Every January I find myself back at the gym, despite my strong aversion to these places. A bag with workout gear, a plastic pass, naive determination — it all repeats year after year. Adult life sets its own rules: I’ve learned English, curbed my bad habits, but the gym remains the last stronghold I just can’t conquer. The New Year brings another attempt, but enthusiasm fades quickly.
Something in me protests against the atmosphere of fitness clubs. Everything here follows a strict logic: efficiency, repetition, personal progress. To see results, you have to embrace the routine, turn movements into habit. Home — work — store — gym. In the evening, you come back to prep your meals for tomorrow and pack your bag again. They say it’s healthy and even fashionable, but I prefer chaotic, spontaneous leisure, where surprises can happen. You won’t find that at the gym.
Everything here is predictable down to the smallest detail. Every day is like a carbon copy. There’s no excitement, no surprises. I’ve never played football, but I understand why adults gather for pick-up games: there, sport becomes play, not a duty. People relive their childhood instead of just maintaining fitness. In the gym, it’s different. Here, no one plays — you work on your body like it’s a project. It’s more of an office for muscles than a place for joy.
Routine and solitude
In a fitness club, the element of play disappears, interaction fades, and sports become a sequence of mechanical motions: lift the dumbbells, lower the dumbbells. Twelve reps, two minutes rest. It all starts to feel like a biceps spreadsheet. You look at people on the exercise bikes—they’re lined up in a row like soldiers, pedaling aimlessly with their eyes glued to their phones. At times like these, I just want to leave and never come back.
Here, working out isn’t about having fun—it’s just a tool for achieving the perfect body. The only happiness on offer is a pretty reflection in the mirror. That’s never resonated with me, so every visit feels like a test. People say endorphins kick in after exercise, but something must be off with mine. My real pleasure comes from skipping the gym and grabbing a beer with friends.
Everyone around is completely absorbed in themselves. Mirrors multiply feelings of loneliness, not energy. During peak hours the gym is packed, but the atmosphere never turns friendlier. Conversations are reduced to short exchanges like, “Are you done yet?” when someone lingers on a machine. Most people prefer listening to music through headphones to avoid talking and to stay focused on their workout.
Motivation and atmosphere
Some people listen to podcasts or audiobooks so as not to waste a minute. These are true productivity enthusiasts, for whom the gym is just another task on the to-do list. The space feels both cold and oddly sexualized. Women in bright leggings stand out against a crowd of heavily muscled men. It all resembles a showcase of mannequins where everyone is focused solely on themselves.
There’s a tense, almost electric energy in the air. Everyone is busy with their own workout routines, but a hidden energy pulses between them. As a family man who isn’t in great shape, I observe it all as an outsider. Sometimes I catch myself thinking the gym isn’t as boring as I thought. Maybe that’s what keeps people coming back again and again.
