SALT LAKE CITY, UT—Local runner Jake Thompson found himself battling an unexpected wave of self-consciousness just a quarter mile into what was meant to be a casual group run, as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead and trickle down his back.
Thompson, who joined the running group to enjoy some light exercise and camaraderie, quickly realized that his enthusiasm for the run was not matching the reaction of his body. “I thought it was just a warm-up, but now I feel like I just finished a marathon,” he remarked, glancing nervously at his fellow runners, who seemed barely fazed by the humidity.
“It’s like I’m in my own personal sauna,” he added, adjusting his shirt in an attempt to absorb the excess moisture while mentally calculating how many more miles they had to go. “At this rate, I’m going to need a life raft.”
As he struggled to maintain a steady pace, Thompson couldn’t help but feel that everyone was watching him. “I just hope they don’t think I’m some kind of sweaty mess,” he fretted, wiping his brow with a soggy towel he had stashed in his hydration belt. “Maybe if I run a little faster, they won’t notice how drenched I am?”
Despite his best efforts to blend in, Thompson's situation only worsened. By the half-mile mark, he had fully embraced the drenched look, with his shirt clinging to him like a second skin. “I thought it was going to be a light jog,” he sighed, staring down at his soaked shoes. “Now I’m just waiting for someone to offer me a towel or maybe a lifeguard.”
Runners around him, oblivious to his plight, engaged in light conversation, discussing their favorite trails and weekend plans. “It’s not that hot out, man,” one fellow runner commented. “You’re fine!”
But Thompson, now on a psychological rollercoaster of sweat-related insecurities, wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, fine for you! I’m practically creating my own weather system over here,” he replied, glancing down the road as if hoping for a sudden downpour to mask his embarrassment.
By the time they reached the one-mile mark, Thompson had resigned himself to his fate. “This is it,” he thought, accepting that sweat is an inevitable part of running, especially in the heat. “At least I’m working hard, right? I’ll just have to own it.”
With newfound determination, he picked up his pace, embracing the sweat-soaked reality of group running. “If they’re going to judge me, they might as well get a front-row seat to the show,” he mused, as he barreled ahead, sweat flying in all directions like confetti. “I’m here to run—and if that means leaving a puddle in my wake, so be it!”