Earlier this month, I was at my local gym, where some schoolkids were also using the equipment, when I heard my name called from across the room.
‘Gabi! I need to speak to you, love.’
I had a sinking feeling as I walked over to the gym owner and resident house-mum, Lucy*. Had I not been cleaning the equipment well enough? I’d been remembering both the detergent and the disinfectant, hadn’t I?
‘Sweetheart, I’m going to try to say this gently, but we’ve had a complaint from the teacher of the schoolkids, and… are you wearing a g-string?’
My face felt hot, and dumfounded, I replied, ‘Yes.’
G-strings are all I ever wear, they’re comfortable and I like having no lines underneath my clothing. Wait, this is INSANE. Why am I defending my underwear choices to the gym?
But she was still talking.
‘…Because she thought maybe you were wearing a g-string on top of your shorts.’
Huh?! Oh. It must be my scrunch-bum shorts. But people wear these to this gym all the time! And anyway, if I want to dress like a superhero at the gym, I f*cking will.
‘Hun do you have something else you could change into? Something in your gym bag?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘What about a towel, do you have a towel you could tie around your waist?’
‘I think it would be difficult to deadlift in a towel.’
Watch: Taryn Brumfitt: I Am. Post continues below.
‘Or… how far away is home? Could you maybe go and get changed?’
‘Sure, I’ll leave.’
‘I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m trying so hard to be gentle and not hurt you, but it’s just because there are young boys here. Fourteen years old. Just out of primary school.’