Funk

    We've all done it. I know I have. If you workout regularly, you have done it, too. You know, it's time for a workout, you can't find clean gear, your favorite workout shirt is laying there, in plain sight, on top of the dirty laundry. You think, "It'll be good for one more session. Besides, there's no one here to notice." Right? You pick it up, give it a delicate sniff, and are nearly knocked out of your sneakers by that all too familiar stench of fermented sweat. That odor you normally associate with an unbathed ogre at the gym. I've done this all too many times, because I go through at least a dozen shirts a week. At least. Every time I am astonished that my body is capable of putting off a funk that should be reserved for teenage boys. There is no denying, I sweat like hell. When I workout I have to change shirts after cardio and before I hit the weights because I am soaked. I sweat to the point that it will drip off the ends of my braids. True, it takes time for the stench to mature, ripen, reach its full potential. But there it is. I smell like a teenage boy.