EVERYBODY knows that armpits are what separate humans from the rest of the animal world, but it would be nice if for once I could go to a wedding without dripping a river of sweat down the bride's "something blue" during the big receiving line hug.
I suppose I should be more grateful to our shared great, great, great (x100,000) grandfather who figured out how us slow homo sapiens could catch, kill, and eat a superfast antelope, thereby gaining the nutritional value found in meat that helped us grow these big brains that allow us to do things like wield tools, build shelter from the harsh elements and finish moderately hard Sudoku.
But really? Do I have to be sweatier than a hockey glove in fourth overtime whenever the thermometer nudges past 18 C? Or whenever I walk up three flights of stairs. Or, these summer days at least, whenever I bend down to pick up anything weighing more than a slightly chilled bottle of beer?
The answer, it seems, is yes. Harvard biological sciences professor Daniel Lieberman recently released interesting new research detailing one of the great moments in human evolution. Humans, Dr. Lieberman says, are the best long distance runners in the world, and the No. 1 reason is because we are good at sweating. We're covered in sweat glands and, aside from Robin Williams, relatively little hair, meaning we're able to keep cool enough to avoid dying of heat exhaustion even while running very long distances on scorching hot days. Other mammals can't do that - they perspire through their tongues and so if they're running at a fast rate they are too busy galloping to get to the important business of panting.
Dog owners take note: According to Lieberman, if you take your dog out for a brisk run on a hot day it could drop dead after about 15 minutes.
Thanks to our sweat glands, humans don't have that problem. Apparently I could head to Africa tomorrow afternoon and chase a gnu for a few hours until it keels over.
Then I could kill it with some primitive tool like an iPhone 2 or something and eat it right there. With the amount that I already sweat doing non-Africa things, however, I'd probably be floating in a small saltwater lake by the time I was finished chewing my gnu.
I should have realized my destiny was to become a sweaty, sweaty man when I was a basketball player back in high school. After years of watching me play, my mom told me she had figured out my signature move: the alley-oop reverse slam dunk. Just kidding, it was wiping the sweat from my eyes with my jersey after every play.
Later, as a grad student, I remember briskly walking from my Kitsilano apartment across the Granville Street Bridge to a friend's party on a warm Vancouver evening. The assembled guests spent the next hour wondering if I'd come down with the consumption.
"Can I get you something?" our lovely host asked. "Beer? Wine? Chamois underwear?"
This latest heat wave confirmed that I am one sweaty dude. Last weekend I had the pleasure of taking part in an old-school wedding that involved a stag party on Friday night followed by the ceremony Saturday afternoon. We managed to get the groom to the ceremony with no black eyes and all of his teeth, but in the hot sun of Stanley Park we were all suffering for our sins. In my lovely light summer suit jacket I was still drenched in sweat and smelling like a well-dressed brewery.
And that was before my toddler son started running around, sprinting off down sketchy trails at every opportunity so that I'd have to hunt him down at top speed, terrified that I'd round a corner to find him locked in combat with some goose or hobo. That pattern continued for the next five hours; it's a good thing there were no antelope around because my boy would have chased them to death six times over.
Later that steamy night - the hottest of the year so far I reckoned - the tables turned. Checking on my sleeping boy after we all were partied out, I discovered that he was going to be a sweaty dude just like his old man. With the heat wave infiltrating his crib, there he was soaked through with sweat, glistening as if he was sleeping inside a lake. Sorry buddy, the genetics say it'll be a life of soggy shirt collars for you too.
I didn't even know that little two-year-olds could sweat like that. I just remember my Grade 7 gym teacher telling us one day that we were stinky little varmints and needed to shower after class.
I guess, in the game of evolution, my boy is gifted. At least I know my family will never go hungry - that's good gnus for us. [email protected]
