Simone Lai keeps her head down while working on her cardio at the Mattamy Athletic Centre.

Photo by Nicole Witkowski

James Harrison, one of the strongest NFL players, can bench at least 425 pounds. I’m not even 100 pounds. 

While I do have a basic workout routine, cardio followed by various weight-training and strengthening exercises, I do them alone from the comfort of my decrepit basement. Luckily, my dad invested in a stationary bike in the ’90s and curated some used weights from before I was born.

There’s a reason for my loner workout tendencies. Nobody will laugh at me for lifting 20 pounds or for my inability to run a mile in 10 minutes. 

But since I’m only going to be a student at Ryerson for another month, now’s my chance to get over my fears and use the Mattamy Athletic Centre.

I’ve never been to a Ryerson gym, but I was promised that the MAC was “nice.” I didn’t want to seem like a wimp; the least I could do was try. 

I figured that the people who work out at the MAC are my peers. I predicted a localized atmosphere compared to a colossal commercialized gym. I shouldn’t feel pressured. But I was worried.

I don’t use fancy equipment at home. I was intimidated by the thought of going to the gym and not knowing how to use any of it. My basement isn’t lined with mirrors, so I’m not used to seeing how ungraceful I am. In fact, my basement is lined with spider webs, dust, and junk my mom can’t seem to let go of. It’s a lot easier to blend into the disarray.

The following is my honest tale of an attempted journey beyond the cardio section at the MAC.

Day 1

I kept looking at my watch. I gave myself a 3 p.m. deadline to get to the gym and exercise. I felt all these eyes attack me like daggers as I nervously entered.

I told myself that this was all in my head. I needed to get it together and actually break a sweat. As I moused my way to the change room, I tried to find a secluded area where I could work out. The cardio machines were predominantly used by women while the weight machines were men. Bingo. Cardio it is.

I met Michelle Won in the change room. She’s a second-year early childhood education student and is dedicated to the MAC. I asked her how to overcome my concerns of embarrassment and intimidation.

“They don’t see the flaws we see,” said Won about the buff guys grunting during each rep. “Regardless, everyone will have their insecurities.”

Everyone within the gym community, she said, was there for the same purpose: to better themselves.

But today, I couldn’t brave the public workout. Instead, I disappeared into the corners of the women’s locker-room. 

Day 2

I finally put my sneakers on and marched up to the stationary bikes. The only one left was between two muscular men.

I knew there was a workout spirit playing a mean trick on me. The screen at my station refused to co-operate and restarted every few moments. 

Was my heart rate only rising because I was incredibly embarrassed?

After pressing one too many buttons, my gaze fell upon the warning label. 

There it is: “WARNING – don’t make a fool out of yourself or that big guy that sits three rows behind you in accounting class and that girl in your elective will see just how vulnerable you are.” 

I don’t even take accounting.

For the next 45 minutes I didn’t look beyond my screen, for fear of making eye contact with others. I didn’t even dare walk over to the weights. I just wanted to be invisible.

Day 3

That damn buzzer. This time my entrance set off the alarm. Naturally, everyone in the vicinity turned to look at me. I get it, weakling coming through. How can I help you?

I found myself in the cardio section again. Side-by-side, men with faces that screamed, “I need a laxative,” examined their reflections in the mirror with immense concentration. 

Then, right in front of me, a man hung these mammoth chains around his neck. Sorry, are you practising some Fifty Shades of Grey trick? 

I couldn’t do it.

I summoned courage and bravery, stopped pedalling, and scoped out the five-pound weights. “I’m going over to the wall with the weight rack, I’m going to pick up those five-pound weights and do that exercise I read about in that magazine,” I thought. But I stopped myself again. There was no way I was about to line myself with massive guys pumping serious iron, or get in Wreck It Ralph’s way.

Then it all made sense. These thoughts are the very reason why I fear public exercise. It would be terrifying if someone thought this about me. Judgments, overthinking, and intimidation were fuelling my insecurities.

Workout anonymous

I’m at school almost 40 hours a week and thought the MAC would be a good option. It’s close and already paid for. But my lack of confidence got the better of me.

I was embarrassed at how much I struggled while jogging for 10 minutes. I feel even more embarrassed that I didn’t touch the weights. 

Sadly, I didn’t even complete a full workout.

Instead, I stayed inside a comfort bubble of women on the cardio machines and watched, in awe, the rare female venture into the weighted territory.

I respect those women who go beyond the cardio machines and “pump iron,” as gym junkies say. 

I also respect the brave individuals that aren’t “jacked” but still commit daily hours at the MAC. You should be proud. But I can’t say the same about myself.

From now on, I’ll just stick to the shadows of my basement.

This story was first published in The Ryersonian, a weekly newspaper produced by the Ryerson School of Journalism, on March 13, 2013.