When the wall timers for the jacuzzi pumps ran down to zero, the hot tub practically went silent, and that's when I was startled awake. I lifted my head from my makeshift pillow to see that the digital wall clock now read 5:30.
I suppose some other men might have joined me while I was sleeping, but at this point, the tub was just as it was when I stepped in. Empty, besides me.
I felt compelled to get out, having had the dynamic, provocative experience I just did. Chris Keyes had certainly made a distinct impression.
One of the showers directly across from the jacuzzi was open. Hence, I stepped inside after throwing my remaining health club-issued towel over the rod. As I soaped up, there seemed to be less of a neurological filter between my brain and what my fingers were registering as they lathered. The best way I know to describe it is my skin and body hair seemed to be hyper felt as I went through my bathing routine.
I could hear, outside of the shower stall, other men now enjoying the jacuzzi. Having peeked through the vinyl curtain, I confirmed their presence therein. Their murmurs were apparent relative to the makeshift comradery.
The no-fog shaving mirror attached to the shower stall wall seemed to beckon relative to peering at my silver-haired face as I quickly bathed. When I did, I found that it was ruddy from the lengthy jacuzzi bath, though my countenance, overall, was beaming as I contemplated further my locker room reckoning.
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Back amongst the actual lockers, I slipped my somewhat sweaty workout clothes back on after drying off. I'd left them on a freestanding wooden bench over in one corner. Before exiting the space, I made my way to the lavatories, looking for body lotion for my incredibly wrinkly hands. When I took stock of myself in the wall-to-wall mirror, I couldn't help but pause. The contrast between 51-year-old Rob and his 18-year-old self was truly sobering to behold.
As I finished gathering my thoughts, an older, fatherly looking man along with what looked to be his teenage son, turned the corner. The boy couldn't have been more than sixteen. Each of them was wearing nothing except their health club-issued towels, skirted tightly around their mid-sections. I couldn't help but notice that the teen was even leaner than I'd been at that age, though he was a few inches taller.
As I was heading back down the corridor towards the info / check-in desk, I wondered if those two would soon be jacuzzing post-workout, situated exactly where I just was on this Saturday NOLA afternoon.
I felt initiated. Brave. Especially from the standpoint of having taken these steps on my own.
All of this reminded me of how individualistic ever Samson guys recovery truly is.
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