The Gym: Friend or Foe

The gym. Just saying the word makes some people break into a sweat — and not the good kind. Bright lights. Mirrors everywhere. That “everyone is staring at me” feeling (spoiler: they’re not, they’re staring at themselves). For others, it’s their safe place, their happy zone. So how do you go from “I’d rather chew glass” to actually wanting to walk through those doors?

Step one: know your options. Some gyms have personal trainers to guide you, others are a blank space where you figure it out, and some you can just learn by watching all your new friends. Sure, you could work out at home, but if you’re anything like me, suddenly everything else in the house will feel urgent. The dog needs brushed. The dishes need done.  And somehow mopping the floor becomes a top-tier cardio event. If you have mastered working out at home, I applaud you.

Here’s the thing: most people at the gym are too busy checking out their own biceps to worry about you. And if the vibe feels judgy? Congratulations, you picked the wrong gym. Try another one. Remember, that’s the beauty of age. You should have some skills where you realize when something is just not for you, and let that shit go. Except strength training, that stays.

Why bother with going to the gym? As a middle-aged woman, I am not going down without a fight. Strength disappears faster than leftover Halloween candy in my house (specifically Reese's pumpkins). I want to keep my “throwing hay bales” strength — yes, really. Hopefully, you have made better life choices, and you don’t constantly think about moving hay, buying hay and throwing hay. Good for you!  But I hope you’ve got something you want to keep doing. And the only way you lose that ability is by sitting still until inertia wins and suddenly, you’re stuck on the sidelines, physically unable to participate in your life.

And let me tell you — I get the intimidation thing now. Two years ago, I broke my leg, lived in a boot for two months, packed on 15 pounds (thank you, Christmas cookies, that I made and were in fact almost worth the 15lbs), and came back feeling weak, gross and unable to bend my ankle. It was a real party. The only thing that saved me was blasting 90s rock and trying to dissociate.

So here’s my advice:

• Get workout clothes that fit. If you’re yanking your leggings up every two minutes, you’re not working out — you’re wrestling spandex.

• Have a plan. Even three exercises beats wandering aimlessly while holding your water bottle like a security blanket.

• Try a trainer. If you don’t vibe with them, dump them. This isn’t marriage, it’s fitness.

• And remember: walking through the door is 50% of the battle. The other 50% is convincing yourself not to leave after the warm-up.

The beauty of aging? You slowly lose the ability to care what other people think. And if you haven’t gotten there yet, I truly hope you’re working toward it. Not that I’m suggesting you be rude or treat people poorly — but it’s definitely time to start treating yourself well. Because here’s the truth: most people are far too wrapped up in their own lives to spend a single second worrying about what you’re doing. So put on whatever you want, be it matching spandex or that twenty year old t shirt and sweats (remember no one cares) and walk into that gym.

If you’re desperate for reason, buy a horse and have to throw hay on the daily. That may work too.