genderqueer:

cassket:

Three days ago I broke down and bought one of those little home weight benches at Canadian Tire.

I just haven’t been making it to the gym as much lately. Part of the reason is that I am in Winnipeg as a writer in residence for four months, and the mercury has been shivering around –25C for a week now, not counting the wind-chill factor. 

Some days the thought of dragging myself out of my warm and writerly apartment to go scrape off, unplug, unClub and warm up my truck, and plow through the snow to drive to the gym is too much. But my real obstacle is the gender hassle in the women’s change room at the university. Trying to speed-change before I scare an entire volleyball team of undergrads is just more than I can face some days. 

Last week I heard three young women talking trash about me from the next row of lockers over, and the high school flashback that ensued on the drive home blindsided me a little and left me with the perfect excuse not to work out the next day. So I bought a weight bench, an exercise ball and a couple sets of dumbbells, cranked up some music and pumped some iron in the privacy of my own rented home. 

But it got me to thinking. 

I wondered how many times public change rooms have been or become an unclimbable obstacle for transgendered, transitioning, genderqueer or gender-non-conforming people. What are the health impacts of these spaces not being as accessible to us as they are for others? 

(read on)

My favorite part:

The dictionary definition of the word “public” is interesting: “of, pertaining to, or affecting a population or a community as a whole, open to all persons, pertaining or devoted to the welfare or well-being of the community, of or pertaining to all humankind” being a few of the most relevant definitions. 

I think if we are to continue calling gendered bathrooms and change rooms public spaces, then we have a lot of work ahead of us.