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states. In direct violation of the rules of gym etiquette, I’d sneak my stuff into a bathroom stall and change there—sometimes, I admit, in the one reserved for disabled women. I was always very quick and never came out to find a line of women in wheelchairs glaring at me.
    I’ve also seen fully dressed women lug their workout bags right into a curtained shower stall to change, which is also probably frowned upon. But you gotta do what you gotta do.
    After a while you’ll begin to get over yourself. I’ve become so uninhibited that I’m afraid someday I’ll forget and walk out topless into a common area for an extra towel. Part of the reason, of course, is that I’m not carrying around an extra seventy pounds of flab anymore. But what really helped cure my locker room phobia was the sight of other women who seemed not to mind that their bodies were less than perfect. One scene still runs through my head: In the locker room at the Y in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where I lived for a brief time several years ago, there was a fifty-something woman bearing the scars of a double mastectomy; another the age of my mom, all folds of crepelike skin, coming in from her swim; another a UNC student who looked to be battling the “freshman fifteen”; and me. All different bodies, all imperfect, all naked, all getting stronger, feeling more powerful, and doing right by themselves. It was just another day in the locker room, but for me there was a feeling that we were all in this together. There was no self-consciousness, no scrutiny, no judgments, only acceptance.
    Until it is no big deal to you, do what you have to do to make yourself comfortable. The women around you know what you’re going through, believe me. And if they don’t, well, you can probably imagine what I’d tell them (or at least think to myself).
    Drown her out.
    Remember the Rain Man–like way I used to count laps (“two more to halfway,” “one more to halfway”)? Not only did that help keep me from cheating myself out of a lap or two, which I was always tempted to do at first, but it gave me something to think about, something other than the voice in my head kvetching about my aching knees and cramping muscles. An easier way to drown out the whiner, though, is with music. Once I graduated from the track to a trail—one long, continuous loop where counting just didn’t make sense—I couldn’t live without my Walkman. (Remember them? They were the iPods of the 80s and 90s.) If you’re one of the three people in the world who doesn’t have an MP3 player, get one. They’re cheap—under $100—and even a computerphobe like me can program one. (Or, for a little fun, you can hand yours over to your husband, a friend, or even a teenager if you’re daring, to download away.) A little music will make your workout more tolerable. There are safety issues if you exercise outdoors with headphones on: When you’re bopping along to the booming bass of Usher, you might not hear an approaching car or footsteps behind you. Not to be paranoid or anything, but I have a good tip from running coach Jenny Hadfield (who holds beginner running clinics for women called Run Like a Girl). She suggests using only one earpiece, leaving the other ear on alert.
    If you’re into the treadmill, stationary bike, or elliptical trainer, try watching TV, but make sure what you’re watching is something you really want to watch and not just whatever junk happens to be on at the time. For instance, tape or TiVo a favorite show you never get to see (I find the E! True Hollywood Stories are fabulous for this) and allow yourself to watch it only while you’re working out. That’ll give you something to look forward to and something more likely to divert your attention from the whiner.
    Delegate the details.
    Hmmm. Should I exercise Monday, Wednesday, and Friday? Or Tuesday and