Like most other males in their early to mid twenties, I claim to work out far more often than I actually do.  Really, I wish I could say my lethargic personality was solely to blame, but my lack of gym time is because of something far more terrifying.  I’m talking, of course, about gym exposure.  What exactly is gym exposure?  Well, let me explain.  With New Years resolution fulfillment goals in full stride, most Americans are hitting the gym to drop those extra pounds en route to curbing our overwhelming national obesity issues.  However, resisting these lofty expectations, one problem is rearing its ugly head again.  A problem we thought went away with the inventions of the towel and undergarment.  And as a result, young men everywhere are cowering in fear, afraid to venture in to public locker rooms across the country.

Gym exposure, more commonly known by it’s street name Middle-Aged Man Crotch, has become a recent epidemic.  This ever increasing problem has plagued the fitness society for years but has seen a recent up-swing as the “baby boomers” reach their early fifties.  A time in a man’s life when buying expensive material goods and generally not caring have become prevalent activities.   A time when towels and body hair maintenance have become strictly optional.  To explain my point, picture yourself in my shoes as I provide you a day in the life of male locker room user.  At a Bally’s.  On a Tuesday.  In Wisconsin.

As a young adult using these public facilities, it is sometimes hard to imagine what waits for you on the other side of the glass door ahead.  Approaching the locker room, there is no way to prepare for the onslaught ahead.  Like an underdog boxer entering the ring, you plan to take the blows, play your best defense and hope to come out on top…  always fearing the worst. Walking into the locker room, it’s presence like no other.  As if an angry, prehistoric mammal was let out of its denim cage for the afternoon.  Sure, covering up with a small, white piece of cloth is an option.  But how would you get an accurate body weight measurement with a towel wrapped around your mid-section?  Surely the damp cloth adds fifteen to twenty pounds.  And who needs to completely dry off in the shower when you can place that towel between your legs and ride it like a naked cowboy would his bleached horse?

In the locker room, few rules seem to apply. Casually talking with friends, nude, in most locations? Inappropriate.  While in the locker room? Expected.  As if to say, “I’ve given up caring, and it appears you have too.  Let’s converse.” Spewing an anecdote about married life can’t wait for a clothed delivery.  It must be told now.

How appropriate, the seventy-eight year old creeper who can barely bend his joints, got a locker right next to yours.  Even though the room is sparingly filled, and four pieces of clothing shouldn’t take this long to put on, the man takes near record time getting dressed. Starting from the top down.  How convenient.   Like a balding, albino gorilla, he  proceeds to put lotion in places not meant for children or pregnant women to view.   You continue to stare into the dirty locker housing your workout materials and pray for God to take away your peripheral vision.  No such luck.

A slightly older man now approaches the set of lockers behind you.  Trapping you between the two old men, a bench and that wall to your right.  You see the new man glance at the naked pile of a body to your left with a familiar glint in his eye.  Oh… oh, no. He recognizes him.  Fearing entrapment, you close your locker and hop on to the bench separating the men in one motion, pushing off the worn board to get out of this hostile situation.  A sigh of relief comes over you as you lunge towards the ground, your legs cushioning the fall as your reflexes bounce you back up off the scummy tile.  Your head rises with some resistance, ready for the journey to the weights. Finally, you realize what has happened.  In all the confusion, you have leaped right into the mid-section of an oncoming naked man on his way back from the sauna.  There is no God.

Please, don’t mistake this tale as a young adult’s non-acceptance of the male body, but rather that of someone who just doesn’t want to see old dudes naked.

Posted Fitness, Rants |