The January Gym

The January Gym is an overcrowded asses to elbows hell rush to wellness. A once-a-year event. It will swell with flesh again shortly ahead of summer, but this month, this now, this new year beginning is stand alone.

Everything reeks of resolution and self-loathing. New faces in new clothes staining in the sweat of want and willpower and wonderings of reshaping shapes mocking in mirrors since the holiday binge.

The November gym was busy, though swathes of open space brought ease for finding a place to knock out sets far from a neighbor’s stench. A mill was always open for grinding. The December gym was quiet. Hollow empty and echoing clatter of regulars, rats, and runners.

The January mass of bodies is thick and hurried. Movement and machine mixing in the din of pounding music piping treble hollow. The treadmills are full. Multiple rows of weight machines are covered in humanity.

Fear is palpable. We are afraid.

The young afraid of not being young. The old of being old. The middle afraid of both.

I am afraid.

The gut grows while metabolism slows. The core blurring center in relentless spread of dread. Another inch on the belt once tightened against svelte. The resting heart feels unrested. The marathon legs are memory. Humbled and awed at the rapidity my body can betray, I move through the January Gym very afraid.

Most of us working out in January are here because we don’t like our bodies. Whether we struggle with our weight, our strength, balance, or resilience, we share a common space in shared distaste of our physical selves. How have I learned to dislike my body with such ease? To see a mirror filled with flaws?

I am nearly all water, and the strength and resilience of this tiny ocean has brought me through years of neglect, fast food, salt and sugar. Through major trauma. This very same body later allowed me to be one of the one percent of the population called marathoners. And the January floor is filled with similar stories. All of us have tales about overcoming hardship and pain.  And still, we look in the mirror with disgust. We are in this gym afraid.

I have grown to enjoy January. For the collective energy of our wanting to be healthier colors the arena in hope for stronger tomorrows. The room is filled with desire. And a greater understanding that our emotional wellbeing is directly connected to movement. And though the theme may be loathing, our behavior has changed. We have paid for our gym membership. Hauled ourselves from the comforts of inertia. We are working out.

Experience, sadly, tells me the weights and machines will be readily available by late March. In those weeks of early spring, we are in the gym because we like our bodies. The change of mood is distinct. Inked biceps radiate in reps. Sculpted backs and stone smooth thighs highlight in sweat-soaked shine. Quads and glutes parade. Familiar faces nod or wave. We’re plugged into our music, celebrating our glow, sharing selfies unashamed.

I am, again, working to be in that gym in the months ahead. But right now, I’ll admit it: I am afraid.

I am in the January Gym.

1. Cover photo by Author. OneLife Gym, Virginia Beach, Virginia.

2 - 4, OneLife Gym, Virginia Beach, Virginia. Photos by Author.

This work is a gentle re-write of The January Gym blog I shared in 2023.

© Copyright William Hazel, 2026