Every January, the gym undergoes a transformation. The regular crowd of muscular philosophers and cardio monks suddenly finds itself invaded by New Year's Resolution People. And with them comes chaos.
Let me introduce you to the specimens I've observed this month:
THE PROTEIN PROPHET
This guy brings a blender to the gym. Not a shaker bottle. A full-sized Ninja blender. He plugs it into the outlet by the water fountain and makes smoothies mid-workout. When asked why, he said, "Anabolic window, bro. You have thirty minutes." He has not provided a source for this claim. His smoothies smell like a vanilla candle fell into a pond. Everyone is afraid to confront him because he's the size of a refrigerator with feelings.
THE SQUAT RACK CURLER
In every gym, in every country, there is a man who chooses to do bicep curls in the squat rack. Not because there aren't other options. There are always other options. He just likes the power of standing in the most valuable real estate in the building while doing an exercise that could be done literally anywhere else. When you ask how many sets he has left, he says "three" but stays for forty-five minutes. Scientists believe he feeds on the frustration of others.
THE MOTIVATIONAL MOANER
Look, I understand that lifting heavy requires effort. Grunting happens. But there is a man at my gym who sounds like he's being attacked by invisible bees during every single rep. His bench press sounds like the mating call of an elk. His deadlift sounds like he's giving birth to the entire deadlift. People have called the front desk thinking someone was injured. He was not injured. He was doing leg extensions.
THE PHONE OCCUPIER
She's been on that machine for forty minutes. Has she done a single rep? No. Has she taken seventeen selfies, responded to all her texts, and watched two TikToks? Absolutely. When you ask to work in, she looks at you like you asked to borrow her firstborn child. The machine is her home now. You are the visitor.
THE UNSOLICITED ADVISOR
This man has never competed in anything. His physique is best described as "works at a mattress store." But he will walk up to you—mid-set—and tell you your form is wrong. His advice is always either incredibly obvious ("Try going lower") or dangerously incorrect ("You should lock your knees at the top"). He has injured himself doing the very exercises he critiques. He shows no signs of self-awareness.
THE MIRROR WARRIOR
Every gym has a mirror for checking form. This man has claimed the mirror for checking himself out. He flexes between sets like he's preparing for a pageant no one invited him to. He makes eye contact with himself. He nods approvingly. Once, I saw him wink at his own reflection. He did not appear to be joking.
These are your people. This is your gym. Welcome to January. May your gains be real and your patience be infinite.