Gym culture toxicity

I hate my gym rival.

Most mornings, she and I face off as the only two women in the swarming cesspool of testosterone known as the weight room. I sip my protein shake from its designated pink bottle and stare at her as she gears up with her wraps and chalk. On days I want to sleep in, the thought of losing to her pulls me out of bed and into the gym.

But I’m the only one playing the game. This girl doesn’t know my name and I don’t know hers. Frankly, I doubt she’s ever noticed me or is even aware I view her as competition. I don’t compare myself to the men that surround us — their capabilities are easier to dismiss due to the copious amounts of creatine and testosterone coursing through their veins. When it comes to her, though, I cower when I see her warm up with weight that I struggle to move.

Between sets, I find myself on Instagram engrossed in the posts of female models, influencers and bodybuilders. These women — flexing their post workout pumps under perfect lighting — dwarf even my rival. I drop my phone and turn to face the mirror to perform my next set; this time focused on how scrawny I look in my baggy clothes.

Social media has distorted my view of what is attainable for the average gym-goer. What I consider to be my pinnacle of athletic performance is considered a cakewalk to others. Bodybuilders and fitness influencers are focused on showing off their unrealistic physiques as a marketing tactic to sell their latest supplements. Full-time students with part-time jobs don’t have enough hours in a day to sculpt their bodies in the gym, let alone the discretionary income to afford a membership to a facility with state-of-the-art equipment or fancy supplements sold by influencers.

One standard for so-called “gym rats” is achieving a bench press of 225 pounds. The “gymfluencers” flooding my Instagram feed move this weight without breaking a sweat. Yet, if you were in a room with 100 adult men who have been weight training for one year, only one of those men would be able to bench 225 pounds. If you were in the same room of men who have now stayed consistent for five years, only 32 would be expected to accomplish this feat.

What about the general population? In a room of 1,000 American men and women with varying experience, statistics indicate that less than four people are likely capable of benching 225 pounds. Needless to say, the standard to consider oneself a gym rat is actually a major achievement.

Take me, for example. I’ve been training consistently for several years and played a Division I contact sport. Yet, I am nowhere near capable of lifting 225 pounds off my chest.

Social media content is desensitizing the public from what should be considered impressive. The fact that there will always be somebody stronger is not only harming the egos of these influencers’ audiences, but also encouraging dangerous behavior. I’ve made peace with the fact that I will never bench press more than one-and-a-half times my body weight, but this isn’t always the case for young, impressionable athletes. Rather than going to the gym to workout, many young people turn to “ego lifting” in an effort to seek validation from their peers. 

Not only is ego lifting dangerous, as it increases the risk of injury as a result of poor form, it is also entirely ineffective. Being able to join the 1,000 club by injuring your back does not equate good health or being considered in shape; frankly, it just makes you look stupid.

When social media pages flaunt enhanced super strength, it raises the bar of what should be considered the standard for strength — one that is already unattainable. Imagine if runners were considered subpar because they couldn’t keep up with the best of the best; if Noah Lyles’ sub-10-second 100-meter dash was considered the norm; if you only earned a medal for a marathon if you managed to run the 26.2 miles in less than two hours, like Eliud Kipchoge.

In my life post athletics, I am striving to mend my relationship with the gym, shifting my mindset from striving for improvement to one that satisfies my desire to stay active. While I’m not constantly hitting personal records anymore, I now view the gym as an easy way to make my day feel more productive. When it comes to running or weightlifting, the effort is exhausting and not exactly enjoyable. The reward is being done, being able to stop and relax, enjoying the sense of accomplishment, knowing I have pushed myself to my own personal limit — even if my limit didn’t “beat” that of my imaginary rival.

Having massive muscles or visible ab definition doesn’t represent the pinnacle of health. Most physiques displayed on social media are impossible to maintain year round. Bodybuilders live in a vicious cycle of bulking up through extreme caloric intake to lift incredible mass, then cutting down their diet to reveal their new muscles. As a matter of fact, the only thing visible abs or muscle striations indicate are a low body fat percentage, which is only attainable by living in a caloric deficit. On the day of their shows, bodybuilders are not fit and strong; they are depleted and starving. 

Ilona Maher, U.S. women’s rugby bronze medalist, recently took to social media to speak out about varying body types in the Olympic space. Maher, standing at 5 feet 10 inches and 200 pounds, is considered overweight on the body mass index scale. Thus, she continues to advocate for body positivity for athletes, reminding her audience that she is in optimal athletic condition and earned her spot on an Olympic roster for a reason.

The greatest athletes around the world don’t come in one shape or size for good reason. Benching 225 pounds would not help Simone Biles land her double back layout with a half twist. Katie Ledecky’s muscle striations aren’t always visible because she needs to refuel her body following intense training sessions in order to maintain her gold-medal status. If Maher restricted carbs to have a more aesthetic physique, she wouldn’t have the energy to make tackles or plow through defenders.

The body I wake up with changes the moment I eat breakfast or even take a sip of water. When I was lean enough to flex my abs, I felt like I was in the worst shape of my life — constantly exhausted and starving. Bodies are required to fulfill biological needs in order to function. Restricting calories or overtraining to look healthy is not healthy at all.

Normal people who want to work out do not always have access to a nutritionist, unlimited time to train or steroids, so they should not expect to look like those who do. Going to the gym should be in the interest of one’s health, not obsession over appearance.

While every student is entitled to use the gyms on campus, it is important to be mindful of the reasons people work out, varying from athletic performance to improving health to feeling confident. There will always be someone who can lift heavier weights or someone who has more defined abs, but these attributes do not directly translate to athleticism.

Many gym-goers do find joy in fitness, but the aforementioned trends reflect growing issues in gym culture as they are facilitated by social media. The ongoing conversation, recently spearheaded by Maher, around body positivity and healthy lifestyle choices is essential when it comes to both addressing and reforming toxic elements of gym culture.

The purpose of exercise has become disconnected from its original intent. The gym has become a place that harbors fear of judgment for beginners and unhealthy comparisons for those who don’t exhibit the desired “peak” body type. So when I find myself comparing my abilities to those of my gym rival, I remind myself that I’m working out to maintain my general health and wellness, not to outlift a stranger I decided to duel with.

Statement Contributor Mikaela Lewis can be reached at mikaelal@umich.edu. 

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