Opinion: Gym rats have taken on a whole new meaning these days | Opinion

About 25% of Americans have a gym membership, according to a recent survey from the Health & Fitness Association, whose Christmas potluck must be a real joy. 

Doing some quick math, that, uh, works out to about 77 million of us who hit the gym.

 I’m one of them. In fact, I’m perhaps the most important one of the entire cohort. The exception who proves the rule. 

The rule being, “In 2025, there are few more annoying members of the species Homo sapiens than gymgoers.” 

Can we chat for a moment about self-obsession, rampant narcissism, the rise of “digital influencers,” and what’s it like to spend an hour working out these days?

I’m an expert on the subject, having belonged to gyms all over the Valley since 1995. LA Fitness, the Village, Life Time, musty non-franchise sweatboxes – I’ve tried them all, enough to say that the experience has changed drastically over the years. 

The gym used to be a place for sweating while lifting things heavier than your moral failings, or for cranking out just enough cardio to keep the cardiologist away. 

Now? The gym has become the set for America’s longest-running reality show: Me, Starring Me.

If you use social media, you’re surely familiar with this “content,” often delivered in the form of selfies. Lots and lots of selfies. There’s the “resting between sets” selfie, which – spoiler alert – usually occurs before any sets have taken place. There’s the “look at my glutes” selfie, shot from an angle that, in any other context, would land you on a sex offender registry. 

And there’s my personal favorite: the “intense mirror stare,” where dudes flex so hard they appear moments away from a self-induced hernia.

These people aren’t exercising. They’re performing. For whom, I can only imagine. Because while I may not care, someone must. Why else do you keep meeting people who proclaim themselves to be “influencers?”

A confession: The only influence most of these folks have on me is highlighting exactly what I never, ever want to do, what I don’t want to buy, and how I don’t want to behave. In other words, they’re not influencers at all. They’re de-influencers. Walking, flexing cautionary tales for the rest of us to observe and ridicule.

Here’s a rule of thumb that I’d like to see President Trump include in one of those executive orders: The only people who should film at the gym are personal injury attorneys gathering evidence.

The culture has clearly passed me by, because I go to the gym for the same reason I brush my teeth: to ward off decay and preserve my original body parts. I’m not working out for likes or shares. I’m there because I’d prefer to keep living without needing a caregiver to help tie my shoelaces.

I do occasionally sneak glimpses in the gym wall mirror, not out of vanity, but to confirm I’m not having a stroke working my core on the Pilates reformer. Then I get on with it. Because the point of the gym is not to become internet famous. It’s to sweat. To strain. To discover that yes, your body can do hard things, even if your heart, soul and brain scream otherwise.

Here’s a plea to all the selfie stick brandishers, mirror hogs, and “May The Booty Get Fatter” T-shirt wearers hogging the squat rack. 

In the name of all that is worthwhile in this life, put down the phone and pick up the dumbbell. Stop performing. Stop creating content. And stop worrying about who’s watching you. 

Because the answer, inconvenient though it may be, is almost always … nobody.

Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to work out. Which, I assure you, no one wants to watch.