You slip upstairs to the attic, before anyone else in the household is awake. You drop your pajama pants. You slough your top. Goosebumps prickle. You mount the stair machine and start to climb.
It began innocently. You were in a morning time crunch with just 15 minutes to spare, and thought: “Why put on workout clothes just to sweat them up? Every minute I spend dressing or undressing is one less minute of exercise. Simpler just to wear nothing.”
But then, you learned the surprising sweetness of exercise unclad. Several minutes into your climb, just as your breathing is starting to deepen, you break your first sweat, on your scalp and forehead, just as you would in a public gym. But then, the difference: as the beads of fluid form all over your body — droplets on your wrists, your back, your chest, under any fold of skin — the air touching you cools them, making you feel them more.
You’re exquisitely conscious of the first full-fledged drop that slithers down your midriff, tickling you as it goes. Then another, down your side, below your armpit: a sensitive swath, rarely touched.
You’re breathing hard and deep now. You’re past your warm-up, well into the thick of it. You’ve always failed at meditation, unable to keep your mind clear for even a minute. But you find that when you’re pushing hard like this, it’s easy to concentrate on nothing but your breath. The music is pounding loudly, and you’re breathing along with its rhythm. You’re sucking in air and puffing it out: breath on the beat. Breath on the beat. Thinking of nothing. Just breathing.
And now you’re post-peak. You’re easing up, catching your breath. You feel a droplet jiggle and then run down your lower back, into the dip of your coccyx. Multiple drops from beneath your armpits. Now is when the sweat flood comes, as you slow up.
You savor the ratcheting down, the return of your normal breathing. In the dimness, in the mirror across the room, you see your back sparkling, diamonds of liquid catching and reflecting the light. And you think, “That’s beautiful.”
Still not convinced? Let us enumerate points of persuasion. (And let us stipulate that not all of us have private enough places to indulge. Also, let us note that high-impact exercise may require bodily straps and supports to fight the physics of dangling and jiggling; but stairclimbing, recumbent biking, and many strength workout moves do not.)
1. Join the classical aesthetic tradition
Remember all those full-frontal muscular men on classical vases? Don’t they reflect a custom of nude workouts and competitions? I asked Harvard’s Emma Dench, professor of the Classics and of History. (Actually, I had a false memory that it was the Romans who did all that posing and prancing.) Her response:
The Romans got terribly worried about the idea of exercising in the nude (moral laxity/homosexuality), which they thought of as a very Greek custom. But the ancient Greeks indeed exercised and competed in the nude, enjoying a cult of the beautiful body that often has upper class connotations and that is also associated with male-male admiration and sensual or even outright sexual pleasures that were sometimes problematized. I don’t think they came up with any utilitarian explanation: I think it was rather an aesthetic ideal.
Obvious. According to family lore, a cousin of mine even moved to a nudist camp to avoid laundry.
3. Back to essentials Continue reading