finding my place in the pantheon
Back in high school when I rode with the Montrose Cycle Club, we had some archetypes on the ride. Steve was the leader of the group. Chris was the best climber and often wore a polka-dot jersey. John was the sprinter, and looked it too. And there was one guy whose name I don't recall and may never have known, because in my mind he was only ever called "The guy who sweats".
Now that I'm riding for the workout on a regular basis, I've become that guy. I notice it some when I'm the one on the bikepath without a windbreaker when everyone else is wearing one. It was a little harder to ignore when I forgot my sweatband one morning. But my ride home this evening really drove it home. When I left work at 7pm it was 54 degrees and raining lightly. I was wearing shorts, a summer jersey, summer gloves, and the thinnest short socks I own, which meant I was a little chilly for the first quarter-mile but quite comfy by the time I was out of the office park. By the time I got to the Burlington town line I was sweaty. Someone had left some sprinklers on in the rain and it was when I considered riding through them to cool off that I realized just how absurd this is.