Why Does The World Smell Like Onions?

I will be celebrating my 22,000th mile on inline skates next week, it's safe to say that this is my sport.

It was a workout day.

I gathered my things together and tossed them into the Jeep.

Skates.  Three bottles of water.  Skate pads.  Sun Block.

I am in South Florida after all.

All the rest.

These days, it includes extra water because it is high summer.  90 Degrees F, 32 C in sun that is literally less than three degrees from vertical at its highest can be punishing.

I have racing stripes on my wrists, elbows, and knees from the pads blocking the sun.

Getting to the park, I put my skates on, and step down allowing the grass to stop my free rolling down hill.

Not much of a hill here, Florida "Below I-4" is flatter than anywhere else I have been.  Flatter than Kansas.

I distractedly put on the mask that has to go on after headphones and helmet, and step onto the pavement.

Heart rate monitor is on. I check to see that I am below my personal speed limit of 165 BPM.  I can easily get myself going faster than that simply by pushing a little harder, getting a little more air into my lungs, getting a little more exercise, but I don't.

I don't want to "overdrive" the trails and leave a large smear after a bounce.

The Emergency Rooms down here are filling up again with COVID-19 cases, and having me come in on a gurney because I landed badly and sprained or broke something would end worse.

Lets not.  Slower heart rate means slower skater.  I'll get enough of a burn anyway.

I get going, and push.

I noticed it.  Someone is cooking Onions, early.

Fair enough, I'm right by the restaurant, Galuppi's, at the golf course.  The wind usually comes off the ocean though and I am just to its east side.

Mentally shrugging, I enjoy burning off another sweaty 1600 calories on a short workout. 

Getting back to the Jeep, I get on my way back home.

The Jeep doesn't smell as strongly of onions.  I'm not going to crave a cheesesteak with fried onions here.  But it is just about lunch time and I have a very empty stomach to fill once I pull into the house.

Strangely, now, I put things together as I enter the house.

You see, these confounded Masks that we all wear?  I pull mine up and down when I am approaching someone on the trails.  My mask protects you.  It is a statement that I respect your humanity, or something less self aggrandizing.

If I had "it" and I cough inside of that mask, your chance of getting "it" drops significantly.  In this case, "it" is frighteningly transmissible.

Unlocking the door, I step in.

The house smells like onions.

I look at my right hand.  Keys and Mask.

I realize what it was.  Sloppy Joes.  We cook from scratch here.   The house is sealed tight here to keep the air conditioning inside.  All that onion that we needed to get into that Sloppy Joe let out a lot of scent into the air.  The synthetic fabrics...

THAT IS IT!

Ok, time to toss that mask into the hamper.  I was breathing Onion from the Mask, not the atmosphere. 

Still and all, Galuppi's is a pretty good restaurant even if the Sous Chefs weren't grilling onions at 9 in the morning.

But while you should wear your mask, wash the thing.

Even if it is your Workout Mask.  They get kind of stinky and sweaty too!

Sloppy Joe anyone?  Ok, I'll make beefy mac with the leftovers!  CYA!