Wait, what? Who is "we?"
It is common knowledge among colleagues in my department that I try to walk everyday for 30 minutes around lunchtime. Usually outdoors. They see me duck out in shorts and a t-shirt in all kinds of weather. This began last Spring when I started to lose an eventual 40 pounds. Gina's office is across the hall, and she knew I had a change of clothes and sneakers in my office for this purpose. She is training for her first 5K in three weeks, and was feeling insecure.
"Gina, I sweat. Badly. There's no way I can run in the middle of the day at work! Plus I don't have a sports bra handy. NO!"
"But you ran this race last year and you need to keep me on task. I only have 3 weeks left to train."
"True, but not my problem."
"How about we just do 10 minute spurts? Please?"
I looked at her. She is 7 years my junior, long and lean. She probably weighs 115 pounds after bearing 3 children. She waited. She was adorable. I couldn't say no.
"Okay, but just this once because it's a Friday and I don't have any afternoon meetings." By her reaction, you would have thought I told her it was Christmas.
11:45 rolled around and we finally got out the door. She had one of those training apps on her phone, so I followed her lead when to run and when to walk. Running in tandem with someone was odd for me. When I run with Marty, we run at our own paces. "Don't let me hold you back," I said when it became evident that my breathing was labored and hers was not." She breezily replied, "No worries," with the healthy breath of a thin person. She was able to hold a conversation with herself while we ran. I was wheezing and gasping for air like a drowning person. She asked me if I was alright. I nodded. She said her legs burned. I didn't believe her.
We stumbled back into the office. She was not visibly sweating. I was drenched. I was also late for my lunch date with Susie. I thought of just dashing off to her office in my shorts, but then I remembered she was filling in for someone else in a location visible by one or more Deans. I quickly emailed her that I would be there in 10 minutes, and closing my office door, I flung aside my running gear, pulled on my jeans (casual Friday) and blouse. The jeans clung to my still-sweating body, heat was radiating from my face, and sweat was dripping down my spine. My hair? I felt like I was wearing a wool turban.
I quickly made my way to Susie's office. She looked up as I rounded the corner. "What happened to YOU?" she asked.
"Give me a fan," I demanded, "Quick!" She passed me a file folder. I couldn't fan my face fast enough. I told her my story. When I was done, she remarked that my run was ridiculous and that she needed a sandwich. Susie McTurkin is unflappable. Her dry humor and practical sense are magnificent. We have been friends for almost 15 years, despite my sincere suggestion - my insistence - that she name her son Gherkin McTurkin. Who doesn't love a Baby Gherkin? To my disappointment, they opted for a name much less exciting.
We ate together and enjoyed each other's company. A brief moment of nausea passed over me. I made a mental note not to scarf down a 6-inch Italian sub 10 minutes after a run. As I stood to leave, I saw that the creases in my jeans were damp from sweat, leaving a wet V from hips to crotch. Nice touch.
"No one will really notice it," Susie assured. "It kind of blends with the dye of the denim."
"Good. How do I look otherwise?"
"Red," she said. "Wet."
"Can we call it a luminous flush?"
"No. You look ill." You can always trust Susie to say it like it is.
I navigated the hallways back to my office, bedraggled, thinking, "Please don't run into anyone you know please don't run into anyone you know..." My wish came true until I rounded the last bend.
"Oh, hi!" my colleague said, "Did you just shower? Why is your hair wet?"
To make things better, back in my office I saw an email for an impromptu 2:00 meeting. I had 30 minutes to get my act together. I had an orchestra of rowdy wet curls to tame, a crotch-V to dry, and I could now smell myself. It was not BO, but the musky sour-sweet smell of rotting cleavage. Boob sweat was trapped in its polyester casing with no chance of drying out before Saturday. I marched into Gina's office - she looked as fresh as a daisy - and told her she had doomed me. She smiled and said she had a ton of energy and felt great, didn't I feel great?
"Do I LOOK like I feel great?"
Our eyes locked. Gina paused before answering. "Yes? But you might want to wear a hat to your meeting."
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| Keeping one of these in my office might not be a bad idea. |
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