My health club sent me a full-on “Dear Jill” breakup email. Not because I broke any rules or posted snarky videos on TikTok, but because it was closing for good. The building it’s located in is shutting down. It’s going to be leveled for apartments that will probably have a “luxury gym” filled with Pelotons no one will use.
I’d been a member on and off since the 90s. This feels a lot like admitting I owned cassette tapes (which… I did). Back then, gym outfits were a neon crime, people drank from actual fountains, and no one filmed their leg day.
Like anyone in a long-term gym relationship, I went through all the phases:
- The “I will definitely go three times a week” era
- The “I still pay but emotionally I’ve left” era
- The “I only use this for the pool” era
- The “I just need one stable thing in my life” era
In short, it was a very well-rounded fitness journey.
My dad eventually became a member too, though not without some skepticism. At first, he teased me for paying money to exercise when I could do it “for free” outside or in the basement. Very dad of him. I finally invited him as my guest. He said the workouts were too “too easy.” A week later, he asked how to sign up.
Classic.
Once he joined, he stuck with it — even when I wandered off to try other gyms. He and my mom turned a spare bedroom into a home gym when they retired, but my dad still went there. I think he enjoyed being part of the gym community. Maybe a part of him just wanted to get out of the house, too. And he always used the same treadmill.
It was like his own reserved parking spot. But sweatier.
There he’d be: gray shirt, sweatpants, steady pace. Just quietly getting his steps in before “getting your steps in” was even a thing.
He only stopped going because of his health. He passed away four years before the pandemic. I eventually found my way back there a couple of years later.
The gym looked the same. His treadmill sat exactly where it always had. In my mind’s eye, I could see him on it, unchanged, as though time had paused just for him.
The gym was only supposed to be just a place to exercise, but it had quietly become a place filled with memories, feelings, and small pieces of an experience we had once shared.
Then something I always thought would be there… was going away.
I won’t pretend it didn’t sting. It did. But more than anything, I’m grateful it was part of our lives for as long as it was.
And if my dad were here, he’d feel the same way. Then he’d offer his familiar advice:
Things have a way of working out.
On my last day, I snapped pictures, said a quiet goodbye, and set off to find a new place to work out.
I was excited, but also uncertain. I’d been with that gym for so long. Familiarity is comforting, especially in a world that often isn’t.
The real question was whether I wanted more of the same, something completely different, or something in between.
The easy move would’ve been to join one of the gyms up the road — one I’d belonged to before, or another that felt almost identical to the one I’d just left. But part of me knew that wasn’t what I wanted.
What I did know — no matter where I landed — was what mattered: a genuine sense of community, supportive instructors, the chance to try new things, and solid equipment (yes, including treadmills). I wanted a place that would energize me, challenge me, and help me get stronger — without ever slipping into autopilot.
After sampling cardio equipment, lifting weights, doing TRX, finding my Zen in yoga, and pulsing through barre at various exercise facilities, I finally found what I was looking for. Along with the great workouts, I’m just as grateful for the people I met along the way in my search for something new. And so far, my new gym has been a great choice.
So, yeah. Things do have a way of working out, even when all you’re trying to do is work out.
A good thing to remember, no matter what life throws at you.