The Gym and I
It occurred to me recently that I’ve been in a relationship with “the gym” now for 40 years, which is kind of wild considering it’s a longer period than I’ve been with my partner. Of course, it’s not a committed relationship. There have been many gyms over those four decades. Using the modest financial figure of $70 per month, I estimate I’ve spent more than $33,000 over the years on gym memberships. When I look at myself in the mirror, however, I sometimes wonder if it’s been worth it.
As with any relationship, my rapport with the gym has evolved over the years as my motivations for going have changed. As a young 20-something arriving in Washington in the 1980s to begin a new life, I quickly realized one of my first priorities was to join a gym. Back then, the gym represented a kind of rite of passage, helping me transition from a closet case to an out gay man. The gym enabled me to build up my body and attract attention from other males. It led to friendships, dates, and sex. The gym was erotic, exhilarating, and addicting. It provided a sense of purpose and a place to belong.
In my 30s and 40s, going to the gym was still about looking good, but it was just as much about competition and keeping up with the Joneses. A fit, attractive body was just part of the package for the trendy urbane GWM in the 1990s. Were you also sporting the right haircut, watch, sneakers, and even underwear? The gym was a great place to pick up personal style tips and trends. Writing about it now in retrospect, it feels rather petty. But that era, at least in DC, wasn’t about touting one’s uniqueness or authenticity, but about assimilation, fitting in, and showing society that gay men weren’t so different than our straight brothers and as such should have the same rights.
When I hit 50 and 60, my motivations began to change again. Going to the gym was more about staying healthy and figuring out how to age well. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it was still at its core about looking good. I’m deadly afraid of man boobs. In some ways, I find the gym more comfortable now than at any other time in my life. I’m there to focus on me and not to attract attention. As if a 63-year-old man wearing a Tommy Copper adjustable back supporter is going to impress.
Here’s a funny story about that. My current gym relationship in Rehoboth is with Rise Fitness on Airport Road. I enjoy the mix of machines and free weights as well as the mix of people. A lot of young people work out at Rise, many of whom seem to be current or former athletes at Cape Henlopen High.
To this crowd, a man my age is invisible unless he creepily leers at them, which I absolutely do not. I have perfected over the years a more subtle gaze.… Anyhow, one day I wore an old UVA 1999 national championship lacrosse t-shirt when I went to work out. Well, you wouldn’t believe the approving looks I received from the young athletic crowd. One handsome fella in a Salisbury University lacrosse t-shirt even asked who we’d beaten in the finals. Luckily, I knew it was Syracuse and the score was 12-10. I received his grunt of approval and nod of the head. Thank goodness he didn’t ask what position I’d played….
Here in Key West where I’m wintering for a few months, gym options are limited. I checked out a new facility near the harbor, but the crowd was a bit old for my tastes. I noted a lot of them arriving in golf carts. I prefer a place called Old Island Fitness where most people arrive on bicycles. The gym is old and worn and full of classic barbells and dumbbells. There are open air windows, and no AC. Guys exercise shirtless. People bring their dogs. It’s kind of irreverent and hard core and it attracts a badass clientele serious about exercising. All of this is a bit out of my comfort zone, but that’s why I’m doing it. I might even go shirtless on a hot day when nobody is around. Just don’t expect to see a photo. ▼
Rich Barnett is the author of The Discreet Charms of a Bourgeois Beach Town, and Fun with Dick and James.