Sweat Diaper

If you are like me - and really, you should be – you have probably found yourself needing a sweat diaper lately. We are in full fledged It’s Not The Heat, It’s The Humidity territory here. I wish I could say that I’ve only been sweating buckets during my long runs. Truth is, I’ve been sweating dumpsters. I’m flinging sweat from my fingertips with every arm pump. I’m going to put out a blanket warning to all runners in my area: Do not expect a hand wave as we pass or you’ll get a face full of my sweat.

Which brings me back to the sweat diapers. When I complete the run, I am not a welcome person in my home. I walk in trailing droplets of my salty, syrupy goodness all over the floor on my way to the fridge for a cold shandy water. My dog has some sort of sweat fetish and follows after me mopping the floor with her tongue. Sick puppy. The filly doesn’t ever seem to want a post-run hug from Dad. Instead, I’m met with a crinkle face and an ewwww sound. I am persona non grata in my own casa. I can’t even stand still for more than a second or I create tiny little floor swimming pools for the fruit flies that surround my plums (NOT a euphemism!)

So, I sit on the front porch instead: Me, my pathetic little 12 ounce water bottle and a porch swing. And I sweat. And swing. And sweat. If a human is made of around 70% water, then a good 40-50% is soaking through my shorts and onto the floor beneath my swing. Frankly, I’m sweating in such a steady stream that it looks like I’m pissing the porch floor. I need a diaper for my sweat.* I’ve gotten a glimpse of what life will be like in a few decades when I wear my uroscopy bag and nonchalantly pee in full public view while walking through a Wal-Mart. It’s liberating but, also, a little wet.

To make matters worse, I don’t wear a shirt during summer running. Why contain these pecs? I’m a firm believer in minimalist torso wear. Christopher McDougall missed the point completely in Born to Run. The Tarahumara aren’t successful distance runners because of their lack of footwear. Raise your eye level, big guy. They are successful because they don’t wear shirts! It’s the natural way and leads to a more efficient upper body posture and arm swing. Plus, we are also always told to “run tall” which, you’ll find, is something you’ll naturally do when you realize people are looking at your exposed pecs.

However, a consequence of this minimalist running top approach is that all of your bodies fluids seek a spot to absorb. And that place is your shorts. There’s not enough wicking available to wick away that amount of sweat. This is where the Run Diaper comes into play. You’ll need something to catch that sweat that can’t be wicked away. If the sweat is contained, how can anyone object if you come in for a plum? You won’t have to sit like a leper all alone on your front porch swing. You can squish your way into the house immediately post-run, grab your water bottle to suckle, and lie back on the changing table for your significant other to pinch your ankles together for a good, old-fashioned wiping (provided your significant other is willing, of course.)

I’m going to test my design out today. I have some 1200 intervals planned for the track. It’s over 80 degrees. I have a bag full of marshmallows, or “shorts sponges” as I call them. I’ll be going minimalist torso too. I should be a sweaty mess.

I’ll let you know how it goes so you too can enjoy the wonders of the Nitmos Sweat Diaper. But, please, don’t go grabbing marshmallows and tossing them all willy-nilly into your shorts. My design is a little bit more complicated than that. Ever see a kid strap a pillow onto his chest with a belt as a catcher’s chest protector? Now your wheels are turning….

Happy trails.

*Some of you may say that you don’t want to trap your sweat – that you want it wicked away and to disappear completely. But isn’t that what we want for babies as well? Why aren’t baby diapers moisture wicking then?