Soggy days in the sweat dungeon: the sodden life of a rainforest running shirt
Suppose you are a mildly busy person.
Suppose you harbor an ardent affinity for a sport that causes you to impose frequent electrolyte monsoons upon every athletic-related article of clothing you own.
Suppose you can’t yet afford a maid who spends her days ensuring that your workout clothes are always clean and fresh-smelling.
Combine the forces of these factors with a sweaty splash of your own laziness, and you may end up with a laundry habit as repulsive as this.
Move to a rainforest.
(That’s right, folks – Juneau, Alaska, is part of the Tongass National Forest, the largest national forest in our country. It also happens to be a temperate rainforest.)
That’s why I look like this after most of my runs:
Actually, I don’t look like that after most of my runs, just some of them. Lots of the time, the rain is just a lovely benign mistiness. So far.
In other words, no big deal, right?
Just hang up the sweaty clothes like usual, and dash along with the rest of your day and —
HOLD YOUR BLACK BEARS, MISSY.
In normal parts of the world that aren’t rainforests, sweaty clothes basically just dry overnight, and are ready for re-wear the next morning.
But this is Alaska.
So I’ll take you through the typical post-run laundry contol system here in the 99801:
- You hang up your sweaty/slightly rainy gear like usual.
- A day later, you head over to the now-fetid hangy-places you allotted for clothes-drying.
- You go to take down that long-sleeved shirt for a re-wear, but wait! It’s still completely wet.
- Hmm, you say to yourself. Guess this needs another day to dry. That’s strange. Whatever, you’ll just have to delve into your small stock of long-sleeved shirts and get another one sweaty.
- Day 2. The first shirt you laid out should be dry and ready to roll by now, right?
- FALSE. Shirt #1 is still wet.
- Now you have two long-sleeves hanging up and never drying.
- Day 3. Shirt #1 has had plenty of time to dry, right?
- Again, FALSE. Shirt #1 is still damp three days later.
- Don’t hold your breath for dry clothes on day four, either
The fact is, living and sweating in a rainforest, you either need to figure out a better drying system, or invest in the best dehumidifier you can find.
Before I do either of those things, though, I’m just re-wearing my slightly damp clothes, and have turned my bathroom into the designated gym locker.
Well, excellent. Now that we’ve toured the holy inner sanctum of my squalid laundry-in-the-rainforest predicament, let’s move on to other matters.
I believe I’ve nailed down a ride for the 10K on Saturday, so hooray! A race! I have zero expectations for this, time/place-wise. I sort of envision Alaska as a lawless land when it comes to road races, wherein maybe a grand total of 20 people compete at a race and the actual distance is completely suspect. That’s as good an excuse as any not to worry about my time, right? I’m excited to hopefully meet some local runners.
I’ve asked this before, but I’ll ask it again: Am I the only disgusting one who hangs workout clothes up for rewear? Part of it is that I simply don’t have enough clothes to keep up with my runs, unless I want to do multiple loads of laundry per week, which… yeah, we all have better things to do. Aside from putting them in the dryer… do you have any handy tips, tricks, or solutions for getting your “line-dry” clothes to dry faster?
PS. If you’re in search of more “Life in Alaska” insight, check out Andrew’s hysterical punctuation-defying posts on our group hike to the glacier, or bears raiding the trash, or the joys of riding local public transportation.