Ponyville has a gym.
That wasn’t something you were expecting to find—to your mind, gyms are a modern thing, a necessity for modern people working largely sedentary jobs, as opposed to the ponies who seem to be on the go all the time.
It doesn’t look particularly modern on the outside; it’s more of a whimsical medieval look, like so many buildings in Ponyville.
The inside isn’t significantly more modern either. For what is in many ways an advanced society, they seem to not have advanced very far past wooden construction, which legitimately gives an aura of menace to most of the exercise equipment. It’d be right at place in a torture chamber . . . and now that you’re thinking about that, at the turn of the last century, prisoners were punished by being made to run on treadmills.
There’s a blue-furred, blue-maned mare at the front desk, and she has the overly enthusiastic personality all gym receptionists seem to have. Like she’s happy you’re about to abuse yourself on the stair machine or rearrange your bones in the yoga class or do whatever the kegelcizer does to you.
Maybe you’re a masochist, but their rates are reasonable, and for some reason you’re craving exercise.
* * *
Aside from the primitive nature of their exercise equipment, and the fact it was built for equines, you manage to figure most of it out. They’ve got free weights, and once you’ve gotten over being boggled by a pony doing curls by hoof—both fore- and hind- —you manage quite well.
* * *
One thing that the gym offers is locker rooms, oddly enough. While it seems like a thing that every gym should have, and it was a thing that you just accepted as you were being given the quick pamphlet tour by Lighthoof, the more you think about it, the weirder it is. Not only because most ponies generally go naked around town, but also because most of them dress up for the gym. They’re wearing exercise shorts and sweatbands and apparently need to change in a locker room because it would be embarassing for somepony else to see them half-naked before they’re fully naked.
Whatever, even if it doesn’t make sense you’re happy that you haven’t got to walk home in sweat-soaked clothes.
Maybe it’s the showers. Maybe it’s not proper to shower with ponies of the opposite gender. Who knows.
* * *
You’ve never been all that comfortable with getting fully undressed in a locker room. Maybe it’s a feeling of inadequacy down there, or maybe it’s a fear of accidentally checking out another man, so while you could use the shower, you decide that just changing into your street clothes will be enough. True, your underwear will still be sweat-soaked, but it’s not that far to walk home and take a shower and change into something clean and dry.
The locker room isn’t empty; Thunderlane and Rumble are changing into their workout shorts. You give the two of them a polite nod and peel off your shirt.
A moment later, while your shirt’s still covering your head, Thunderlane lets out a girlish shriek, sending shivers down your spine. You yank your shirt the rest of the way off—that’s faster than pulling it back down—and notice that he’s got a foreleg up blocking Rumble’s eyes.
You snap your head around, wondering what’s behind you, but there’s nothing. You turn back to face Thunderlane and temporarily-blinded Rumble.
“Not cool,” Thunderlane says. “This is the stallion’s locker room.”
“Yeah?” Lighthoof had said that, too. Obviously, pony iconography was different than human; they didn’t have little dresses on the silhouette-ponies marking the door, but the square muzzle and cropped tail make it clear.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
“I’ve got a memebership.” For all of an hour, but still. “I’ve got as much a right as—”
“Showing off your teats.”
You cross your arms. You’re not exactly Adonis, but that’s a low blow.
“You should go to the proper locker room.”
“But I am in the proper locker room,” you protest. “For men. For stallions.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t lie, I can see plain as day you’re no stallion.”
Another low blow. Even if stallions are unfairly more endowed than you are, that’s no reason for him to be insulting.
“Get out of here before I have you kicked out.”
You cross your arms. “And where should I go?”
“To the fillies’ room, where you belong.”
“I don’t—I’m going to get this sorted out.” You toss your sweat-soaked t-shirt over your shoulder, grab your street clothes out of your locker, and storm out to the front desk.
Lighthoof’s still chipper, even as you come up to the desk with a cloud over your head. You give her a quick run-down of the situation with Thunderlane, and she eyes you up and down. You’re naturally expecting her to take your side, so it’s a complete shock when she nods her head and tells you that you should use the other locker room.
For a brief moment, you’re tempted to just whip it out in front of Lighthoof and anypony else who cares to see, just to prove that you’re a man, but you suddenly imagine her getting a sympathetic look on her face, maybe a soft apology and you’re not willing to face that. Besides, it’ll be her fault and Thunderlane’s if you get kicked out of the mare’s locker room, too.
* * *
It turns out that the mare’s room is nicer than the stallions, and even better, they don’t try to have you kicked out.