I joined a gym six months ago. Not to work out, obviously — but to vibe. To exist. To become one with the smell of protein powder and broken dreams.
Every morning, I walk in with my water bottle the size of a fire extinguisher, nod at the receptionist like I’m about to deadlift a car, and then immediately spend 45 minutes adjusting the straps on my gym bag. That’s called “warming up.”
The Ritual of Doing Nothing
Step one: claim a treadmill. Not to run on it, of course. Just to stand there scrolling Instagram while pretending to “set up my playlist.” I’ve been setting up that playlist for half a year. It’s still just the same three songs from 2014.
Step two: wander around with a towel draped over my shoulder like I’m in a Nike commercial. I make eye contact with people mid-bench press, nod seriously, and whisper, “Good form.” I have no idea what form is.
Step three: spend 20 minutes filling my shaker bottle at the water fountain. Hydration is key. Especially when you’re not doing anything that requires hydration.
Networking, Gym Edition
I’ve made friends here. One guy talks about “cutting” and “bulking” like he’s a Marvel character. Another guy spends three hours flexing in the mirror and then leaves. We’re all in this together — a support group for people who pay €50 a month to cosplay as athletes.
The Machines I Fear
There’s a machine in the corner that looks like medieval torture equipment. I sat on it once, pulled a lever, and nearly dislocated my soul. I haven’t gone near it since. Instead, I hover around the yoga mats, pretending I’m “about to stretch.” Spoiler: I never stretch.
The Harsh Truth
Six months in, I’ve burned exactly zero calories, but I’ve perfected the art of looking like I might work out at any moment. And isn’t that what fitness is really about? The illusion. The performance. The Instagram story captioned “grind never stops” while the grind is, in fact, very stopped.
But hey — at least my WordPress theme looks ripped.
