Originally Published in The Clifton Courier, February 21, 2018

So something just happened at the gym just now.

Yep, there I go, just casually dropping into conversation that I have been to the gym. Let the record show that I am somewhat active and therefore an upstanding human being!

I was doing one of those classes where you need a bench, which is a plastic platform you prop these motivationally-coloured plastic rings underneath to give said platform height. You usually need two of these rings for each end of the platform – one is too weak, while three says you’re trying too hard and no one wants to be that person at the gym.

It was already quite a full class and by the time I rocked up there were only two platforms left. It was a crowded room. My dad would probably describe it as “every man and his dog was there”, but given it was an exercise class in the eastern suburbs of Sydney, I would say “every woman and their pug” would be more appropriate.

And it’s dog eat dog in there of a Saturday morning. Resources and space are scarce.

So I had to be protective of what I’d claimed as mine.

I had stepped over the two platforms to grab the height rings behind them – I was sort of straddling them but also hovering above, almost as if I was weeing in a really, really dodgy public toilet. As I was grabbing these rings, a lady came and grabbed both platforms from between my legs.

Now this became a little awkward, because I thought I had clearly reserved one of those platforms by both my being there first and the way I was hovering over it.

Despite the fact that I’m typically quite a loud person and like to get around in a signature hat, I’m not generally the most assertive person – particularly with strangers.

I’ll usually apologise if someone steps in my path and will let people order in front of me. The other day I was at a party where the food was scarce and I was starving, but when another girl and I went for the same single serve of chips – the last one on the table – I insisted she take them.

I’m not sure what is behind this. You could argue it’s because I’m a “nice” person. But maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s fuelled not by chip-based philanthropy, but by a deep-seated desire to seem “nice”. Maybe it denotes a lack of self-esteem. Perhaps it’s a symptom of my patriarchal upbringing.

Whatever it is, I seem to have an innate desire to recoil and apologise.

So I was surprised when something inside made me say words to the effect “excuse me sweetie, one of those was mine”. Obviously I wasn’t that sassy and it probably tumbled out in a timid mumble, but my utterance was of assertion.

And I walked away with my gym equipment.

But then this made me think – or, depending on how you look at it, over think – about what this said about me as a person.

Was I suddenly a strong, fierce woman who knows her worth and is not afraid to claim what is rightfully hers? Had I become a woman who’s not gonna to take no… Sugar Honey Ice and Tea (this is a family paper, after all) no more?

Or was I looking at this the wrong way? I began to think about the other side of the coin, and question whether I was as in the right. Had I gone from assertive to ruthlessly selfish? And did this mean I was the kind of person you see in disaster movies desperately and mercilessly kicking people out of the way to claim a spot on the space ship/boat/back of a truck taking people to safety? This, of course, made me question whether I deserved to continue the human race in a post-apocalyptic world – who the hell did I think I was?!

Yep, that was the thought I got to after a simple misunderstanding. A slight inconvenience leads to me questioning who I am. That’s what I’m dealing with in the old think box.

In case you’re wondering, I continued the class with my head held high, told myself I was right to stand up for myself and used that bench to strengthen my thighs. Because if it does come down to me needing to boot people off emergency transport to save myself, I’m going to need one heck of a roundhouse kick.