Living a sweaty existence

Since my return from Salt Lake, it has taken me three days to figure out how to control the temperature on my shower. No matter how far right I turned the knob, all that poured out of the nozzle was hot water. You can imagine, I hope, how after a workout you long for a cold shower to cool off the body. But, no, hot, hot, hot. Then, I'd sit at the kitchen table without air conditioning but the windows and doors all wide open and eat and sweat and drink and sweat and read and sweat. I mean for an hour after the shower water would run down my face and back and ribs in little rivulets, like rain down a window. And then, finally the body would cool off and the sweat would chill and all would be pleasant, like after a rain storm. Now, the cause of the sweating is the damned hot shower after the workout. Today I figure out what had gone wrong and fixed the problem. The knob for heat control goes round and round, so I rewound the bloody thing about three circuits and - walla- cool and then cold water. So my question now is, how did the thing get so wound up in the first place? Must have been one of my bursts of impatience during our rather chilly spring, when I spun the dial over and over in search of hot water. Lesson learned.
Caveman coach commented today that I should change my shirt more often. Hell of a thing for one caveman to say to another. I confess that I was giving my T-shirt a second chance to prove itself worthy of me and my vigorous workouts. I also confess that I didn't give the shirt a second glance when I threw it in my workout bag in the dark early this morning. When I looked it over after the coach's comment, I recognized the crazy, white, river-like patterns crisscrossing the shoulders and chest and back and belly where salt from sweat had crystallized all over the black color of the shirt. So I learned another lesson. Next time I'll wear a white shirt and see if I can get away wearing it a week or two. Hey, I'm not unhygenic, just cheap - I do my washing in a busy coin laundry overrun with immigrant housewives and workers, and to get my wash done and be out in an hour I have to show up a good ten minutes before the laundromat opens at 7:00 Saturday or Sunday. That cuts into my biking time - when I bike, and I haven't biked in a year. But I like keeping my weekends open for biking just in case.

John