I spent over a decade being obsessed with the gym. I finally let myself stop
This is a first-person column by Toronto-based Pakistani Canadian journalist Zahra Khuzema. For more information on CBC’s first-person stories, please visit FAQ,
Last month, I sent one of the most difficult emails I’ve written all year.
It was a request asking my gym to stop my membership. I stared at the screen longer than I wanted to before hitting send. For almost 15 years, working out has been a constant in my life. Canceling felt like I was breaking away from a part of myself.
I avoided sending that email for five months. Every month, I told myself I would get back on track and every month, there was another payment. When my partner finally intervened, I didn’t cancel the subscription – instead I paused the subscription. This was my compromise, a small concession to the part of me that still believed I would come back.
As far back as I remember, other people’s attention to my body had gone before me.
I am one of three sisters, all close in age. Growing up, the easiest way for extended family to identify me was to point out my obesity. Some family members called me “bulldozer” or “fluffy,” and I convinced myself it was affectionate.
But as I grew up, the comments stopped being cute.
By 12, I was wearing my mom’s tops while my sisters were shopping in the teen aisle. I had already learned that taking up space, physical or otherwise, comes with commentary.
As a child, the activity was delightful. I loved jumping rope, biking, and climbing on jungle gyms in my free time. I was always on the move. Even in high school, I worked hard in gym class and happily participated in competitions, even though I never came in first.
I assume the weight will “even out” as I get taller. It did not happen.
Then I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome at the age of 17 and the situation changed. Doctors have warned me to be careful about my weight, because fluctuations can increase my risk of heart disease or cancer, both of which run in my family. That’s when working out became a responsibility.
not working out was not an option
By the time I reached university, the gym was non-negotiable. I would run 5km on the track during its ladies-only hours, then lift weights for half an hour. I used to go three or four times a week, even during exams and holidays. I always had my gym bag with me.
I took part in 10km and 15km runs, training in the city. I climbed to the 144th floor of the CN Tower. I love the quiet focus of putting on headphones, playing an entire Spotify album or news podcast, and letting ideas come between breaths. I learned my body, every muscle, every shape, every little improvement. I felt beautiful, but more importantly, powerful.
At its best, gym gave me structureE. This was the place I used to go after work; In winter, sometimes this was the only reason I left the house.
But the worst thing about it was that it was a system of self-surveillance.
It started during the pandemic when I got a fitness tracking watch. At first, the data it provided seemed inspiring. I started sharing it with friends and competing to see who could get more done.
But the tracking features bothered me for the rest of the day. I’ll see someone else running 10km or burning 900 calories and I’ll feel guilty for not doing something. So I wore the watch and went to sleep. I wore it to weddings. I also started “Dance Workout” while out with friends.
Soon, we have feelings of guilt or embarrassmentIt’s being triggered more often — like when influencers filmed their workouts next to me or I watched groups running by the lake at dawn in the winter. I started coordinating my tops and leggings, hoping they would inspire me. On days when I feel bloated, I’d rather skip it altogether than risk seeing my belly in a crop top.
A “good” week means four gyms seizure. Anything less made me feel like I had failed.
And I paid the price for it financially and emotionally. Over the years, I’ve spent over $8,000 on memberships, sign-up fees, transportation, and race entries. What’s more, I had to pay with guilt.
the day my tracker died
for severaFor many years, I always worked out before I was allowed to go outsideThese are friends. This made it easier to wear clothes and allowed eating. Then I started looking at my stomach in the mirror after meals, which brought me back to shape. Little girl asking questions to her relativeIonization with food.
When I lost my full-time job last fall and went into the freelance life, everything fell into place. Without a predictable schedule, the gym stopped fitting into my day. I worked for a long time with no clear beginning or nD. But I kept paying for the membership, telling myself I’d get back on track.
All this was clicked in one afternoonThen my Apple Watch died – and foreverFor the first time in years, I let it stay dead.
What surprised me most was how little life changed. No one cared that I had taken off my watch. My rings disappeared from my friends’ feeds, and the world kept spinning.
I realized that a lot of it was going on in my mind.
Putting a pause on my membership was a relief – mostly no longer typing “gym” into my calendar app and deleting it when I didn’t go. But it also forced me to find new forms of physical activity.
American exercise equipment company Peloton has launched new AI software that provides real-time feedback like a personal trainer, raising some questions about whether the technology could replace personal training with human trainers.
I’m getting a small treadmill at home for walkinging, Becauseto be immobilized byNot even healthy. To start, I’m aiming for 5,000 steps a few times a week.
Since my last gym workout in July — on July 26, according to my Apple Watch — my body hasn’t changed much, but I’ve welcomed my B.Allie pouch back, my butt is flaThe basket and groceries feel heavy. I know this will change more as time goes on, but I’m trying to be okay with it.
When the break ends in April, I’ll probably try to go back. Summer will come to a close and the pressure to look a certain way will increase again. What I’m trying to hold on to now is the idea that returning doesn’t mean returning to guilt.
Health, to me, now looks like self-compassion. Like paying attention to my career, my skin, my hair and accepting that I can’t optimize everything at once. Stopping my gym membership was a small act of saying that I don’t need to earn my value through workouts or guilt. Discipline can also be mild.
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