After years of working out at my local gym, I find myself standing at a crossroads, compelled to sever ties with a place that once felt like a sanctuary. What was once a haven for my physical and mental well-being has transformed into a haunting reminder of the darker undercurrents that can lurk beneath the surface of seemingly innocuous spaces.
Rumors had long circulated about the gym owner, Ken—whispers of his predatory behavior towards women, tales of his flirtations that crossed the line into discomfort while he allegedly is married to someone else. I had heard the stories, but I chose to dismiss them, believing my focus on fitness would shield me from such distractions. My goal was simple: to work out and leave, to immerse myself in the rhythm of my routine without the need for social entanglements. I had no interest in making friends and rarely made eye contact with those men who stared me down, as if I were an object and not a person.
But everything changed during a recent visit with my sister, who was in town for a short while. The allure of a 24-hour gym had always been its convenience, allowing me to escape the world at any hour. Yet that night, as Ken unveiled his new line of branded activewear, the atmosphere shifted. He offered my sister a hoodie, a harmless gesture, but then turned to me with a proposition that sent chills down my spine—a tight, low-cut v-neck shirt emblazoned with the gym’s logo, accompanied by an invitation to change in his office right in front of him.
At first, I was stunned. My sister, witnessing the exchange, wore an expression of shock that quickly morphed into nervous laughter, as if to deflect the absurdity of the moment. But the gravity of his request weighed heavily on me, a palpable reminder of the objectification that can seep into spaces meant for empowerment. He acted as if it were no big deal and said he wanted me to wear the shirt and change into it.
On the drive home, we talked about it, the absurdity of it all mingling with a creeping sense of violation. I realized then that I could no longer justify my loyalty to a gym that had become a breeding ground for discomfort and unwanted attention. The cameras that dotted the facility, once a benign presence, now felt like silent sentinels, watching and recording moments that should remain private. I had changed there before and the thought of being scrutinized in that vulnerable state was unbearable.
I had hoped the rumors surrounding Ken were mere exaggerations, but my experience had crystallized my fears into a haunting reality. I refuse to inhabit a space where I feel reduced to an object, where my autonomy is overshadowed by someone else's gaze. Living in Montana, I know there are countless other gyms waiting to be explored and I am ready to seek out a new environment—one that fosters strength and confidence rather than discomfort.
I’m not going to the police. There is no need. This is simply a life lesson more than anything else. I’m just going to stop going to the gym and find another place to workout at.
As I step away from this chapter, I carry with me the lessons learned: the importance of vigilance, the necessity of prioritizing my well-being, and the understanding that not all spaces are safe, even those that claim to be. I look forward to finding a new gym, one where I can reclaim my sense of agency and focus solely on my fitness journey, unencumbered by the shadows of unwanted attention. Here’s to new beginnings, to reclaiming my worth, and to the pursuit of a healthier, more empowering environment.
Comments