The Day I Decided to Get Fit (and Immediately Regretted It)

By: A survivor of one gym session

It all started when I saw a motivational reel that said, “You don’t need a new year to start — just a new mindset.”
So naturally, I waited till Monday.

I put on my oldest sneakers, my least threatening T-shirt, and marched into the gym like a soldier reporting for duty. The trainer greeted me with the cheerful menace of a man who enjoys other people’s pain.
“First day?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said proudly.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll start light.”
Reader, he lied.

Within ten minutes, I was in a complex yoga position that looked suspiciously like regret. Every machine I touched seemed designed by someone who hated joy.

There was one particular machine called the “leg press.” It sounded gentle — like a massage, maybe a polite handshake. No. It was an iron trap that made my thighs question all my life choices.

By the time I finished, my legs were shaking, my lungs were auditioning for a horror movie, and my Apple Watch congratulated me with the line:

“You’ve completed 7 minutes of exercise!”

Seven. Minutes.
Meanwhile, the guy next to me was doing push-ups while scrolling Instagram. Some people are simply built different — mostly out of protein powder.

I hobbled home that day like an injured warrior. The next morning, my body made sounds I didn’t know it could make. My arms refused to rise above 30 degrees. My brain filed a complaint.

When I told my trainer I was sore, he smiled and said, “That’s just your muscles waking up.”
If that’s true, my muscles are now wide awake — and very angry.

I still have my gym membership, of course. It’s valid for six months. I plan to go back — spiritually. Maybe in winter. Or next life.