The Naked Truth

One thing about having a regular workout schedule at a gym, you get to know your fellow participants pretty well. After all, as I said to my wife, "When you stand around naked in the lockerroom you learn things you wouldn't if we were dressed." She rolled her eyes in that wifely way, but I think she understood my deeper meaning. There's a sense of camaraderie. On second thought, maybe it's a guy thing.

Anyway, you're on a first name basis really quickly. There's Bob, a retired university statistics professor (names have been changed to protect the innocent), in his 80s, who swims regularly, and is a fantastic, albeit unconsciously, good whistler; he's from England, and still has the accent. There's Lars, a younger guy from Sweden, robust and playful, still in his prime; there's Mike, a middle-aged executive and cyclocross enthusiast with an autistic son, and another Mike, also a bike enthusiast who I think is independently wealthy, since he is young and long-haired, (and tall) and cycles round the world. Dean, a retired silver-haired attorney and worker's comp judge, with a very thin runner's physique, and a troublesome hamstring. And so on.

Another guy, Jerry, is in his mid- to upper-60s, a retired entrepreneur and not in very good shape, though he religiously attends spinning and other classes. He moves kind of slowly and stiffly, and pretends to be far more gruff than he really is. He and I have been talking regularly lately, mostly banter and jokes (in this day and age even these people avoid politics). I thought I knew him pretty well. Yesterday, though, he sort of shyly handed me a brochure advertising an annual golfing fundraiser for a local high school. I don't golf and told him so, and he said to take it anyway, it was in memory of his son. As I looked it over I saw that the son "died suddenly" more than a dozen years ago. Died suddenly in this context usually means suicide. When I saw that I saw Jerry in a new light, and realized what a burden he must silently carry in is heart.

And I learned recently that Dean, the hobbled runner, has a wife with a terminal illness. All of which reminds me that people have secrets that are more than skin-deep, and that no doubt all of us carry our own secret sorrows. In that context, everyone deserves compassion.

We all share the burden of being human for so long as we trod the boards of life.