I hate the gym. So why did I just join another one?

I have a long and storied relationship with the gym. When I say that, I mean that I have signed up several times to various gyms, with plenty of early enthusiasm, and then … just stopped going. We all know why we don’t want to go to gyms – the music is terrible, the dudes who go there are irritatingly muscly, the exercise machines are covered in other people’s sweat, and working out by yourself is just hard work and dull. There is zero upside – except of course the potential fitness gains that made us sign up in the first place.

The first time I cancelled a gym membership I thought about it for way too long beforehand (racking up a few more months’ fees) as I was trying to think of what to say when they asked me why I was quitting. The obvious answer – “I just can’t be bothered” – was too humiliating. Eventually I came up with something and rocked up to announce my decision.

I have been known to join the gym and then quit. Credit: iStock

“And why are you choosing to leave the gym?” the young man at the front desk asked me, pen poised over my gym-cancelling paperwork. I paused, then answered, “Because I’ve reached physical perfection.” His eyes widened, flicked over my physique and then back to the paperwork. “OK,” he said.

A few years later I joined another gym, one of those 24-hour ones, telling myself that I would be attending very often with such easy access. The first wrong note sounded during the brief orientation. After pointing out the rowing machine and the kettlebells, the bulging staff member who was showing me around (I’m not against all muscly men on principle, I just think that sometimes they can take it a little far) waved a hand at the wall. “If there’s a medical emergency, there’s the defibrillator,” he said.

It turns out that because the gym was open all hours but only staffed for a few of them, it was up to me to save the lives of my fellow gym-goers should one of them have a heart attack mid-workout. Fabulous!

Not to be deterred by this extra responsibility on top of honing my glutes, pecs and what I believe are called deltoids, I signed up for a free introductory personal training session. The gent who had shown me the ropes got me to use some of the machines, then handed me a heavy bar with huge weights on each end.

We all know going to the gym can be good for your fitness, but can it be fun?Credit: iStock

“Oh this one’s quite heavy,” I murmured as I attempted to lift it above my head.

“TWO MORE!” he yelled.

I struggled to lift it, felt something twang in my neck region, and ended up at the physio for what I can only imagine is called “newbie overdoing it at the gym syndrome”.

When I finally decided to give that gym the flick, the fun started. “Oh no, you can only quit in person,” they told me when I tried to sever our relationship over email and the phone. “Why, is it 1998?” I thought. “You can’t just cancel my card and stop debiting my account?”

The process was apparently so complex that I could only quit at the gym, in person, on a day when the senior manager was in the office. Then of course, you have to continue paying fees for another month, possibly so you can continue to feel guilty about paying for something you are not using.

Some gyms make it hard for you to quit.Credit: iStock

After all these sweaty, negative experiences, you may be thinking, why would I ever join a gym again? Well, I guess a couple of years passed and in that time we moved house a couple of times, during which it became painfully evident that I was fairly useless at carrying stuff heavier than a water bottle.

One of my nicknames in my former hospitality job was even “Noodles”, inspired by my inability to lift things with my spaghetti-like arms. Devastating! I thought that going to the gym, while grim, might be the place to add some muscle to my borderline-useless appendages and improve my general strength and fitness.

But this time I did my research. I did a ton of Googling, and looked at a lot of gym Instagram accounts, until I found one that had a generous helping of friendly looking elderly folk in the photos. I even ponied up for a personal trainer, and am now paired with an absolute pocket rocket called Abbey, all muscles and smiles, who chivvies and jokes with me as I work my way around the machines.

The one downside is it’s very hard to work on your core while you’re giggling. (Another downside is that the old folks are all absolute fitness beasts! You should see Barb on the StairMaster. I have a lot of catching up to do.)

So if you, too, have had dreadful experiences at the gym, and consider the gym to be one of the nine circles of hell, don’t give up. Maybe you too will find your Abbey, and your friendly local gym.

Emily Day is deputy opinion editor at The Age.

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