Life after 50 is full of surprises. And nothing could surprise me more than realising I’m increasingly addicted to sweat. My own, obviously. Not the hot flush version, which is its own sort of hell. And not the OMG it’s a million degrees, climate change version either, which is a human made hell we’re hurtling towards barely blinking.
I’m talking about the exercise version. The thing that happens when you are doing a class to pumping music, pushing hard and feeling sweat bead up on your forehead and dribble down your face. That’s clearly why mother nature, with her glorious machinations of evolution, designed eyebrows (actually, I kid you not on this.)
I started thinking about this as an addiction-thing the other day when, shaking with the effort of doing plank step ups, a drop of sweat dribbled right off my nose and landed with a splat between my hands. Did I think, eew disgusting? I certainly did not. I thought – ye-ha mother f… well, you know – see Die Hard for reference. Also, thank god for sanitiser sprays – whatever did we do before covid?
Past-me is passed out somewhere with shock.
The joy of sweat is not a cerebral thing. Not a rational “look at what I’m doing over here smashing it” thing. It is full on rush of endorphins (those yummy feel-good neurotransmitters in your brain) that comes from high intensity training. The feeling you get when your body is going at full tilt, and it has to compensate with the sweat-cools.
I don’t seem to get an endorphin rush from running (which I find hard and a struggle from start to finish). The runners high eludes me still. And I don’t get it from cycling, even though I actually love that. I get an out-in-nature buzz from cycling, but it’s different. Clearly in both of these more endurance endeavours I’m not pushing hard enough to unlock the neuro-juice.
For me, the endorphin release comes from burst of energy stuff. Go flat out, and then get your breath back. HIIT workouts. Luckily this is extremely good for the peri-menopausal woman!
I’ve come to the conclusion that the endorphin rush makes me a little high. I don’t do drugs, but this feeling is what I imagine it might feel like. Only no need to engage with criminals or lose cognitive control to do so, hooray.
I start the class tired and super low on energy, and by the end of it I’m dancing about the joint. My gym buddies look at me somewhat askance. So maybe this is just a me thing. My own personal high. I’ve probably got a low threshold for giddy to start with.
We go to coffee afterwards and I can’t stop talking. I’m aware that I’m talking fast and furiously, words bubbling up out of my throat and across the table, but can I keep them down? Not so much. And I drink my coffee super-duper fast. Coffee – whom I kidding? A chai tea is sufficiently stimulating for me. Also, delicious. God, imagine me on coffee?
I think music plays a role. It’s got magical properties music. It changes our moods, changes our energy, changes our brain waves. And it also gets us going. It’s really hard to not sync up to a beat. We do it naturally without any thought on our part. I can’t imagine even trying to do the class I affectionately name Totally Nuts Thursday without the right music. Same for spin. I doubt I could work up a sweat in silence. And I doubt it would be as much fun.
And that is what it feels. Fun. Ain’t that a turn up for the books?
I was never exercise mad in my youthful days. When things didn’t ache as much as they do now. In fact, I would go so far as to say I hated it. Oh, I could dance the night away – again, sans stimulants, but put me on a treadmill or cross trainer and my mind would definitely not be along for the ride. Going to the gym was never my definition of fun. But nothing about my current routine feels like a chore (okay, running, maybe… but even so, I wouldn’t want to not run, so there is something in that).
It is one of the absolute joys I’ve found about getting older. It comes with a variety of new discoveries about yourself. Perhaps a better description is a remaking of one’s self.
Life changes. Thank god. We lose things and we gain things we might not want. Wrinkles and aches and glasses and belly fat. But what you gain in wisdom and freedom, and new found interests, food stuffs, friendships and activities, is worth the trade-off.
Like avocado, and cauliflower. I spent the first 40 years of my life positively retching at the thought of ingesting the stuff. Now I order them as first choice whenever I get a chance. Imagine being stuck with my 20 year old tastes. The things I would have missed out on. What a privilege to age.
For all our youth-focused, anti-female ageing culture, youth is a hard game to play. Obviously ageing is not without its challenges. But life is always full of things to be navigated. Being on the middle age playing field gives you a few more tools to manage it with, I suspect.
Meanwhile, I think I’m seriously addicted to sweat right now, and I LOVE IT. There are worse ways to be, right? And who knows how long it will last. But I’m going to enjoy it while it does.
Sharlene
Midlife Unpacked 
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