‘I’m melting’ has been a common text / Facebook status update today – and I can wholeheartedly agree with those who’ve shared it – particularly as I chose yesterday and today as my pivot point away from the garden (for a while) and back towards the open road.
I’ve been putting in the walking miles again and today they have been hot ones.
For all the girls out there – I feel your pain. Boob sweat is a curse and guys such as myself with moobs stand with you in solidarity today.
I haven’t spilled a drink – I’m sweating from maintaining a heat rate of 90-110 in scorching sunshine for around 90 minutes.
The waistband of my trousers looked much the same and thankfully a long shirt and tee shirt covered a similar embarrassment of rear cleavage moisture.
However the west wasn’t won by staying indoors when it got a little warm – and I’m not letting the heat slow me down.
Rather than the virtual ‘miles’ my watch thinks I walked while chopping things down in the garden, today (despite the soaring temperatures) I did ten and a half actual sticky, salty, exhausting miles along canals and up and down the hills and paths of Warwickshire.
My clothes were so drenched and so sticky this evening when I arrived home that I put everything I was wearing immediately in the washing machine and climbed into the coldest shower my heating system would allow.
But I felt good – for more than one reason.
I was sitting in the park munching through lunch earlier today. It was admittedly an unconventional one. Aldi are doing two Romaine lettuces for 49p at the moment so I was eating one (along with 6 tomatoes and a red pepper with a tub of cottage cheese) like a giant green carrot when a bunch of tiny school children in high visibility vests passed with their teachers on a field trip.
In the past they would have all pointed and said ‘look at that fat man!’
Today they all said ‘Lettuce! That man’s eating a lettuce!‘ And all of them pointed at the lettuce eater, repeating ‘lettuce!’ as they passed.
I prefer the vegetable categorisation to being called fat – although I’m quietly also glad that they weren’t mistaking it for a cabbage – as that’s almost as bad!
As I was sitting at home in front of my large fan this evening I was thinking about this event as I flicked through the channels and noticed a programme on BBC1 called ‘supersize cabbies’
Sadly his obstacles were more difficult to overcome than my own. He had the same peripheral oedema in his legs that I did, but he (unlike me) was diagnosed with heart failure during the making of the documentary and was eventually admitted to hospital with kidney failure.
After a month in there recovering from this event he went on to lose a total of 11st during the year long period that the programme covered – which brought him to almost exactly the same 20st weight as I am now…
I must admit there was a tear in my eye as I watched. I felt all of his pain.
Not just the physical pain or sense of initial hopelessness that I could see in his face, but the underlying emotional damage he had inflicted upon himself. When he started to cry after losing his initial three stone I was right there with him.
The truth is I’ve worked hard to get where I am now and it didn’t just magically happen – but I’m also a very lucky man.
Somehow I’ve avoided (at least for the time being) the worst aspects of what he experienced and hopefully I never will.
It makes boy boob sweat something completely inconsequential.
I don’t care if I look tired or sweaty whilst out and about – in fact I’m glad if I do. Every drop of sweat equals effort put in – and it just motivates me more to go out and get soaked.
I’ll be out doing the same again tomorrow internet and I don’t care who sees drenched Davey one little bit.