I saw him in the locker room the day after Thanksgiving, the Friday that sends even the most passive “athletes” scurrying to the gym, convinced that one 30-minute session on the Stairmaster will melt away the sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie they gorged upon the previous afternoon.
During my holiday meal, I gave thanks for good health. The next morning I was thankful for clothes, because I was wearing some. Not so for him.
He had just exited the shower and was all pink and naked. Seeing that I had just stepped off a scale (I also gave thanks for only gaining 2 pounds) he pointed at the number and then at me. My eyes stayed transfixed on his because I had no interest in looking elsewhere.
“You sure you want to do that the day after the holiday?” he asked, before emitting a wry chuckle.
“Yeah, probably not the best timing,” I replied.
And with that, he retreated to his locker and began to dress. But he’d made his presence known.
Cover Your Eyes Because Here He Comes
Every male locker room — even those in clubs that cost thousands to join, reek of body butter and hire attendants to pick up fluffy, terry cloth towels haphazardly tossed about by members — has one. He is that friendly guy who will start locker room conversations with fellow inhabitants, be they no-necked muscle heads, triathletes in training, Pickleball beginners or massage enthusiasts.
And he will do it without wearing any clothes.
He is usually in his late 60s or older. No need to describe any other characteristics. Maybe he’s a lonely divorcee or widower. Maybe he spent a career as a traveling salesman and has a flair for conversation and entertaining icebreaker statements. None of that is relevant; I only care that he clothes himself. Quickly.
I have never been in a female locker room, so I have no idea if women are comfortable chatting with their compatriots while bare breasted or in other stages of nakedness. My wife insists every woman is always wearing, at the “bare” minimum, a towel. Fantasies aside, I applaud their modesty.
Younger men, I have noticed, well not noticed, observed, glanced at, uh…forget it. Younger men seem to be more inclined to cover their private areas in locker rooms. Sexagenerians and above need to get that memo soon. And, because I recently turned 60, I need to read it as well.
You see, I briefly became a friendly old naked guy.
I Shouldn’t Pick up ANYTHING while naked
It didn’t happen by choice, but it still…happened. Shower completed, I was headed to my locker when I noticed a health club regular, a disabled man confined to a wheelchair but still ripped to the core, attempting to pick up a training glove he had dropped. I ran over to help and suddenly found myself quizzing him. Inquiring about his disability; he revealed he lost the use of one leg in a factory explosion. I complimented him on his tenacity in the weight room. He revealed he was also 60, which explains why he was only too happy to converse.
I wished him well, retreated to my locker and only then realized the cardinal rule I had just broken. I’m sure younger men in the locker room were silently mouthing, “Dude, cover that up.”
I have always been an extrovert and pride myself on being able to easily talk to people of all sexes, age groups and races. It’s a trait I was robbed of during the pandemic, and one I was only too happy to jumpstart after lockdown eased. People, and their stories, fuel my writing and my standup comedy routines. Don’t worry; a bit about talking to a disabled gym rat while naked will not be included in my Netflix special, should I ever be offered one. But I left my club feeling more inspired than if I had just dressed in silence.
Now I must remind myself that inspiration can come while fully clothed. In fact, I’m headed to the gym shortly. My bag contains the essentials: combination lock, Airpods and toiletries.
Also, for the first time ever, a full length robe.
