The Day I Joined a Gym (and Mistook the Sauna for a Yoga Class)

Let me start by saying: I’m not anti-gym. I’m just gym-curious.

I’ve always admired fitness people from afar—those mysterious creatures who wake up at 5 a.m., drink smoothies with kale, and use words like “core strength” and “squat form” in casual conversation.

Meanwhile, my idea of cardio is panicking over a missed phone call.

But one fine Monday (fueled by caffeine and a three-minute motivational reel on Instagram), I declared, “This is it. I’m going to become a gym person.”

Little did I know this would lead me to accidentally perform downward dog in a sauna and make eye contact with a stranger mid-squat. But we’ll get to that.

Step One: The Membership Meeting

Walking into a gym for the first time is like entering a foreign land where everyone speaks Protein and wears Lycra. I met with a very enthusiastic trainer named Jason who had biceps larger than most children.

Jason asked me what my goals were.

I panicked and said, “I just want to be able to carry groceries without emotional damage.”

He nodded. “Let’s start you off with some yoga. Low-impact. Great for beginners.”

Perfect, I thought. Yoga sounded peaceful. Stretchy. Minimal risk of equipment-based injury.

Jason pointed me toward the “Mind-Body Room” and said the next class started in five minutes. I was on my way to becoming the bendy, centered person I always knew I could pretend to be.

Step Two: The Wrong Room (a.k.a. The Sauna Situation)

The hallway was dim. There were two doors. One said Hot Yoga and the other said Infrared Zone. I figured “Infrared” meant like… spiritual heat? Inner fire? Whatever. I was ready.

I stepped in.

It was dark. Very warm. Two people were already inside, sitting quietly. I assumed they were deep in meditative focus. So I followed suit.

I sat down cross-legged, took a deep breath, and tried to match their calm energy.

Within two minutes, I was sweating in places I didn’t know existed.

Ten minutes in, I realized no one was stretching. No one was doing yoga. They were just… sitting. And melting.

That’s when it hit me: this was not yoga. This was a sauna.

I had walked into a silent chamber of steam with nothing but a yoga mat and good intentions.

Too embarrassed to leave, I stayed. For thirty minutes. Eyes closed, pretending I was embracing the heat. Secretly trying not to pass out or audibly wheeze.

Step Three: The Actual Yoga Class (and a Very Loud Mat)

After the spa experience I did not sign up for, I found the correct room.

Yoga had already started. The instructor, a woman who looked like peace itself in leggings, motioned for me to join in.

I quietly unrolled my mat.

It sounded like a goose being strangled.

“SKRRRRRRRRRRK.”

Every head turned. I wanted to melt back into the sauna and stay there forever.

Then came the poses.

I thought yoga was supposed to be gentle. But this was power flow. My “low-impact” session turned into a 90-minute journey through pain, balance, and emotional fragility.

At one point, I tried to hold a plank, collapsed onto my mat, and just stayed there. Pretending it was a “resting variation.”

The instructor gently corrected my form several times, until she finally said, “Or you can stay in child’s pose if that’s where your body needs to be.”

Reader—I lived in child’s pose. I decorated. I made it home.

Step Four: Locker Room Lessons (and Unexpected Nudity)

After yoga, I dragged myself to the locker room like a soldier returning from spiritual war.

I opened the wrong locker three times, dropped my water bottle twice, and then accidentally walked into the steam shower section, where I made full eye contact with a 72-year-old woman who was completely at peace with herself and very naked.

We nodded like two warriors who’d seen things.

I left immediately and questioned every life choice I’d made that led me to this exact moment.

The Aftermath: Muscles I Never Knew I Had

The next morning, I woke up and couldn’t move my neck.

Everything hurt.

Muscles I hadn’t used since primary school were filing formal complaints.

My arms flopped uselessly like linguine. My legs creaked. I walked like I had just escaped from a medieval dungeon.

But strangely… I felt proud.

Because even though I had:

Meditated in a sauna by mistake

Mistakenly saluted the instructor during “Warrior II”

Possibly dislocated my dignity in front of strangers…

…I had survived. I had joined a gym. And I had not burst into flames.

What I Learned (Besides the Location of the Real Yoga Room)

You will mess up.

You will walk into the wrong room. You will use a machine backward. You will make accidental eye contact with sweaty strangers. It’s okay. We’re all winging it.

Start small. Then smaller.

I thought yoga would be a breeze. It was more like an interpretive dance between pain and pride. But it’s okay to rest. Or just lie there and pretend you’re doing “internal stretches.”

The gym isn’t just for fitness freaks.

It’s for anyone. Including confused, floppy humans like me who still think “burpee” sounds like a soda-related accident.

You’re allowed to laugh at yourself.

In fact, you should. Because nothing humbles you faster than accidentally joining a sauna seance while wearing a neon headband.

Would I Go Back?

Honestly? Yeah.

But maybe not for hot yoga. And definitely not without double-checking the sign on the door.

Because while I may never become a full-on gym person, I’ve discovered something better:

I’m a trying person.

And sometimes, that’s enough.