Today there was a man in the dressing room when I went to the gym. I saw him doing electrical work when I walked in. My inner dialogue immediately started invading my head:
Come on, Laura. It’s just a guy. He’s working on the other side of the gym. He can’t see anything by the lockers. Just change your clothes just like you always would. You’re not embarrassed by your body, are you? Ok, you are, but you vowed that you were going to act like you weren’t. What would that beautiful Oriental girl with the fake boobs do? She would just whip off her jogging bra like she didn’t even notice he was here. Of course, she’s probably an exhibitionist, but that’s another story. If he saw me, does that make me an exhibitionist because I was willing to change in here, knowing that there was a guy on the other side of the wall? Fuck it. I’m going to be proud of my body. It isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before, right?
And with that, I remembered the old trick from ninth grade. I could change into my jogging bra without a risk of him seeing anything, even if he did walk right into the locker room area. The old Flashdance trick. It takes extra time, but the risk just turned down to nothing. So I did it. I changed with a man in the locker rooms. There was no way he could see anything while I wiggled under my clothing, but I did it. Maybe he would be gone by the time I was finished with my run.
He wasn’t. And I couldn’t. I just couldn’t bear to risk trying to change in front of that guy. I just sucked it in, felt the shame of my body and waited my turn to change in the tiny dressing room that had suddenly become popular.
The irony of it all is that he was installing lights over the makeup counter. I had just been wishing for lights in that area. Be careful what you ask forů