When I first stepped into the York Sport Village in my first year, I was convinced it would be like the fitness version of the Hunger Games, protein shakes instead of weapons of course, but with just as much intimidation.
The machines looked like medieval torture devices, the people knew exactly what they were doing (and had biceps the size of my self-doubt), and the air smelled vaguely of ambition and someone’s forgotten pre-workout. It was overwhelming. But here’s the thing: I kept going. And somewhere between the sore muscles and the awkward “is this bench free?” dance, I started to learn a few things, not just about fitness, but about the strange, wonderful social ecosystem that is the university gym.
Let’s start with the people. University gyms are a microcosm of campus life, only in sweatier clothing. There’s the Cardio Crusader who spends 90 minutes on the treadmill and still manages to look like they’re gliding, the Powerlifter Philosopher who deadlifts more than the weight of their student debt while giving unsolicited advice about macros, the Gym Newbie Squad – usually in twos or threes, doing everything together, sharing earbuds, and nervously checking the instructions on every machine. There are the Mirror Checkers, Form Fanatics, Casual Lifters, and my personal favourite, the people who are just here to occasionally stretch and scroll TikTok.
But everyone – yes, everyone – was new once. That’s something I had to remind myself in week one, when I was googling “how to use a rowing machine” under the guise of changing my playlist. Starting the gym can feel a bit like showing up at a party where everyone already knows the moves to a very complicated dance. You worry you’ll do something embarrassing, like trying to adjust the leg press and accidentally launching the seat across the room (I’ve seen it happen). But the truth is, nobody is really watching you. They’re all too focused on their own sets, their own progress, or the battle between finishing a final rep or collapsing dramatically on the floor.
And yet, the gym is not without its social moments. There’s an unspoken camaraderie in struggling side-by-side on adjacent machines. A nod from a fellow gym-goer when you hit a new personal record can feel like winning an Oscar. Spotting someone else mid-set turns you from strangers into temporary teammates. Over time, familiar faces turn into friends, and then one day, you find yourself offering someone else a tip on how to adjust the squat rack and that’s how you know you’ve made it.
Of course, there are the funny moments. Like trying to discreetly wipe down a mat only to realise the spray bottle is empty and now you’ve just smeared your sweat into a nice, evenly distributed sheen. Or realising you’ve been doing a whole circuit with your shirt on inside out (bonus points if the label is poking out).
Once, in what I thought would be a peaceful late-night session at 1AM – the sacred hour of solitude and sweaty self-improvement – I was interrupted by a group of students fresh from the club, still in full going-out attire. Heels, glitter, crop tops – the works. They burst in like a human disco ball, running laps around the gym while screaming with the chaotic energy of a hen do on fast-forward. For a solid 30 minutes they treated the space like their personal afterparty playground, before finally leaving in a whirlwind of perfume and questionable life choices. But not before one guy attempted to deadlift in skinny jeans so tight I’m certain they were cutting off his circulation. He didn’t lift the bar, but he did lift my spirits.
And then… there’s the TikTok problem. You absolutely will be in the background of someone’s mirror selfie, gym vlog, or “glute isolation routine” video, and there is zero way of avoiding it no matter how stealthily you move about. If I had a penny for every time I’ve appeared on my own For You Page sweating in the background of someone else’s video, well, I’d have 3p – which isn’t a lot, but it’s enough to confirm it’s happening. I’ve made peace with the fact that I may be an uncredited extra in more fitness TikToks than I’ll ever know. Honestly, it’s almost endearing. Almost.
One of the most underrated parts of university life is routine – and for me, the gym has become the backbone of mine. After a long day of lectures, deadlines, and deciphering what exactly my seminar reading is trying to say, I genuinely look forward to being able to destress under obnoxious fluorescent lights with my headphones on. It’s not just about how much weight I can lift or how fast I can run a mile – it’s about showing up, moving my body, and giving my brain a much needed break from academic chaos. On days when I don’t feel like leaving the house, the gym gives me a reason to. Staying active has helped me stay sane, stay grounded, and yes, even stay on top of my required readings. Because when your mind is racing and your schedule’s packed, that hour of movement can be the difference between spiralling and coping. Physical health and mental health are tied tighter than a pair of compression leggings, and I’ve learned that sometimes the best way to clear your head is to sweat it out, then go home, shower, and pretend you understand Foucault.
So, what have I really learnt about university gyms? That everyone starts somewhere, no one has it all figured out, and progress doesn’t always look like a shredded six-pack or a 200kg deadlift. Sometimes it’s just showing up. Sometimes it’s lifting a little heavier than last week. Sometimes it’s having the confidence to try a new machine without googling it first. And sometimes it’s just making it to the gym on a cold, rainy Monday when you’d rather be in bed. That counts too.
Whether you’re a gym rat, a cardio cat, or just here for the vibes and vending machine, the university gym has space for you. It’s not about looking perfect. It’s about feeling better, stronger, calmer, and more like yourself. So grab your water bottle, your playlist, and your sense of humour and I’ll see you in the background of someone’s TikTok.