All of my male media brethren went cruising into this sacred place, and then, there was only me—the lone female reporter covering a USC football game—waiting outside. Me, the girl who has no fear, was nervous. Fear of the unknown tends to do that to you. Cripes, maybe I should just wait til they all get dressed before talking to them? In I went into the world of major testosterone, stinky athletic shoes, and wrinkled jerseys, and out I came a different person. The players were roaming around in towels or standing by their lockers speaking into digital recorders—no one was smacking towels on butts, no one was making soap jokes. It was very business-like.
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Skip navigation! Story from Body. I assessed the situation from my spot in front of my locker. Behind me, I could see a stack of freshly folded towels, in full view of the rest of the gym. I held my sweaty bra in my hands and considered my options. I considered putting my bra back on, allowing me to walk, at least partially covered, to the stack of towels by the shower.
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I happened upon a survey recently commissioned by Nestle. To reach these conclusions, I spoke with actual women about what happens in their locker rooms. You will see nudity. Sure, you may happen to choose the day when a troupe of Hawaiian Tropics models has their bus break down outside. It reminds me of when precocious boys say they want to be gynecologists. And then, as you get older, you realize that you get an entire bell curve of vaginas in that parade.