Back to the Gym...What I Learned

I walked into the gym like a man returning to a crime scene.

Everything looked familiar…and also like it had moved on without me.

The weights were still there. The machines still lined up like obedient soldiers.

Even the smell…rubber, metal, and a hint of broken New Year’s resolutions was exactly the same.

But me?

I felt like a guy who used to have a gym membership…in another lifetime.

Back when my knees didn’t sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies every time I stood up.

I used to train for races. Real ones. With numbers pinned to my chest, pacing strategies, playlists that made me feel like I was starring in a Nike commercial.

I used to train for ultra marathons.Now I train for… getting up without making a sound like I’m opening a haunted door.

You know the ones.“Ahhh.”

“Oof.” “Okay… okay… we’re good.”

I told myself, Just go slow. Which is a beautiful way of saying... “I have no idea what my body is capable of anymore, and I’d like to avoid meeting Jesus between sets.”

So I start small. Baby steps. Light weights. The kind of workout that ten years ago I would’ve called “warming up.” Now it’s… the main event. Followed by a light emotional debrief in the parking lot.

I even got a three-day free trial to start…because nothing says “I’m ready to change my life” like a 72-hour window and a strong sense of delusion.

The gym itself felt like a time capsule. The same mirrors, same slightly aggressive fluorescent lighting. The same guy somewhere lifting something heavy enough to make you question your entire existence.

And me? Holding a pair of dumbbells that felt incredibly judgmental. I swear they were lighter last decade. Or I was heavier in ways that didn’t show up on a scale.

After my workout...if we’re using that term generously- I reward myself like a seasoned athlete… by heading into the sauna. Which is less of a “spa experience” and more of a 5x7 cedar closet where you go to sit with your choices.

Orange light. A little stove in the corner doing its best. The air thick with heat and that deep cedar smell that makes you feel like you’re inside a very emotional pencil.

I read in many places of the benefits. I don't remember anymore what they were. Didn’t need to. At this point, if someone told me sitting in a hot wooden box would improve circulation, clarity, and my credit score…I’m in.

Day one, I’m alone. Quiet. Just me and my thoughts… which, frankly, is already a risky situation.

Sweat starts rolling. Time slows down. I start convincing myself this is what discipline feels like.

And then the door opens. A guy walks in. Big dude with a sweatshirt and sweatpants.

Sits down next to me like he’s settling in for a long flight. Pulls out his phone.

And suddenly…I am no longer in a sauna. I am in a movie theater I did not buy a ticket for. Volume on. Full blast.

He's scrolling. Laughing. Videos firing off one after another like we’re all attending his personal film festival called “Things You Didn’t Ask For.”

Fifteen minutes. FIFTEEN. MINUTES. Of someone else’s algorithm bouncing off cedar walls like a talk show on chaos.

Day two? Same thing. Different guy. Same show.

Day three? I start to think… maybe this is part of the membership. “Unlimited heat, light weights, and complimentary overstimulation.”

And then I notice…It’s not just the sauna.

Out on the floor? People sitting on machines… not moving. Just…scrolling.

Holding weights like props. Resting between sets that never actually started. Thumbs getting stronger than anything else in the building. And I catch myself thinking...

What happened? What happened while I was gone? When did the gym turn into a waiting room for distraction? When did we stop coming here to get stronger… and start coming here to escape?

And then, because life has a sense of humor and zero mercy...I sit down.

Pull out my phone. “Just for a second.” Just to check something important.

Urgent. Life-altering. Probably nothing.

And I catch my reflection in the black screen.

I'm Sitting. Scrolling. Not moving.

Same posture. Same distraction. Same quiet exit from the moment I just fought to return to...and nd it hits me.

Nothing happened. The gym didn’t change. We did. We stopped coming here to build strength and started coming here to avoid stillness.

Because lifting weight is hard. But sitting with yourself? That’s heavier.

And suddenly the weakest thing in the room…wasn’t my legs. It wasn’t the weight on the bar (which wasn't much)...

It was my willingness...to stay...right here in my own life...

 without reaching for something to take me out of it.