Standing at his locker, an older man says hi how’re you doing to the middle-aged man coming in. “Above ground and breathing,” answers the younger man cheerfully. I laughed even though the quip seemed to be coming from the wrong man. The locker room is full of ghosts.
During the middle of the day, most of the men at this health club are either weakened from a condition of some sort or more or less old. We work out lightly, swim slowly, and maybe socialize. Our bodies, naked or wrapped in towels, move by the lockers and showers and stop in front of the TVs on Fox or ESPAN.
Most of the men recognize friends and chat about ailments and about others who “still live here” or “no longer live there.” In between the tales of sports and business, stories roll out about doctors, meds, procedures, therapies, chemo, dosages, a disabled friend, the grandson finally coming to visit, a wife’s long recovery at rehab and home.
One man told a startling tale—actual news—about an opera fan who scattered a white powder — his wife’s ashes, it turned out — over the orchestra pit during intermission at the Metropolitan Opera, bringing the performance of “William Tell” to an abrupt end.
I don’t think any of us find it easy to look at our own or others’ collapsing bodies. And it may just be me but I think that as our aspirations and achievements move behind us, we men live a little in the shadow of the longevity of women (the majority gender at the club) and that extra durability they carry in order to bring the species along. So in the locker room we are friendly and patient with each other. And above ground and breathing.