The early bird gets a big eyeful of bad naked

I’m not an unpleasant morning person. Unless something forces me to rise before 6:30 a.m. Then, all bets are off. I can’t guarantee matching shoes, my hair probably won’t have its characteristic round-brush flip and I’ll have a really hard time offering up a friendly smile to the lovely gentleman who sells N Judah Muni passes at Carl and Cole.

So you can imagine the seriousness of my situation when I recently decided to wake up At 5:15. A.M. Three days a week. Oh. Holy. Jesus.

The process of making the decision was gut wrenching. I looked pensively into the distance for hours. I cried. I laughed. I cursed Jeff Goodby and Dan Wieden. I threw away the pen John Hegarty touched (but retrieved it later). I accused chestnuts of being lazy. I even ripped the cover off my copy of “Hey Whipple, Squeeze This”. And when the realization of what I had to do finally washed over me, I wept like a newborn.

My realization, in case you’re wondering was this: because of advertising, exercise no longer has a consistent place in my life. Used to be, I’d work out after work. Now I have no idea when “after work” will be. Even though I’m not working typical lowest-low-person-on-the-advertising-totem-pole hours right now, I’m so drained after work all I want to do is go home and sit. And do absolutely nothing until I fall asleep.

This has not been good for my psyche or my ass. Hence, my 5:15 a.m. plan.

I’m blogging about this for 2 reasons. The first is that by telling people about it, I’m hoping I’ll be forced to stick to it. You know, accountability and all. The second is that I’ve made a few key observations after 2 weeks of doing this…and let me tell you, some of them are really not pretty.

Bad naked: You’re familiar with shirtcocking. Many of you may even recall Tampon Lady. Allow me to now acquaint you with “Lather Up the Pubic Hair Like I’m Karen Silkwood and Forego Pulling the Shower Curtain Across the Rod” lady. Please also meet “Examine My Vagina With a Compact On the Locker Room Bench” lady. Add those to the normal assortment of “No, Really, It’s More Convenient To Blow Dry My Hair Completely Naked” lady and “I think I’ll Prop My Leg As High as I Can On This Locker and Apply Lotion So Everyone Has a View of My Gaping Hoo-Ha While Completely Naked” Lady and you’ve got yourself quite a crew. I get strange looks because I put on my Gap cotton pants and a bra before I leave the shower area. Perhaps in a parallel universe someone is blogging about “I Can’t Apply Makeup Without My Gap Cotton Toile Pattern Pants” lady. But hey, I’m fine with that.

Something about you seems familiar: You know how you see people walking around and you think to yourself, “I know them from somewhere…but where?” Imagine your confusion when you discover - on a routine, lunch-break walk to Walgreen’s - that you know the woman you just passed on the sidewalk because you saw her at the gym that morning. Buck-naked. And you observed to yourself that morning – as women often do in a non-sexual, complimentary kind of way that men can’t understand because they can’t apply the same behavior to their gender - “Wow, she has really huge boobs for a woman of her small size.” Only on the sidewalk you obviously see her in clothing and your brain registers a thought like “She looks really different with her clothes on” and you want to slap yourself at the sheer bachelor-sounding ridiculousness of the thought.

Now imagine having about 3 of those moments a week. It’s like I’ve been whoring around San Francisco, only without the sex and without the men. Just a bunch of naked, soppy-from-the-shower women. And where’s the pleasure in that for a straight, single girl, I ask you?

Bench Warmers: I’m apparently in the minority of people who find it disturbing to sit naked on the gym benches. I put a towel down, for God’s sake – who wants their girlie bits all up on the plastic covering of the gym bench? I mean, who’s been there before me?

Locker Creepers: I arrive at the gym by 6 am which means I have about 98 lockers to choose from out of a possible 100. But it never fails. I choose a locker, I come back from my workout and someone has chosen to occupy the locker directly below mine. The available lockers have red keys dangling from them, mind you, so it’s not like people can’t see the ample choices available to them other than the locker under mine. Generally, the inhabitant of said locker is trying to access their belongings at the exact same time I’m trying to access mine. And they’re naked, or bending over to pick things up, or, even worse, crouching to put on shoes. Need I say more? Bending and crouching. Naked. Why ya gotta be up in my space, lady? Take your crouchy ass down to spaces to locker 173. It’s available.

Trimming the Topiaries It has to be mentioned – because I can’t help but notice, what with people’s legs all propped up on lockers and the furious open-curtained pubic scrubbing going on – that there are some SERIOUS gardening problems going on down below for a lot of ladies. Bush has gained back some popularity points if you know what I’m sayin’. Someday soon, I fully expect to hear someone’s crotch scream “What’s happenin’, ROG???!!” Razors. Sally Hanson Home Waxing Kit. Tweezers. Please.

The Great Urban Energy Legend: The people who tell you that exercising in the morning gives you more energy? Those people are big, fat LIARS. I do feel great for about an hour. But sometime in the morning, something happens…a time lapse of sorts. In my mind the clouds are speeding by my window, the sky is darkening, the day is waning. I look at my laptop to confirm the time I estimate to be approximately 6:11 p.m. and it’s…9:57 a.m. FUCKING HELL. Right about now you might think would be a good time to take a break and go for a coffee. But you’d be wrong because…I gave up coffee during the week. I know. Crazy.