I walked inside LA Fitness with my dad. We would always go to the gym as soon as my father got off work. I initially signed up to practice for the swimming team, but I did not want to be in a pool with a bunch of fifty year old men. So, I walked innocently to the stretching mats while my dad left to lift weights.
The stretching mats are where I always scrolled through social media platforms while doing planks. I remember this particular day I was watching a YouTube video on “How to get abs in less than 7 days.” All of a sudden, I was interrupted by a man.
“Excuse me, is anyone occupying this space?”
I quickly responded, “No, you can use it.” I shoved in my airpods to avoid any further interruptions, but this man continued to talk to me.
“How long have you been here? What are you doing?” I noticed that he was muscular, Asian, had a beard, maybe in his mid-thirties, and approximately 5’11”. He looked like any normal guy at the gym, but he was pestering me.
I answer, “Fifteen minutes. Planks.” I kept my responses relatively dry and short to express my disinterest, but this stranger was not getting the hint. My frustration grew and the only thing I could think about was “Stranger Danger.”
He continues, “So, I saw you over there.” My heart dropped. Was this man stalking me from afar? How long had he been observing me?
I responded coldly, “I wasn’t over there?” I was confused and naively thought this man must have mistaken me for someone else, since he was so chatty. Looking back, I was a fool to believe that. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt, because I recall my physical education teacher saying, “The gym is a socializing place.” I thought this guy was lonely and perhaps was in need of a new friend.
He said in a superficial tone, “Oh really?” At this point, I am avoiding eye contact with him and pretending to transition into my next workout.
He said, “So where are you from?” I was getting very nervous and I knew this was a red flag. My head was ringing with multiple alerts to walk away.
I lied, “Oh, I live in Huntington Park.”
He proceeded to ask another question, but I interrupted him and said, “Sorry, I have to use the restroom. Enjoy your workout.” He should have gotten the hint, right? No, he didn’t. I fast-walked towards the restroom and entered the stall.
I hope he isn’t following me. I hope he leaves soon. I hope he’s not there when I return.
I started texting my best friend. I typed quickly; my messages contained multiple errors. I remember the adrenaline rush I felt, praying that she was active on her phone. I needed to confide in someone, because then if anything happened at least someone knew.
She replied. Thank god.
I began praying. I’m not Christian, but I felt the need to pray to a higher power. Please protect me. I don’t want to get kidnapped.
I heard a few women coming in and out of the locker room. I realized that I had been in the restroom for thirty minutes. I began to feel paranoid and hyper-sensitive towards my surroundings. I left the restroom and began walking towards the stretching mats to resume my workout. In my peripheral vision, I noticed that the stranger was still there. He wasn’t even stretching — he seemed to be waiting. Before he could approach me, I returned back to the restroom stalls. How long do I have to wait? I’m scared. I waited another twenty minutes and finally the man had left the facility.
This happened when I was fourteen years old and it was not my first time being harassed. I stopped going to the gym as much; eventually, I canceled my gym membership. I think if I ever return back to the gym, I will always be scared.
Why did I not tell my father? I felt like if I told anyone at the gym, everyone would assume I was insane for believing a mid-thirty year old man was harassing me. To be honest, it’s hard asking for help, because what if I am the problem? Maybe it’s my hair, my clothes, my body.
A cycle of turmoil and blame overwhelmed me; it’s the perpetrator’s fault, no it’s my fault. But, I realized that it’s never your fault. I try to brush off this story, even laugh, but I still cry about it. Without taking away from my own experience, I recognize the girls out there who have experienced harassment at younger ages and even more severe. By sharing my vulnerability, I hope other girls know to not suffer in silence.