There are some places that you just shouldn’t go at certain hours–places that could leave you feeling uncomfortable, vulnerable. For example: the gym between 5 and 8 p.m. It’s mayhem.

Usually I frequent the gym around 9 p.m. after most of the crowds have cleared out. But yesterday I got out of work and felt blessed with this mysterious surge of energy and motivation. If I didn’t go to the gym right away, I could lose it. Then I wouldn’t go at all. I would just sit at home watching Full House Season 2 DVDs on my laptop and eating crunchy peanut butter directly out of the jar. I’d go to bed feeling ill and contemplating how I’ll never be as successful as the Olsen Twins were by age two.

So at 6 p.m., I sallied forth in my spandex and oversized t-shirt feeling ready for the incredible journey of going nowhere on a stationary exercise machine. Alas! All of the elliptical machines were taken! And all of the stationary bikes too! There were a few treadmills open, but in college I once fell off a treadmill in front of the men’s lacrosse team and I haven’t set foot on one since. There’s nothing quite like having a collective masculine, “OHHH!” hit you when you’re down.

However, with patience and an alert eye, I managed to cut people off with my long, determined strides and snag the machines I needed. After 40 minutes of cardio, I had to circle a few times before I pounced on a nice little plot of the stretching mat. Cultivating my garden, I carefully covered the sweat marks left over from its last inhabitant. Something about this whole process started to feel like a sad metaphor for life in New York: the mad dash to go nowhere, the rabid chase for a bit of space. I was dehydrated and somewhat delusional.

Finally, I headed to the locker room. Women of all shapes and ages in various stages of nakedness packed the entire area. I queued up for a shower. Had I not already thoughtlessly shed my clothes in favor of a towel, I would have just gone home to clean off, but by already peeling off a sweaty sports bra and damp socks, there was no turning back.

After 20 minutes of standing in line, I finally got my short but blissful shower. When I reentered the hubbub of the locker room, the area was even more densely packed. I made my way back to my locker, sidestepping various pairs of wild breasts being harnessed by their owners and bodies being liberated from their spandex.

I had one of those half-sized lockers on the ground. As I bent over to open the lock and get my clothes off, I heard someone shout my name. Instinctively, I rapidly turned around toward the voice, and–smack–slammed half of my face against the naked body standing next to me. As I bounced back from the impact, I realized that I’d made full contact with this woman’s rear end–a locker room fender bender.

“I’m so sorry!” I cried, springing up to standing position, horrified at the intimate connection I’d just made.

The woman, probably 30 or so wearing nothing but a thong, just looked at me and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.” To her, the whole thing didn’t seem like a big deal. Getting rear ended in a crowded locker room probably isn’t too unusual, and I’m sure the side of my face didn’t feel like much.

Then I heard my name again, turned, and saw the sea of women part to reveal none other than my coworker and BFF (Best Foe Forever), Sushi Girl.

She was wearing little pink running shorts, a black tank top, and juggling her BlackBerry in one hand, an iPod in the other. “HEY!” She waved her BlackBerry at me. I gave her a meek wave back, hoping this gesture would be the extent of our interaction. Instead, giggling, she made her way towards me.

“Oh my God,” she whispered at me. “I totally saw that.”

“What?”

I watched the woman, now wearing a skirt and a bra, move across the locker room to blow dry her hair.

“Uh, hello? Your little collision. You totally just ran into that woman’s butt. It was like watching America’s Funniest Home Videos or something. Except like, R-rated. You know, because of the butt. I wish I could replay it in slow-motion.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, absently, angry that Sushi Girl had not only witnessed the embarrassing interaction but also caused it by calling out to me. “I mean, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, plus, it could have been so much worse. I mean, at least she had a really good body. It would have been way gross if you had run into you know, one of the like, older women here.”

A silver-haired woman in a bra turned around and shot us a glare. Get me out of here.

“I mean,” Sushi Girl went on, “that’s probably like, the best piece of ass you’ve gotten in a while.”

She threw her head back in a tinkle of laughter. I rolled my eyes. Perhaps I would have been more of a sport if my almost-relationship with Jake hadn’t recently crumbled in the powerful fist of Man.

“I’m joking,” Sushi Girl. “You need to like, lighten up. Your face is so red. Are you like, really embarrassed, or just out of shape?”

Five minutes later, I walked out of the gym, vowing never to return before the hour of 9 p.m. I had hit rock bottom and it was not a region I cared to revisit.

Photo Credit: fantasticfiction.co.uk