Returning to the Gym After a Long Break: A Comedy of Errors (and Lessons)

Two days ago, I made a decision I'm now questioning with every fiber of my being: I went back to the gym after a… let's call it "sabbatical." I'm ashamed to admit how long I've been away. And, like someone stumbling back into an old addiction, I completely disregarded the fact that my current fitness level is a far cry from my former glory.

Armed with misplaced confidence, I signed up for a Body Pump class. 6 PM sharp. I arrived at 5:45, thinking I was ahead of the game. Rookie mistake. The room was already packed. I subtly tried to hide my rising panic as I searched for a spot – any spot in the back – where I could squeeze in my mat, stepper, and weights. I've always preferred the back of the room, anyway. Not even in school did I ever want to be in the front row.

Of course, the Universe wasn't done with me yet. Next challenge: the weights. All the reasonable ones were gone. The 1 kg weights sat there, practically mocking me. "Come on," I thought, "I can totally handle more than that, right?." Wrong. So very wrong.

Then the instructor arrived. Picture this: a beautiful, ridiculously fit woman with a bright, almost too enthusiastic smile and eyes that screamed, “I'm about to make you regret every life choice you've ever made.”

She started the class with a cheerful warning: "Alright, everyone! Easter's coming up, and I know you're all going to be indulging. So, for every slice of cake and glass of Prosecco, we're going to earn it today!" I desperately hoped she was kidding. She wasn't.

For the next hour, I cycled through stages of grief: fear of dying, certainty of dying, and finally, a desperate hope for death.

I cursed my own stubbornness for refusing to grab the 1 kg weights. It was just me and a room full of people lifting what felt like small cars. And those women who'd clearly arrived hours early to hoard all the 2 kg weights? Yeah, I may have briefly blamed them for all my problems.

Around the 20-minute mark, I felt my lunch threatening to stage a comeback. I even had a fleeting fantasy of projectile vomiting on one of those perfectly weighted women. (Don't judge me; I was in pain!)

Somehow, I managed to finish the class. It wasn't pretty, and it definitely wasn't easy. I felt a strange mix of exhaustion, self-loathing, and a tiny spark of pride.

That pride evaporated the moment I had to navigate the stairs. I cursed with every agonizing step.

I crawled back home, grabbed my laptop, and promptly lost the rest of the evening to a binge-watching session I can't even recall.

Yesterday, the pain was manageable. Annoying, but not debilitating. That was the first half of the day, anyway. Around 6 PM, when I decided to clean my kitchen, an empty bottle rolled under the cabinets. It's still there. It will likely remain there for the foreseeable future. My body refuses to cooperate.

Today? Today, my body is staging a full-blown revolt. Every movement is a struggle. Even sitting down is an exercise in pain management.

And the worst part? I think my brain is actively plotting against me. Why else would I have set an alarm to remind me when the Body Pump class schedule opens for next Tuesday?

Wish me luck (and maybe send a chiropractor).

Lessons I Learned About Returning to the Gym

✅ Start slow — Ego lifting only impresses your chiropractor.

✅ Claim your spot early — Back row loyalty matters.

✅ Forgive yourself — Fitness is a journey, not a punishment.

✅ Laugh it off — If you're crawling to the couch afterward, you earned your rest.

💬 What About You?

• Have you ever tried going back to the gym after a long break?

• What’s your funniest workout fail?

• How do you practice self-compassion when your body rebels?

Share your thoughts in the comments — misery loves company!