We need to talk. About the gym. About what happens there when you think no one is watching. About the unspoken social contract that apparently got lost somewhere between the locker room and the free weights section. If you have ever wanted to scream into a towel while waiting for someone to finish their Instagram photoshoot on the only available bench press, this one is for you.
The Equipment Hoarder: Building a Fortress of Fitness
You know this person. They have claimed three sets of dumbbells, two resistance bands, a yoga mat, and somehow a kettlebell that no one has seen move in forty-five minutes. They have constructed what can only be described as a small civilization around their workout space, complete with a water bottle perimeter that clearly communicates "do not approach."
The equipment hoarder operates under the assumption that the gym is their personal playground, and everyone else is simply visiting their domain. They will give you the look of pure betrayal if you dare to ask whether they are still using the 25-pound dumbbells that have been sitting untouched for the duration of their workout. "I'm doing a circuit," they will explain, as if that justifies monopolizing half the gym's inventory.
Here is a radical thought: take what you need for your current set, use it, and put it back. Revolutionary, I know. The gym is a shared space, not a buffet where you pile your plate with everything and then decide what you actually want to eat.
The Sweaty Ghost: Leaving Their Mark Behind
There are spray bottles and paper towels located approximately every fifteen feet in most modern gyms. They are not decorative. They serve a purpose. That purpose is to wipe down the equipment after you have left your body's moisture collection all over it like some kind of territorial marking.
Yet somehow, there exists a significant portion of gym-goers who treat wiping down equipment as optional, perhaps even as something that only applies to other people. They finish their set, rise from a bench that now looks like it survived a light rain, and simply walk away. No backward glance. No moment of consideration. Just pure, unbothered energy.
To these individuals: we see you. We see the outline of your back on the bench. We see the hand prints on the handles. We are judging you, and we are right to do so. The thirty seconds it takes to wipe down a machine is not going to derail your workout. It is, however, going to prevent the next person from having to lay in your residue.
The Unsolicited Personal Trainer: Nobody Asked
Nothing enhances a workout quite like a stranger approaching mid-set to explain that your form is all wrong and they have a better way. Thank you, random person who has never met me, for assuming that I desperately need your guidance despite not asking for it.
The unsolicited advice giver comes in many forms. There is the "well actually" guy who cannot resist correcting everyone's technique. There is the "have you tried" person who wants to revolutionize your entire routine based on a YouTube video they watched. And there is the "when I competed" individual who peaked in 2003 and needs everyone to know it.
Here is the thing about gym advice: if someone wants it, they will ask for it. They will approach a staff member, hire a trainer, or ask a friend. What they will not do is send out psychic signals hoping that a stranger will interrupt their workout to explain the proper arc of a bicep curl.
Unless someone is in immediate danger of injuring themselves, maybe just let people do their thing. Wild concept.
The Machine Camper: Checking In for a Long Stay
They have been on the leg press for twenty-seven minutes. You know this because you have been waiting for twenty-seven minutes. Between each set, they take a five-minute break to respond to text messages, scroll through social media, and occasionally stare into the middle distance as if contemplating the meaning of existence.
The machine camper has confused the gym with their living room. They have settled in. They have gotten comfortable. They might as well have brought snacks and a blanket. Meanwhile, a line of increasingly frustrated people waits for their turn to use equipment that is apparently now a permanent fixture of someone else's extended rest period.
Peak hours exist. The gym gets crowded. Taking reasonable breaks between sets is normal and healthy. Taking breaks that rival the runtime of a feature film while others wait is not. If you need that much rest, consider working in with someone, or perhaps acknowledging that the equipment is not exclusively yours.
The Noise Maker: Soundtrack Nobody Requested
Grunting during a heavy lift is understandable. Your body is doing hard work, and sometimes sound comes out. That is human. What is less forgivable is the person who turns every single rep into a theatrical performance, complete with sound effects that can be heard across the entire facility.
There is also the phone talker, conducting business calls on speakerphone while using the treadmill. And the person who forgot their headphones and decided that everyone should enjoy their music, played directly from their phone speaker. And the weight dropper, who treats every completed set like a mic drop moment, letting the dumbbells crash to the floor with maximum dramatic effect.
The gym already has its own soundtrack. The clinking of weights, the hum of machines, the collective heavy breathing of people working hard. We do not need additional audio contributions. Invest in headphones, keep the phone conversations elsewhere, and maybe control the descent of the weights a little.
The Locker Room Philosopher: Too Comfortable for Comfort
The locker room is a transitional space. You enter, you change, you leave. It is not a lounge. It is not a place to have extended naked conversations while blocking access to lockers. It is not an opportunity to conduct your entire grooming routine while treating the space as your personal bathroom.
Yet some individuals have decided that the locker room is where they will finally slow down and take their time. They will air dry. They will apply lotion to every conceivable surface. They will strike up conversations with strangers who are just trying to change their clothes and escape.
Respect the transitional nature of the space. Move with purpose. Keep conversations brief and preferably while clothed. This should not need to be said, and yet here we are.
Can We All Just Agree on Some Basic Standards?
The gym could be a pleasant place. It could be a space where everyone respects shared equipment, cleans up after themselves, minds their own business, and moves through the facility with an awareness that other people also exist and have needs.
Instead, it often feels like a social experiment in how many unwritten rules humans can violate while maintaining eye contact and zero shame. The equipment hoarding, the sweaty residue, the unsolicited advice, the machine camping, the excessive noise, the locker room overstaying - these are not isolated incidents. They are patterns. They are choices people make repeatedly, apparently unbothered by the impact on everyone else.
So consider this a gentle reminder, or perhaps not so gentle: the gym is shared space. Other people matter. Wipe down your equipment. Share the machines. Keep the advice to yourself unless asked. Be aware of your noise levels. Move through the locker room with purpose.
We are all trying to get healthier here. Let us not make it harder than it needs to be.