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Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
Not long ago, I signed up for gym membership with my girlfriend. Like many people, I signed up with good intentions: to improve my health, stay in shape, and enjoy the benefits of an active lifestyle. But over time, those motivations were overshadowed by a growing list of issues—issues that made me dread going there and eventually led me to quit public gyms altogether. I didn’t stop working out; I just found a better, more respectful, and more cost-effective way to do it. Here’s why I said goodbye to public gyms and haven’t looked back since.
One of the first red flags I noticed was the state of the equipment. When I first started using the gym, everything looked decently maintained for a public space. Fast forward a few months, and I was regularly greeted by “Out of Order” signs taped to machines I relied on. Given that gyms can get overcrowded at time having equipment that works is very important for paying customers.
This point hits closer to home—and it’s one of the main reasons I stopped going altogether. My girlfriend at the time used to go with me, and it was clear after a few days that she didn’t feel comfortable. An old creepy man starting saying hi to her every time she walked anywhere near him. We started going at off-peak hours to avoid him, but it didn’t help. The old creepy man seems to be at the gym throughout the day probably preying on other women.
What really pushed me over the edge was hearing coworkers that have a wife and kid—yes, my own coworkers—casually talk about how they would go to the gym to “pick up women.” That comment made my skin crawl. I realized that for some people, the gym wasn’t about self-improvement. It was a social hunting ground.
Eventually, my girlfriend didn’t want to go anymore and I couldn’t blame her. She probably wasn’t the only one getting hit on at the gym. I had other coworkers mention they saw men trying to asking women out at the gym and things got awkward when men get rejected.
Let’s talk numbers. When I first joined, there was a hefty initiation fee that would run around 60 dollars per person, but luckily I signed up during a promotion that would only cost me one dollar. That didn’t include my monthly membership, which hovered around $8 a month. Eight dollars a month might not sound like a lot, but that could add up over time. Given that this was only at a fitness 19. I can’t image how much more it would have cost if I had joined a different gym like 24 hour or gold gym.
Sure, some high-end gyms offer perks—like saunas, towel service, or smoothie bars—but I wasn’t getting any of that. What I got was broken equipment, long wait times, and a culture that didn’t feel inclusive or respectful.
In a year, I spent nearly $100 on a place that increasingly made me feel worse, not better. It didn’t make sense anymore. For that money, I could invest in a decent home gym, buy gear I actually wanted, and exercise in peace—on my own schedule.
There’s no polite way to put this: most public gym equipment is disgustingly unsanitary. Every gym has those signs that say, “Please wipe down your equipment after use,” but not everyone follows the rules. And even when they do, the communal spray bottles and towels just don’t cut it.
I lost count of how many times I sat on a bench only to feel someone else’s sweat soak through my shirt. Or how often I grabbed dumbbells slick with grime. During flu season, the gym became a petri dish of coughing, sneezing, and shared surfaces. The thought of getting sick from a place I was going to improve my health was a contradiction I couldn’t ignore anymore.
Another huge problem that eventually pushed me away from public gyms was the overcrowding—especially during peak hours. If you’ve ever tried going to the gym after work or before your morning commute, you know exactly what I mean.
The gym was basically a mosh pit from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m. every weekday. I’d show up, ready to go, only to find every treadmill occupied, the squat rack taken (usually by someone scrolling on their phone between sets), and a line for dumbbells. Sometimes, I’d wait 15 minutes just to use a bench. Other times, I had to completely change my workout because everything was taken.
And forget trying to do supersets or circuit training—there simply wasn’t enough space to move between exercises. Navigating the floor became an exercise in itself, dodging people mid-set and constantly scanning for the next available piece of equipment like a hawk.
It killed any momentum or rhythm I was trying to build. By the time I got into the flow of my workout, I was either too annoyed or too rushed to finish properly. I tried going at different times—early mornings, late nights—but there was always some level of crowding that made the experience more frustrating than rewarding.
And let’s not forget the locker rooms. During those peak hours, they were chaos. No space, long waits for showers, and people occupying benches while texting. It just wasn’t worth the stress.
I realized I was spending more time waiting around than actually working out. And for someone trying to make the most of their limited free time, that felt like a waste.
Quitting the gym didn’t mean quitting fitness. In fact, once I left, I felt more empowered to create a system that actually worked for me.
I built a home gym. Nothing fancy at first—just a couple of resistance bands, a set of adjustable dumbbells, a mat, and some YouTube videos. Over time, I added a bench, a barbell set, and a pull-up bar. It’s all stuff I chose, based on workouts I enjoy, with no broken parts or creepy bystanders.
I reclaimed my time. No more commuting to the gym, waiting for machines, or trying to squeeze workouts around business hours. I could exercise early in the morning or late at night, on my own schedule.
I got healthier—physically and mentally. Without the stress of navigating a problematic environment, my workouts became something I looked forward to again. I stopped worrying about what people thought, how I looked, or who might interrupt me. It was just me, my space, and my goals.
The public gym model works for some people—but it absolutely doesn’t work for everyone. If you’re feeling drained, uncomfortable, or disrespected at your gym, you’re not being picky. You’re paying for a service, and you deserve to feel safe, supported, and satisfied with the experience.
Don’t let fitness culture gaslight you into thinking that your discomfort is just part of the grind. It’s not. Whether it’s broken equipment, toxic interactions, or sky-high fees, you’re allowed to demand better—or build it yourself.
Leaving the gym wasn’t giving up on fitness. It was reclaiming it.