Gym Dreams, Reality Screams

I don’t know what it is about late nights, but that’s when I get my most ambitious ideas. Some people shop online at 2 a.m., others watch conspiracy documentaries. Me? I decided to change my entire life by becoming a fitness enthusiast.

It started with a YouTube video—one of those super-fit trainers with glowing skin and endless energy promising, “This 20-minute beginner workout will change your life!” The way she made it look so effortless, smiling through burpees as if they were hugs from puppies, made me believe I could do it too. I sat there, chips in hand, nodding like, Yes, this is my moment. Tomorrow, I become a new person.

Morning came, and with it, my delusional confidence. I put on my “workout gear,” which really just meant mismatched shorts and a t-shirt I once got for free. I didn’t even own proper sneakers—just some old running shoes that squeaked with every step. But I told myself none of that mattered. I was about to be transformed.

The first mistake was not warming up. I figured, How hard could it be? The trainer on screen jumped straight into it, so I did too. Thirty seconds into jumping jacks, I realized my lungs were not the reliable organs I thought they were. My heart was pounding like a drum solo, and sweat was already dripping down my face like I had just run a marathon.

By the time squats came along, my legs were staging a full-on protest. I went down once, twice, and on the third try, I swear my knees whispered, “This is where we part ways.” To save face (with no one but the trainer on screen, mind you), I decided to “modify” the squats into something that looked more like politely sitting on an invisible chair and never standing back up.

Then came burpees. Whoever invented burpees clearly wanted to end humanity. I threw myself to the floor, flailed like a fish, tried to jump back up, and nearly collided with my coffee table. After one attempt, I laid flat on the carpet, questioning every decision that had led me there. The trainer, meanwhile, was still smiling like this was a gentle morning stretch.

At around the five-minute mark, I hit a wall. Not metaphorically—I literally stumbled into the wall while trying to lunge. My body was shaking, my hair was plastered to my forehead, and my dog stared at me with what I swear was judgment in his eyes. I looked at the timer on the screen: fifteen minutes left. Fifteen. How do people survive this?

So I did what any logical person would do—I improvised. Every time the trainer said “jump,” I pretended to tie my shoelace. Every time she said “plank,” I took a sip of water like hydration was the real exercise. At one point, I convinced myself that lying flat on the floor and “breathing deeply” was basically yoga.

By the end, I had technically “finished” the workout, but let’s be honest: I quit after five minutes and spent the rest just trying not to pass out. My body felt like it had been hit by a truck, my face was red enough to be mistaken for a tomato, and my pride was somewhere in the carpet fibers.

Later that day, walking up the stairs felt like climbing Everest. Every step was agony. I held onto the railing like a Victorian ghost trying not to faint. Sitting down was even worse—who knew chairs could be so cruel? I had to lower myself like I was performing some slow-motion scene in a movie.

And yet, the funniest part is, I actually told people I worked out that day. I casually dropped it into conversations like, “Yeah, I’ve been exercising lately.” If only they knew that “exercise” meant rolling around on the floor for twenty minutes while a YouTube trainer did all the real work.

Looking back, I laugh at how seriously I took myself in that moment. But I also give myself credit. Because here’s the thing: even though I nearly quit after five minutes, I showed up. I tried. And in the grand scheme of things, maybe that’s all that matters. Progress isn’t about being perfect—it’s about starting, even if you fail spectacularly.

That one failed workout didn’t turn me into a fitness guru overnight, but it did give me a hilarious story I’ll never forget. And honestly, every time I think about it, I realize that laughter burns calories too. So in a way, maybe I did get a workout after all.