I sit down and feel the hard cool concrete press up against me. There is a bench outlining the wall, made of the same material; I choose to sit there. The floor is grey, speckled with little colored dots. It has an extra smooth exterior that felt as if someone had carefully and meticulously sanded it down until there were no bumps left; until it was perfectly level.

I feel the almost comforting metal behind my back. It supports many of the emotions in this room. This structure offers itself up to you when you are too tired to stand up. Too bored not to be sitting glaring at your phone, scrolling at random points in time until you can finally leave. I sit there surrounded by the same classmates every day. We follow the same pattern as we walk in. Slowly making our way over to the familiar yellow-tinted metal, we arrive standing in the exact place we did before. Reaching up we turn the dial until it clicks and pops and breaks open. We reach in grabbing what seems like a random selection of our closet. A loose T-shirt, a tank top we forgot to take home last week, a small bottle of perfume we have had since seventh grade and can't seem to get rid of. With further investigation, a favorite sports bra (that was thought to be lost) is found along with the shirt that reads Sandra Day Oconner. 

Despite this seemingly everlasting pattern that every person creates after stepping into this room, it is not a place that houses no emotions. A range of them occurs on that very smooth bench. Tears, excitement, and extreme fear that can silence the loudest, most confident girl can all be happening in there simultaneously. This is what makes the locker room such a significant place in any athlete's life.

I walk in on a warm May morning. Only a few weeks left in the school year and yet so much to do. I reach for the metal lock, its coolness contrast the air around it. I struggle to open it as I always go slightly past the designated number. I can hear the other girls entering and slamming their backpacks against the wall. Familiar phrases like “what events do you have today” and “what time are we leaving? I need to text my mom” can be heard from all around. I sit down carefully slipping my AirPods into my ear to block the noise out. For me this place evokes anxiety. The conversations only remind me of the next four hours ahead of me. 

I feel a tap on my right shoulder. As I look at my best friend her smile reminds me of why I’m there. I reach into my backpack and grab my white track uniform. Pulling the shirt on and fidgeting with it until it looks the most flattering. I grab the shorts next placing them on top of my clack Nike spandex, rolling them up as every other girl does. We are like clones, dressed the same, programmed with the same thoughts that nag at us. The emotions fill up the room; as if the air was contaminated with feelings of excitement and fear. We exit the room, not knowing that we could feel completely different when we step back into it.

Shmack; the heavy door slams open. A rush of clean, cool, fresh air rushes to greet our sweaty faces. Locker number 34 is met with a beating. A girl slams her hand into the metal of the locker, trying to release her frustration. She digits at the lock, however, nothing has gone right for her today, so why would her locker open for her? She struggles, yanking it down with all her force. The motion almost brings her to tears. At this moment the room is nothing but a cold harsh environment that reminds her of her failures and her friend's success. It brings no comfort to her. She does not complete the task of imputing the simple code into the lock. Walking out, with her sweaty uniform still on, she walks as fast as she can out the exit. 

I walk in, welcoming the cold air. Opening my locker I change back into my comfortable clothes, carefully folding up my uniform. I congratulate my teammates and hope they can find comfort in the perfectly relaxed room that once housed all of our anxieties. However, I understand how this room is bleak to some. I am the girl that slams my locker or holds back tears. The room is filled with a variety of emotions and creates memories that are molded by said emotions. I carefully lock the yellow-tinted metal up that keeps my favorite clothes safe. I walk out remembering the room as a peaceful place. Tomorrow I could feel completely and utterly different in that same room.