trick yourself that you can, Stacy), and I still loathe holding hands during the "Our Father" in mass. So icky junior high girl, I'm SURE that you suck! (And yes I did use deoderant, it's just really hot in here!)