And our seats were pretty sweet — near first base! Loved the players hanging on the dugout fence like a bunch of little leaguers (lower left). 

A great game that was won in the bottom of the ninth. 

But I started to notice something mildly alarming at that game. 

Beautiful people don’t sweat. 

What is the deal? It was like a skillet in the lower level seats. My back was wet, my hair was sweaty, my makeup…what makeup? What little I had worn was smeared off before we got to the stadium admission gates. But I noticed that the super-good looking people at the ballpark seemed unfazed. No damp clothing wrinkled with sweat. No stringy hair. Not even a sign of discomfort. The beautiful people were still beautiful. How does that even work?

I thought maybe it was some kind of fluke or maybe I was just hallucinating. But then I noticed it again today when I took a long hike at Castlewood. It was like a billion degrees and my shirt was heavy with sweat. My soaked, stringy hair drooped into my eyes and hung across my bright red face. Even my shorts were wet – uncomfortable and awkward. But I kept plugging away, feeling cleansed and strong. Although I couldn’t help notice that, again, the beautiful people still looked beautiful. Come on people, we’re working out here! Who looks good while working out in an inferno? I just do not get it. Heck, I didn’t even bother making eye contact with a super cute mountain biker as he rode towards me, let alone smile. I was too annoyed with him. The jerk was not sweating. Or if he was, he wore it well.