I Went Into the Gym as Him and Came Out as Her

I think my story is more common than it seems. Many of us start in secret, trying on a sister’s clothes, a cousin’s, the girl we liked without daring to say so. But that’s a story for another night. Today I want to tell you how I stopped pretending and was born again.

I was always the skinny boy, the little one, the one who stood at the very front of the school line because no one was shorter. They called me pretty, doll-faced. At twenty-four, I was five foot four, weighed just fifty-three kilos, and wore thick, heavy brown hair right down to my shoulders. I felt like a rebel with that, almost a rocker. I had green eyes, very pale skin, and pink lips that all the girls envied. And, hard as it is to say, I had a round, perky ass that drew attention without me doing anything to avoid it.

My friends made fun of me. My female friends, on the other hand, kept telling me I was handsome, but I never felt for them what I was supposed to feel. I wasn’t attracted to their bodies. I was attracted to how they dressed, how they moved, how they were. I looked at them with a mixture of desire and envy that I didn’t know how to name back then.

In my group at the time, there was a girl I truly liked, or so I thought. Her name was Brenda. She was almost my height, maybe a little taller, with brown hair and honey-colored eyes. One afternoon, pushed by the others’ teasing, I gathered my courage and blurted it out.

—Brenda, I have to confess something… I like you.

She smiled at me with a sweetness that hurt, hugged me, and said without any filter:

—You’re gorgeous, really. But the only thing I want from you is your ass.

—What? —I laughed nervously, not knowing what to do with myself.

—It’s perfect —she went on, as if explaining something obvious—. It’s the ass every woman would want and every man would want to touch.

I went breathless. And then she dropped the line that marked me for years.

—A boy prettier than any of us, who weighs less than his friends and is under five foot five… isn’t a boy. It’s a girl. More than that: from today on, your name is Renata.

My world came crashing down in a single afternoon. I sank like never before. Worst of all, word spread, and everyone started calling me Rena, Renita, or just Renata. Every nickname was a laugh dressed up as affection, and I faded a little more with each one.

***

The years passed. I learned to hide inside baggy clothes, to walk hunched over, to speak softly. I got a quiet job as an assistant at an accounting office, and I convinced myself that going unnoticed was the closest thing to peace I was ever going to find.

Until one afternoon, on my way home from the office, I passed in front of a newly opened gym. The façade was glass, and from the street you could see the warm lights and people moving inside. I don’t know what pushed me. I had never in my life stepped into a place like that. But that day I pushed the door open.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, a very tall man, nearly six foot three, with an athlete’s body and a smile that could disarm anyone, came up to me. He introduced himself with a voice that was both firm and kind.

—Hello, welcome to the gym. I’m Marco, an instructor. Is this your first time?

Welcome. He said it without thinking, like a reflex, and something inside me lit up instead of taking offense.

—Yes —I replied, hesitating—. I wanted to know the prices and how everything works.

—Of course. We have monthly memberships, personal training, cardio area, weights, spinning… Do you want to try today?

I looked at him with a kind of anxiety I didn’t fully understand.

—Yes. I want to start now. But I don’t have any clothes.

—No problem. We have a store right here; I’ll take you.

***

He took me to a small shop inside the gym. Behind the counter was a girl with a magazine-perfect body, her hair tied up in a high ponytail, smiling in a way that lit up the whole place.

—Daniela, meet Renato —said Marco—. He wants to sign up today, but he needs some clothes.

—Nice to meet you —she replied, with contagious energy—. Let’s find you something comfortable, something that fits you like a glove.

She started handing me men’s sports outfits, but everything hung on me. The shirts sagged off my shoulders, the shorts looked like skirts. Daniela frowned, looked me up and down, and clicked her tongue.

—Mmm… this isn’t going to get us anywhere. Let’s see… are you brave enough for these? —she pulled out a pair of tight black leggings made of soft fabric—. They’re for women, but a lot of guys wear them to work out. Nobody judges anyone here.

—For women? —I said, uncomfortable, feeling the heat rise to my face—. I don’t know…

—Trust me, they’ll look better on you than anything else. Come on, try them on. If you don’t like them, we’ll keep looking.

I went into the fitting room and put them on. The fabric hugged my legs like a second skin, and as I pulled them up I felt them cling to every curve, outlining the ass I’d spent my whole life hiding. I looked at myself in the mirror and, for the first time in years, I didn’t want to look away. I was uncovered, exposed… and yet a strange current ran down my back. It wasn’t shame. It was something else, something that burned slowly.

I came out of the fitting room almost out of breath. Daniela looked at me and widened her eyes.

—You look incredible —she said, not even trying to hide it—. They really show everything. Do you feel comfortable?

The way she said it made my heart stop for a second. Comfortable? That word again, in the feminine, falling over me like warm water.

—Yes… —I murmured—. I think so.

—Perfect. I’ll put together five sets with this same cut; I can already see you love them —she said, and winked at me.

Then came the shoes.

—What size do you wear?

—Five —I answered.

—Oof, in that size I only have women’s styles. But don’t worry, I’ll find the least flashy ones.

She came back with five boxes. The first ones were way too colorful, almost fluorescent.

—No to those —I said, laughing against my will—. I look like a storefront doll.

—Ha, fine. What about these with purple stripes?

—Nope.

—And these with red details? They’re pretty neutral.

—Those, yes. Those are fine.

I put them on and they fit me like they’d been made for me. Daniela clapped softly, delighted with her work.

***

Dressed from head to toe in the new outfit, I walked over to the machines area. Marco was waiting for me there, arms crossed, that half-smile of his already becoming familiar.

—Perfect —he said when he saw me—. Let’s start. Get on the treadmill.

He set it and the machine started up gently. With every step I felt the leggings tighten more, my ass bouncing in a rhythm I couldn’t control. Marco glanced at me sideways and didn’t look away right away.

—That’s it, very good —he said, his voice a little deeper—. That body deserves to be taken care of.

He increased the speed. My hair flew with each stride, sticking to my sweaty face. Then Daniela appeared with a hair tie in her hand.

—So your hair won’t bother you —she said, and before I could answer she’d already gathered my hair into a high ponytail, brushing the back of my neck with her fingers.

—Thanks —I said, barely above a whisper.

—It looks great on you like that —she smiled, and lingered a moment too long looking at my bare neck.

When I got off the treadmill, my legs were shaking, and not just from the effort. Marco came closer again.

—What would you like to work on first?

—Muscle mass —I answered, trying to sound determined—. I want to look bigger, more… manly.

I said it, and as soon as the words came out, they sounded false even to me. Marco raised an eyebrow, as if he knew something I was still refusing to know.

—We’ll start with the upper body —he said, not arguing—. Follow me.

He took me in front of a wall of mirrors and put a pair of dumbbells in my hands.

—Three sets of fifteen. You can do it.

I couldn’t. The weight beat my arms by the third rep, my back arched, my shoulders burned. I was about to give up when I heard a soft voice behind me.

—No, queen, not like that. You’re straining your whole body, and that weight isn’t for you.

I turned around. It was a huge guy, broad-shouldered and calmly smiling, with a composure that seemed to spread through the air. There was something sweet in his gaze, something nonjudgmental.

—Take this —he said, offering me a much lighter dumbbell—. Do three sets of twenty, slowly. I’ll do it with you, okay?

—Queen…? —I asked, half surprised, half undone.

—Of course —he replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—. You look gorgeous in those leggings, by the way. My name’s Iván.

He picked up a huge dumbbell without the slightest effort and started counting my reps for me patiently, correcting my posture with the lightest touch to my elbow, my waist. Every time he touched me, a warm jolt slid down my spine. I nodded without knowing what to say, looking at myself in the mirror: hair tied up, cheeks flushed, my body outlined by the clothes, the girl’s name stuck to me since adolescence and now, here at last, not sounding like a joke.

For the first time in years, in that reflection I didn’t see the pretty boy everyone laughed at. I saw someone who was starting to exist. And, I confess, I liked what I saw.

—You’re doing very well, Renata —Iván said, without me ever having told him that name.

I didn’t correct him. I didn’t want to. I let him call me that, let the word wrap around me the way the leggings wrapped around my body, and I felt something in my chest loosen after years of being squeezed tight.

That was my first day. The day I walked through a glass door as him and, without realizing it, began to come out as her.