I often hear a strange idea from people thinking about their health. Someone will say, "I'm going to get fit, and then I'll join the gym." Or they'll look at a demanding event like a Hyrox race and conclude, "I'll try that once I lose some weight and improve my running."
At first glance, this logic seems sound. It presents itself as a sensible, preparatory step. A plan. You wouldn't run a marathon without training, so why would you step into an intense environment unprepared? It feels like a responsible way to approach a new challenge.
But the more I think about it, the more I believe this reasoning is a trap. It’s a sophisticated form of procrastination disguised as a strategy. It allows you to feel productive. You’re planning to get fit, without ever taking the one action that leads to fitness: starting. The underlying fear is not about a lack of preparation, but about the act of beginning itself. I understand this because I’ve lived through my own version of it.
A Detour into Hurling and Fear
When I was a boy growing up in an Irish village, life revolved around hurling. It was the default activity for kids my age. I had a brief stint with it in my early years, but stopped for reasons that are now lost to memory. My time was spent differently. I was down at the coast, swimming in the cold sea, fishing for mackerel, and messing about in boats. I loved that life.
Without realizing it, a gap was forming. While I was occupied with the water, my friends were on the pitch. They were learning the skills, joining the teams, and building the easy camaraderie that comes from shared effort and competition. They were getting good.
When I entered secondary school, this gap became a chasm. Suddenly, I was on the outside looking in. My friends’ conversations were filled with stories of matches, of a great pass or a near miss. They had a shared language I didn’t speak. I desperately wanted to be a part of it, but a powerful fear held me back. I was convinced I was too far behind. The thought of fumbling a ball or looking clumsy in front of them was paralyzing. I wasn’t afraid of the game; I was afraid of being judged.
One afternoon, I made a resolution. I packed my bag with my helmet and hurley and walked the short distance to the training pitch. As I got closer, I could hear the sharp crack of the ball and the shouts of the older boys. They were just laughing and joking, being teenagers, but to me, it sounded like a private club I wasn't welcome in. I froze, the fear becoming a physical weight. I turned around and walked home, feeling a mix of shame and relief.
My new plan was the one I hear about the gym today: I’ll get good first, and then I’ll join. I started practicing in secret, finding quiet fields far from anyone who might see me. I’d spend hours hitting a sliotar (the ball used in hurling) against a wall, trying to teach myself the fundamentals my friends had learned years ago. My father noticed my solitary efforts and began to help, offering quiet encouragement and tips.
But the turning point came from my mother. She saw how much I wanted it and how much my fear was holding me back. One evening, without any grand discussion, she simply cut off my escape route. She packed my gear, filled a water bottle, and told me I was going to training with a friend who was leaving in five minutes. She didn't give me time to doubt or overthink. That small, decisive push was all it took.
The fear didn't vanish on the walk there. But once I was on the pitch, it started to seem ridiculous. The coach, a man named Charlie, welcomed me without fuss. He wasn’t just teaching us how to play a game; he was teaching us how to be a team. Over time, the anxiety was replaced by a sense of belonging. Looking back now, the wins and losses matter very little. What endured were the friendships and the simple lesson that the biggest obstacle was my own perception.
The Anatomy of Gym Fear
My experience with hurling isn't unique. It's the same pattern of fear that keeps people out of gyms every day. This isn't just a feeling; it's a well-documented phenomenon.
Consider the numbers: A 2023 study by Fitness First found that nearly 40% of people avoid the gym because they feel self-conscious about their appearance. Think about that. The very place designed for self-improvement is being avoided because people feel they aren't already improved enough to go. It’s a perfect catch-22.
The issue is compounded by information overload. Nearly half of Americans feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of fitness trends and advice, leading to decision paralysis. When you don't know where to start, it's easiest to do nothing.
This intimidation is a powerful deterrent. The Health & Fitness Association also found that 49% of people feel too intimidated to work out around other people. Combined, these statistics paint a clear picture: if you feel anxious, self-conscious, or overwhelmed about starting, you are not an outlier. You are part of a silent majority.
The Instagram vs. Reality Gap
The world amplifies this fear we see on our screens. Social media portrays fitness as a glamorous, high-performance aesthetic. We see influencers with perfect bodies in pristine gyms, executing flawless movements. The message, intended or not, is that this is the standard.
Reality is far more mundane. The average gym at 6 p.m. on a Tuesday is not a photoshoot. It’s a collection of tired people trying to fit in a workout after a long day. Most are in their own world, focused on their own routine, listening to their own music.
They’re more focused on their own reps than anyone else’s. The pre-class quietness isn't a sign of an exclusive club; it's often just a room full of introverts mentally preparing for the hour ahead.
If you don't make a new best friend or get a high five in your first class, it isn’t a rejection. It just means everyone else is on their own journey. Friendships might come with time, but they aren't the primary goal. The goal is to show up. Better still, be the one to break the ice. A simple compliment or a question can be enough.
A Lesson on Wasting Time
It's easy to postpone things. We tell ourselves we’ll start when the conditions are perfect. But we have a finite amount of time, a fact that was brought into sharp focus by the recent news about Sir Chris Hoy, the six-time Olympic gold medalist.
After being diagnosed with terminal cancer, his perspective wasn't one of grand, abstract philosophy, but something more grounded and powerful. In an interview, he spoke about his new reality and how it has changed his perception of time and life:
“I can’t believe the position I’m in now compared to 18 months ago. I never imagined that I’d be able to get to this point where I’m actually just living life. And not just living life, but actually appreciating it more than ever and being able to enjoy the little things. It’s not just about doing bucket-list stuff and doing massive things, it’s about appreciating the daily, mundane fun of life.”
His situation, of course, is much more serious than gym anxiety. But his core message is universal. He speaks about the "mundane fun of life"—the small, everyday moments we often overlook while we are busy worrying about a future that hasn't happened or a past we can't change.
The mindset of “getting fit first” is just another way fear disguises itself as preparation. It’s a focus on a future, idealized self that keeps you from appreciating and acting in, the present. Sir Chris Hoy’s words are a powerful reminder that life is happening now. The small, imperfect start you make today is infinitely more valuable than the perfect start you plan for tomorrow.