Content warning - discussions of weight, weight loss, body shaming, gyms, diet culture, anti-fat bias and (mild) violence in gyms.
I share this with the goal of discussing advocacy and my experience in fitness spaces, however, I know how I am treated in fitness spaces is directly linked to weight and thin privilege and anti-fat bias. Many of the more difficult stories I share in this article reference when I was larger. I appreciate that the way I am treated now in fitness spaces is very different, but it’s my intention to share my experience here honestly, to show how painful those spaces can be and what self-advocacy can look like in them. As always, take what you need and leave the rest. This article is in no way intended to add on to the heightened focus on weight loss in our society right now, but more to discuss how challenging it can be to enjoy movement with that specific backdrop. With that in mind, let’s get into it…
the Gym
“This is too heavy for me.”
Without missing a beat the instructor running the circuit training says, “No, it isn’t.” We met 30 minutes ago.
“It is.” I say, as I do the exercise once more and feel my shoulder scream. “It is too heavy.”
“It isn’t too heavy, look, you’re able to do it.”
Reflexively and with an undeniable tone, I say, “Well, I’m telling you, it’s too heavy for me.” He acquiesces as I walk over and get a lower weight and continue to do the exercise. The person I’m paired with for the training says, “if it’s any consolation, it didn’t look too heavy for you.”
“Well, I’m the only one in my body, so.” I reply, I’m (understandably) activated, but not surprised.
I don’t believe either of the people in this interaction are being malicious or have bad intentions, but unfortunately, I find this type of behaviour incredibly common in gyms. I’ve had to get really good at self-advocating so I’m able to use these spaces in a healthy way for me. I’ve had to learn to trust my own body, rather than the opinion of people in gyms. Their opinion is formed by looking at me, their expectations and what they can do. Mine is informed by my lived experience, in my body, learning my limits and managing my chronic pain. One is obviously more valid than the other, but that’s not how we are taught to engage in fitness.
The impact of the 90s
As a young person, I was raised to believe that exercise is the way to corral and force the body into looking different. It is a punishment, a penance. Growing up in the 90s and 2000s, exercise was (and mostly still is) associated with restrictions, being ‘good’ (good meaning thin). I binged Americas Next Top Model and cut out pictures of very thin models to put in my cupboard doors, I joined slimming world at 13. I was taught to trust personal trainers, PE teachers and fitness class instructors over myself about my own body. Their opinion, respect and validation was more important than the pain or discomfort I felt at how they spoke to me or about me, or how my body actually felt. Feel the burn, disconnect from your body, do the workout, push yourself, that’s how you get results. Pain is temporary but glory is forever, right? Except, as many of us with chronic pain know, that’s not really true.
I, like many people, moved away from exercise when it was no longer demanded of me because it simply wasn’t enjoyable after school. It was a punishment for the way I looked, rather than something to really got pleasure from. I had grown up watching adults around me lament about exercise. I had experienced back pain from a young age which had only gotten worse as I’d gotten older. I didn’t want exercise to be the price one paid for a smaller body or for the morality of it all. In my early 20s, I had been going to yoga classes regularly as well as HIIT workouts. I was regularly fat shamed at these classes, pointedly told which exercises were good for fat loss, and had tips and tricks shared with me that I never asked for. I had started going to a gym at one point, for one of the employees to take it upon himself to train me, he had never asked if I wanted this. One day when he turned the treadmill up much higher than I could have possibly managed, he slapped my thigh when I stepped off the machine. He then proceeded to bring out a scale to weigh me on the gym floor. Surrounded by other members of the public he urged me to step on the scale. I think he expected me to be shocked at the number on the scale, but I was obviously more embarrassed at this public spectacle the situation had devolved into. Needless to say, I didn’t go back to that gym, or any gym for a while after that incident.
Enter instagram
I did realise, however, that I desperately wanted to have a better relationship with my body. Around the mid 2010s, the growing body positivity and body neutrality movements online had a big effect on me. I followed @yourfatfriend and @Michelleelman on Instagram and read Sofie Hagen’s “Happy Fat”, quickly followed by Lindo Bacon’s “Health at every size”. I particularly found the latter to be a fantastic resource that debunked myths around fatness, health and exercise in a way that I found incredibly helpful. The book talked about how to listen to your body and not making yourself workout for the sake of it. So, I stopped working out in the same way. I removed the pressure I had put on myself to exercise and.. I just stopped completely. I didn’t enjoy it, so I didn’t do it. I started walking daily, as that was something I knew I liked, and left it at that for a while. After six months or so, I felt the urge to move my body and I wanted to get back into it, so, armed with my new knowledge and understanding of self-advocacy in fitness spaces, I sought out a PT. I sent her a long email documenting every bad thing that had happened to me in a gym.
By 2021, I’d been involved in the body positivity / body neutrality movement since the mid 2010s. I saw online how people responded and learned a lot about boundaries, (shout out “The Dance of Intimacy” by Dr Harriet Lerner). I went in knowing that I was entitled to use these spaces and if someone responded to me it wasn’t my fault. “Health at every size” had a letter for fitness professionals in their book too and I felt inspired.
getting back into it on my own terms
I wanted to work out and move my body, but I didn’t want to talk about calories, burning body fat or to feel pushed. I didn’t want to talk about food or nutrition. I wanted to engage with movement on my own terms, not feeling hemmed in by goals that satisfied other’s notions of why one would work out. I wanted to enjoy working out and feel more at home in my body. The PT I worked with was a close friend, and while she had never had a request like this, she took it really well. We talked about how I didn’t want to be pushed. My intention with starting out sessions was to increase my confidence in gyms and know how to work out without injuring myself. Something that unfortunately had not been a priority of fitness professionals in my past experience. I spoke with friends at the time about how I wanted to try different types of movement and see what I enjoyed. Thankfully one friend who had had similar experiences joined me for this endeavour. The comradery made it much more enjoyable and interesting, as it felt like we were exploring together.
We did lots of different types of exercise, including but not limited to biking in a bath (aquabiking) and climbing. These two stick out to me because in each of them the attendant told my friend and I how these exercises are great for weight loss, when we hadn’t asked. Our thinner friend was shocked, but we assured her, this happened all the time. I learned stock phrases to help me explain what I wanted in fitness spaces. I came mentally prepared to say the same thing again and again in order to be heard.
“I’m not interested in losing weight”
“I don’t want to talk about calories”
“This weight is too heavy for me”
“I have some issues with my back so I might do this exercise differently”
Another thing particularly in yoga classes was that I realised I didn’t like physical adjustments. Sometimes, more often now, teachers will ask at the top of the class if everyone’s ok with physical adjustments. It’s challenging to say, ‘I don’t like physical adjustments, so please just tell me’, in front of others, particularly when no one else says that in the room. However, I do say this because if I am adjusted by someone, they push my body too far, not considering or realising how painful it is for me or believing I’m holding myself back with a ‘mental’ barrier, rather than my body literally doesn’t move that way, and doing so will injure me. The same is true when being pushed with a heavier weight. So now, even when they don’t ask I will make a point to tell the instructor please not to touch me. I also, just don’t like being touched by strangers.
I understand and appreciate that some people do want to feel pushed in a workout session, I, am not one of those people. I think the emphasis in fitness spaces around pushing yourself, always lifting heavier, always running further, always doing more, is misplaced and discourages many people from being involved in fitness spaces. If it’s someone’s goal to do a 10k, that’s great. A lot of people work really well with goals. For me, it creates a backfire effect of unnecessary pressure, feelings of stress and fear in my body about what happens if I’m not able to achieve that goal. It creates a situation where I can only see boom or bust, and so I no longer want to do anything. I work out because it helps me mentally and, if needed, I want to be able to run for the bus and do daily physical tasks.
I also no longer engage in conversations that centre the punishment aspect of exercise. I can stop and leave at any time if I want to. I’m allowed to do that, at any moment I can leave an exercise class if I’m feeling uncomfortable. Easier said than done for sure, but it’s something I’ve done in the past when I needed to listen to my body and move the hell out of the room. Doing this also helps create trust within myself, that I can take care of myself when needed, including leaving a space that isn’t working for me. Whenever I go to a new workout class, I remind myself that I am an adult, no one gets to degrade me, and I can leave at any time.
where to go from here
If any of the above resonates with you, here are some questions for self-reflection around movement
- What makes you want to exercise? Write in detail about what you think it means to be someone who exercises ‘regularly’ and what you think it would mean for you.
- Deconstruct the above, does that actually align with your values? Or are these old ideas?
- Are there any types of exercise you enjoy more than others? (regardless of their intensity or traditional moral value added to them, ie walking and running)
- What is the most difficult part of movement for you? Is it feeling judged by others, how people at the gym talk to you, is it that you’re uncomfortable in such spaces?)
- Do you remember when you last enjoyed movement? (with friends in the summer walking, swimming as a kid, egg and spoon race even)
If you’d like to explore your relationship with your body, movement or look at how to increase your confidence in these spaces more, please reach out. Changing our relationships with our bodies and movement takes time, patience and a lot of care. So please have compassion for wherever you are with that journey!
