Naked Old Dudes at the YMCA
Observing the phenomenon that has affected every male eye and reflecting on what it means about not just the culprits but me, too.
In the 20 minutes I spend inside the men’s locker room at the Tennova YMCA on weekday mornings, I typically come into contact with at least six naked old dudes. I don’t mean to be crude or gendered. My point is that three or four hundred times, in two states and across at least four gym facilities, I’ve witnessed many men between the ages of 60 and 95 lounging in the buff. And I must know why.
Is it voyeurism? A shamelessness that surges with old age? Forgetfulness that they’re not wearing underwear while filling their water bottles or combing their head hair? Or a sense of pride in the effort they’ve put into sculpting their bodies? I doubt it’s the latter, as I’ve never seen any of these guys lift weights. Their gym behavior, according to Reddit, is more like the nocturnalism that scientists observe in badgers and barn owls. Older men enter the gym facility before sunrise. They then head to the sauna or ride stationary bikes in dark rooms or back corners alone before their internal clock pings their subconscious, which redirects their bodies to the locker room to let it all hang out with their buddies while gossiping about their neighbors’ yards and recounting their latest round of golf.
There are more than a dozen queries in various Subreddits dedicated to understanding the phenomenon of nude geezers in exercise facilities. Major publications, like The Spectator and The Atlantic, have tackled the issue. A sports blogger from Philadelphia mused about it in a rallying cry on Barstool Sports in 2017, declaring that instead of solving big problems like poverty or climate change, Millennial men should set their sights on ending male locker room nudity by promising that, in 30 years, when we’re the old guys, we’ll wrap our towels at our waists.
After my search for an answer online turned up little more than lousy humor and camaraderie with other distressed observers of this phenomenon, I decided to look inside my own heart, inverting the question. Instead of asking “Why them?” I’ve been wrestling this week with the question of why I’m so uncomfortable being butt-naked in the locker room. Even on the summer days when the sun has bronzed my skin and a heavy lifting session has made my muscles glisten, I keep my boxer briefs on for every second I’m not in the shower. The stone-carved dudes to my right and left, under 40 years old, do the same. Is it because we’re more prudish or embarrassed than our dads and grandfathers? Are we introverted? Or does something more serious, like body dysmorphia, affect our generation?
The first example I know of anyone being naked is recorded in the account of Adam and Eve in the Book of Genesis. The first created beings were hanging out in paradise, riding lions and drinking water that wasn’t full of microplastics, when they decided to break the only rule they were given: not to eat fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Once they had, they realized that their nethers were exposed and went about sewing underwear from fig leaves.
“They heard the sound of the LORD God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves…among the trees…But the LORD God called to the man and said to him, ‘Where are you?’ And he said, ‘I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked...’”
“Who told you that you were naked?” God responds with his eyebrow raised. “Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?”
Nudity appears a lot more times in the Bible. Sometimes, it’s good. Mostly, it’s bad. After his ark was saved, Noah got drunk and passed out naked. His son, Ham, saw him and gossiped about it, which resulted in Noah cursing Ham’s son for some ancient Hebrew reason. Another Old Testament heavyweight, the prophet Isaiah, walked the town square barefoot and in the buff for three years, preaching God’s judgment on the Egyptians and Ethiopians. And it’s likely Jesus was hung naked on the cross as a way to humiliate him further in front of the viewing public at Golgotha.
Tim Keller, the modern theologian I most often turn to when I don’t understand something about religion, said in a sermon he preached about Adam and Eve in his Manhattan church back in 2009:
“As soon as sin came into their hearts, they covered up from each other. They sewed fig leaves to cover up their nakedness, but they were covering up their nakedness from whom at that point? God wasn’t even around. From each other.”
“We cannot bear to have other people really know who we are. We have to control what other people see about us, because we have to maintain power and control. Because our relationships are now power relationships, not love and service relationships, our relationships with each other are messed up. Individually we have superficial relationships, exploitative relationships, but corporately, races don’t get along with each other, the genders don’t get along with each other. Because our relationships with God are messed up and our relationships with ourselves are messed up, so our relationships in the world are messed up.”
There are layers to this that I’m not equipped to uncover, despite minoring in philosophy at Willy P after realizing it was easier to write essays and discuss book chapters I hadn’t read than doing math homework or pursuing studies that led to a job. But it’s gotten me thinking about why I only feel comfortable naked at home with my wife. Perhaps there is something virtuous about these old dudes that I just can’t see as I avoid their path like a backwoods survivalist does an approaching Black bear.
Some people say that in the afterlife, we’ll all be naked in restored bodies that shimmer like diamonds. Maybe these guys are just preparing for then, knowing they’re much closer, on paper, to seeing Jesus than I am?
In a short while, I’ll be at the Tennova Y again, keeping my eyes to the ground as I put away my stuff before trying to sweat off the chocolate chip cookies that Landon’s wife Callie made us last night. A hairy dude of about 77 will be putting on his shirt and socks before his underwear, and I’ll lock eyes with a younger guy who sees this and shakes his head in disgust. I’ll want to agree with his assessment. But instead of nodding, assenting with my eyes as I let out a disappointed sigh, I’ll put my hands up, like, what can you do man? Maybe the problem, in the end, isn’t with them. It’s with us. It just depends on who’s the one asking the question.
Read previous The Weekly Big Head columns:
April 22 – What Color is the Grass in Alaska?
April 15 – Restlessness on Weekends
April 8 – Adventures with the Apocalyptic Cowboy
April 1 – Free Barabbas
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