Contempt & Envy

One of my favorite things to do now that I have my days free is crawl out of bed and head straight to the gym. Because I will just get all sweaty, I usually don’t shower beforehand. It seems wasteful to do so, and I quite enjoy the shock value of walking downtown in a disheveled state. The gym where I work out is a few blocks from my condo, so I usually grab my gym bag and stroll over. Immediately I noticed the stares. Not direct eye contact, but a sidelong glance that is a mixture of contempt and envy. Who is this unshaven man with the obvious bed-head and razor stubble? HaHaHa, I think to myself, I am Liberated Man. Of course you envy me! You beleaguered whores in your corporate costumes off to slave away in a cubicle jungle. I’ve broken free of such drudgeries (at least for the moment). It’s a rather exhilarating feeling, I must say.

As an un-showered man at the gym, I fall into the first of two groups. The first group are the people who are there to exercise. The second group are the posers. You know who I mean--the women in their tight t-shirts reading Cosmo and jiggling seductively on the elliptical machine with perfect hair and makeup; the men in their tank tops doing biceps curls in front of the mirrors. These people are sweatin’ each other, but none of this sweat has to do with actual exercise. Most of the posers are in their 20’s and don’t need to exercise to look good anyway. Once you hit 30--it takes a little effort.

I have a friend who is in a relationship with a surgeon who was just telling me this weekend, “I don’t think my man appreciates how much work I’m doing to maintain my status as his trophy husband”. It’s so true. After 30, you better spend some time looking ugly at the gym (ie. Sweaty, red-faced and hyperventilating) so you can look presentable anywhere else. It just a sad fact of life.

Walking home from the gym, looking even worse after my work out--I’ve started noticing something else. There are several cafés downtown, and most of them have outside seating. These are where the power lunches happen. The same worker bees who were looking down their noses at me now turn their eyes to menus promising interesting sandwiches, exotic soups, and colorful salads. My accountant has me on a tight budget during my mini-retirement, so trendy café food is off limits. I’m currently living on home-made turkey sandwiches and kettle chips. As I walk past these immaculately dressed men & women dining on linen tablecloths and chatting on their iPhones, with nothing but squeeze-bottle horseradish to enliven my own lunch--I’m finding myself staring at them with a mixture of contempt and envy. Kind of the same way I look at the posers!