I was at my beloved gym last week, doing the “Cardio Bunny”—puffing away on the elliptical instead of lifting like a true hard-core—when I saw some employees industriously moving out large boxes of various equipment. “Oh, good!” I thought. “This must mean they’re finally going to renovate the back room and make it into a really good workout space.” Later when I went to get a drink of water, I noticed that the bio and photo of their most senior trainer had been taken off the wall. “Hmm,” I thought. “Maybe he got promoted to management!” Then as I was leaving, I saw a suspiciously formal-looking notice in a Lucite holder posted at the reception desk. My heart sank into the earth as I read the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good news that my haven, my rock, my place of physical healing and transformation, was closing their doors for good. I was utterly shocked, but that shock quickly turned to anger, and I (nicely) demanded to know from the kid at the reception desk why they were closing. He looked flushed and nervous and blurted out something about “the land being valuable” and “the owners can’t afford the rent anymore.” Utterly crushed, I walked home, told Mr. Typist, and immediately sank into a deep depression, followed in quick order by a bout of rebellion: I will find a better gym, a more functional gym, a gym with way better trainers, a glorious gym with a swimming pool and two Smith machines and a dedicated stretching area. I don’t need Old Gym anyway. How dare they betray me after five years of loyal patronage?
I briefly considered ditching the gym altogether and going back to just swimming, but my body is really used to lifting now and my home workout equipment isn’t enough to for me to progress in my goals. I decided to re-visit the old basement gym I used to go to, although I didn’t have much hope. At the time I was working out there, they had almost nothing in the way of lifting equipment. It was a small, cramped space with mostly treadmills and ellipticals, and a few over-crowded Yoga and Zumba classes on offer. I popped in and was quite surprised and pleased to see that they greatly expanded over the years. They don’t have a Smith machine, but they added squat racks, multiple pull-up bars, at least ten new weight machines, and a dedicated (if very small) deadlifting room. They also expanded into the upstairs area and added a cycling space.
It will do for now, except that it means I don’t have access to a personal trainer anymore. But the truth is that I’ve kept up with having personal trainers far past the point where I really needed one. It made a world of difference when I was first starting out and didn’t have an ounce of physical confidence or any knowledge of fitness. Thanks to those trainers, I went further than I ever imagined I could and, very belatedly in life, gained physical confidence for the first time ever under their tutelage. I’m grateful for all of them. But at some point, a trainer became less of a need and more of a luxury, allowing me an hour a week of being walked through a workout and not having to make decisions. I’m going to use this gym closure as an opportunity to re-assess and figure out where I want to go from here. As much of a sad shock as it was and as much as I will miss it, I realize that my fitness isn’t dependent on a specific place. It’s dependent on persistence and consistency, which is driven for me by the unexpected joy that I found in experiencing my body’s strength and abilities—something I never knew was in me after a lifetime of lacking physical confidence and being convinced that I didn’t have an athletic bone in my body.
I will always be grateful to my corner neighborhood gym for what it’s given me over the years and for everything I learned from my trainers. I will miss it dearly. But maybe it’s time to wean myself off of trainers and perhaps even put some feelers out for a workout buddy, which I’ve wanted for a while but haven’t actively sought out. I’m going to be brave and mature and try to see this as a beginning rather than an ending.
Please excuse me while I go cry now.
--Kristen McHenry
I could see these words being as true for writers/writing as for physical/athletic endeavors: "I realize that my fitness isn’t dependent on a specific place. It’s dependent on persistence and consistency, which is driven for me by the unexpected joy that I found in experiencing my body’s strength and abilities—something I never knew was in me after a lifetime of lacking physical confidence and being convinced that I didn’t have an athletic bone in my body."
So sorry for your loss.