Adonis On The Half Shell

By Leo de Natale

Adonis On The Half Shell

By

Leo de Natale

Illustrations by Vince Giovannucci

An elbow injury had forced me to alter my thrice-weekly exercise routine at the local gymnasium.  Instead of upper body weight machines that were painful, I concentrated on calisthenics and  leg exercises.  The quadriceps machine required me to push a solid angular platform with my lower legs.  I rested between reps and looked around me.  And there he was.  Directly across from me was a paunchy middle-aged man.  He had just arrived at the exercise station.  An Adonis he was not.

He was about six feet tall, probably in his mid-to-late fifties. A rumpled, faded Guinness Stout tee shirt outlined his growing pot belly.  He was lifting dumbbells while performing the aerobic step exercises, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.  Mr. “A.”sported a three-day-old beard that revealed graying chin whiskers. The scruffy look seems  popular these days but in “A”’s case it drew attention to his aging.  A neck gullet was forming and he was a hairy bastard. 

As he turned his back to me I was astounded by his neck.  I’d never seen a man whose entire neck was camouflaged  by hair that belonged on his chest.  You physically could not see skin.  There was that much hair.  Very Neanderthal. I asked myself, how does his barber handle this hirsute challenge? A hedge trimmer or perhaps a Lady McCulloch mini-chainsaw?

What was really amusing was his particularly bad “sweep over” that was making a futile attempt to hide his baldness.  Most bald men using this method have too few hairs to attempt to conceal the “curse of alopecia”.  This gentleman had allowed a three-inch wide band of side hair to grow and cover the middle portion of his bare scalp.  I was convinced he had applied mousse to prevent any movement of the “sweep”.  Those suckers were gonna stay in place, goddammnit, and be able to withstand the wind tunnel test.

Of course anyone who was on the gym’s second floor or standing 40 feet from him could easily see the fore and aft bare skin.  Sweep overs were man’s feeble attempt at deception  and the quintessential example of self delusion. 

The piece de resistance was his face.  “A” was bespectacled with Geek grade eyeglasses. They weren’t Armani’s or Ralph Laurens.  Just a cheap pair of Walmart spectacles that exposed his strong,  nearsighted prescription with thick lenses.  The most glaring issue, however, is our friend’s bad case of disfiguring acne rosacea, a skin condition that afflicts many persons of Northern Europe origins – English,Irish, German, etc. His nose, cheeks and chin were scarlet and called attention to his unattractive visage. 

His cheeks  resembled an interstate roadmap.  He would never be considered a chick magnet.  He was wearing a grubby pair of Chuck Taylor high-cut sneakers but didn’t realize the Chucks had only recently become a faddist fashion items.  He’d worn that brand  since the 1970’s.

His  dorkiness was accentuated by a 1950’s-style wrist watch, complete with the  Speidel Twist-O-Flex expandable watch band; his timepiece was not a bespoke Rolex Oster Perpetual.  Few gym-worshipers wore watches because they were normally glued to their iPhones and constantly texting.  If wrist watches were worn they were either Apple iWatches or the black, macho, oversized G-Shocks that provided every conceivable function – day, date, moon phase, stop watch and, of course, the time of day.

“A” was among groups of older gym rats who are trying to attain physical fitness and weight loss, a process made difficult with ingrained eating habits and metabolism changes affecting body shape and change.   At the gym there are many sculpted younger men and women preening and strutting their stuff.  Young women tantalize the males with their skin tight leggings that would explode if they emitted a  combustible fart.  Adding to the titillation are the spandex v-neck jerseys that expose cleavage. 

Others wear gym tops that are basically bras-in-disguise with some extra fabric wrapping around the back.  Such displays cause much knuckle-biting among the strong, red-blooded American males!

American women seem to want it both ways.  They flaunt their sexuality with provocative gym attire yet want to obliterate toxic masculinity.  Can’t have it both ways, ladies.  Blame it on the spandex.

Of course the preening men, most of whom are denizens of the weight room, display their male equivalent of such exhibitionis.  Those who are fit and muscular wear the sleeveless muscle shirts  exposing well defined biceps, triceps and pectorals.  They stare at themselves in mirror-lined gym walls.  They flex, admire their images and take occasional selfies.

          The men’s gym shirts are available online and have different styles and amazing names: Racerback, Stringer, Drop Arm Tank, Crest Tank, Sleeveless, Legacy Stringer, the one with little fabric in the back or front.  Of course, there was also the classic wife-beater undershirt that always appear in gangster movies.   

As an ever-increasingly added feature, many – males and females -are sporting tattoos in all shapes and sizes.  One fellow sports a black, full beard and is wearing a black sweatshirt.  I refer to him as Mr. Blackie.  Most people keep their sleeves loose at the wrist.

 Blackie, however, pulls the sweatshirt sleeves to his elbows where he exposes “sleeve” tattoos on both arms.  The tats occupy enough space to hide visible skin.  “Hey look at my ink! Ain’t it impressive?”, such an exhibitionist seems to say.  Some women display sleeve tats or something behind the neck, thigh or ankle.  Pick a body part and you’ll see ink.

Modern society has the acceptance of body tattoos and many, if not most Gen Zers  under age thirty have at least one tattoo.  Wait until they discover how unappealing these  permanent body alterations appear when they reach age 55, 60 and beyond.  Collagen loss produces flaccid skin.  The tats become an undiscernible  blob of black ink.

And then you have the geezer population.  Older men’s garb at the gym is usually comprised of baggy sweatpants and oversized sweatshirts emblazoned with a faded “Old Orchard Beach, Maine” emblem.  The really old guys eschew gym garb and wear chinos and a well worn plaid flannel shirt and/or polyester short sleeve dress shirt dating to the 1960’s.  This group is not interested in making a fashion statement.  Older women try to hide the sagging body parts with loose gym clothing.  But, hey, both the senior men and women are at least trying to remain physically active.  Points for the seniors.   It’s better exercising at a gym than morphing into a couch potato.

By the time a person reaches age 70, the body parts are wearing out.  A knee replacement here, a hip replacement there.  The human body changes appearance.  Most are moderately to severely overweight.   Everything sags.  Our faces start resembling a stone quarry.  Double chins suddenly appear; a gulletectomy is needed.  A man’s Adam’s apple disappears.  April is the cruelest month of the year, right, T.S. Eliot?

As for me, I’m included in the geezer group.  But I’ve tried to stay in shape – I’ve been regularly exercising for more than thirty years.  Although I’m happy to keep my weight down but some things change and there’s no controlling sagging, flaccid muscles, a slew of brown age spots, skin turning into crepe that create old man’s hands- just like my dad’s. 

Aging is a bitch, physically, medically and emotionally.   For such men as Mr. Adonis, the reality is premature.  I hope he turns things around.  For me and so many of my old brothers and sisters it is “One day at a time, one moment at a time, baby! Amen.