About this time last year, in what I knew to be a giant January cliché, I made a commitment to myself. After signing a contract for a year’s membership at a nearby gym, I was going to go to 10 classes a month.
It wasn’t madly ambitious. I wasn’t aiming for a total transformation or to achieve the body of a goddess; I just wanted to be fitter than I was and I knew that to achieve that, consistency was key. As a law-abiding type, signing a contract for a year felt like a big deal – and I wanted it to be: I needed it to matter enough to guarantee a change of habits and inclination.
Like most of us, I’ve been through different exercise phases, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. I had a kickboxing phase in my thirties; took up running for a while in my twenties and over intermittent phases since, and over the years have been a member of several different gyms where I would use free weights and machines.
While I would always begin with enthusiasm, life often intervened. Gradually I’d stop going, and months would go by when the only action was a monthly payment out of my bank account.
Over time my fitness had seriously waned. Parenting, plus seven years in a very demanding office-bound job, meant that exercise had taken a necessary back seat. I’d do the odd home workout online and tell myself it was as good as the gym but, who was I kidding? Meanwhile, I’d find myself out of breath at so much as a two-minute sprint for the bus. I was less flexible and my joints felt stiff.
I needed something solid, reliable and local. The realisation that for any fitness routine to work, it needed to be convenient and accessible, made me decide I needed to change my mindset about the extremely hip gym that’s a mere five minutes from my house.
For the decade since it opened, I’d been discounting it as clearly not for me. This was – very superficially – based mainly on the super-fit Adanola-clad people I’d see going in and out, often clutching a protein shake, looking lithe and pretty. I felt like if I were to venture over the threshold I was at risk of being judged; possibly pitied.
This was not a new feeling: gyms are intimidating. I would go as far as to say the world is divided into people who seek gyms out because they know they are where they will find their peeps. And people like me who, well, don’t.
Victoria Young knew she needed to change her mindset about the extremely hip gym five minutes from her houseBut my neighbour who goes there regularly shared a discount code for a 10-class trial. And – spurred on, admittedly, by economics – that is when I had an epiphany and changed my life with the power of two little words: so what? So what if they think I am not cool enough? Who cares if they judge me? What felt like gymtimidation was a reason not to go.
Unlike other gyms I’ve joined, this one is almost exclusively class based. Rather than popping along to use equipment on your own, you pre-book into a session run by an instructor. I’ve done classes before, of course, but never in such a dedicated and determined way over such a long period. Over the course of my trial I realised outsourcing my workout to a professional was a huge part of the appeal.
Looking back at my first class, I laugh to think that I worried about what anyone was thinking. What very quickly became clear, two minutes into a gruelling round of burpees, jump squats and mountain climbers, was that no-one was thinking about me at all. They, like me, were too busy just trying to survive.
I wasn’t thinking about them either: my only preoccupation was whether or not I was physically capable of getting through the warm up, let alone the eight rigorous circuit stations around the room. Rather than judging me, what most people were thinking about – as is the case at probably any gym – was themselves. Looking round at the class of 30 or so I realised that the demographic of the group was a mix of young influencer types and older professionals. I told myself that I fit right in.
By the end of the class I was quite jubilant; high on endorphins. When the woman next to me held up her hand in a high five, I found myself reciprocating with a smile despite knowing – and really not caring – that my face was an unflattering shade of lobster and my hair plastered to my scalp with sweat, just like hers.
Victoria didn’t miss a single exercise class in the whole of 2025A few days later, I tried a mat pilates class. After that, a core session. Then barre. And another circuits class. I quickly realised the only thing that mattered was the experience of the class itself. On arrival, I’d turn my gaze inwards rather than looking around the room or imagining of what people may be thinking about me.
When my 10-class trial ran out, I paid for a membership that included 10 classes a month and decided to commit for a year: all I had to do was turn up, come rain, shine, reluctance and inertia. And, partly because I don’t want to waste money on missed classes, but also because I really don’t want to lose muscle mass and fitness and generally have that air of having given up, I did not miss one class throughout the whole of 2025. Not only that, but I grew to love it. Any sense of intimidation had evaporated well before my trial was up. After that, I was just part of the gym.
The classes are so hard, but as weeks turned into months I began to look forward to them, as well as the physical and mental feeling that I was left with afterwards. My Gen X cynicism gave way to a love of the positivity in the room. Lots of the instructors begin the class with a moment of stillness or the suggestion that we set our intentions for the next hour and reflect on what we want to gain from the class. Where once I would have rolled my eyes, I realised that these little moments of stillness are enjoyably mindful.
There are other changes too: I can run for the bus or train without spending two minutes panting myself back to a normal pace. I am more flexible and stronger; reaching up to lift heavy plates from a shelf or squatting down to pick things up all seem much more effortless. I’ve started moving more; sprinting up flights of stairs or doing some opportune squats and lunges. I go for a daily walk and the odd run. My back, historically prone to “going” quite regularly, has been pain-free over the past year.
I have noticed more muscle definition all over but particularly in my thighs, glutes, shoulders and stomach. Very slowly, clothes became baggier as my waist and bum became smaller. I don’t keep track of my blood pressure (which has always been low) or blood sugar levels but I noticed a difference in the way that I eat – my diet is healthy already and I don’t eat any sugar or ultra-processed food but I don’t like the feeling of exercising on a full stomach so naturally began to implement a slightly erratic form of intermittent fasting which meant that I lost weight – over a stone – although that was not my focus.
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It’s not like I’m suddenly going to the shops in hot pants but I did buy a bikini for the first time in adult life this year, and felt really OK about wearing it on a beach with friends.
The other change I have noticed is in my mental health. After a circuits or barre class, regardless of how reluctant I felt before going (often, very), or how full of dread (ditto), I inevitably feel more chipper, calmer, somehow more on top of things, optimistic and capable. There is something very reassuring and soothing about knowing that I’m doing something regularly to boost my health and wellbeing.
As January rolls around again and I am about to renew my membership I find myself reflecting on all the stories we tell ourselves to avoid exercise; something I have been the master at in the past. What I realised over the past year is that a huge part of the secret to being fitter is just turning up. And I am so glad that I did. But also, if I can do it then anyone can.
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