Ah, the gym—a place of sweat, muscle, and that perfect sense of order… for me, anyway. If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to be an autistic person trying to navigate a gym that seems designed for the opposite of structure, you’re about to get the full, unfiltered experience. Here’s a peek into my world, where every workout is a finely tuned symphony of rules, rituals, and a little bit of social awkwardness. Ready? Let’s dive in.
1. The Sacred Gym Equipment Order: Don’t You Dare Disrupt My Rhythm
First off, let’s talk gym equipment. It’s not just about what machines I use—it’s about when and in what order. No, I don’t just walk in and randomly pick what’s free. I have a master plan in place, a carefully laid out series of exercises that follow a strict order. It’s the “right” order—there’s no room for improvisation here. Just because you see an empty machine doesn’t mean it’s my time yet. I’ve got a plan. I’m the Sherlock Holmes of gym sequences.
Now, if someone dares to use the machine next to me? Oh boy. My inner monologue is not pretty. I’m not even angry at the person (most of the time)—I just can’t help but think, “Why? Why are you so close? There’s an entire row of machines! Why not give me my space?” Yes, it’s a small, internal meltdown, but I power through. And then I stare at the machine as if it’s suddenly going to become “mine” again.
2. My Smartwatch: The Only Friend I Can Rely On
My smartwatch is my personal drill sergeant. Without it, I’d probably spend the whole time wandering around the gym asking, “What am I doing?” It doesn’t let me skip a beat. It tells me what to do, when to do it, and (most importantly) when to rest—which I might skip if left to my own devices. But hey, let’s be real, without that little buzz on my wrist telling me what set I’m on, I’d forget what I was doing, and end up aimlessly repeating sets in an endless cycle, while not knowing where to look on my never ending rests, after all the place is covered in mirrors so good luck not looking like a pervert or a weird person who really likes ceiling’s.
If the smartwatch doesn’t buzz, I’m stuck. I’ll just keep staring at it, waiting for some divine intervention to tell me, “It’s time for squats. Go on, do it.” But once the timer goes off? It’s go time. I’m like a robot with a very specific operating system, and the smartwatch is my motherboard.
3. Cardio: Where Time Becomes the Enemy
Ah, cardio. The dreaded yet necessary evil. For most people, cardio is just about running, cycling, or, in my case, passionately wrestling with the Angry Trainer (aka the cross trainer internal snigger). But here’s the thing: I don’t just get on the cross trainer and say, “Okay, let’s burn some calories.” Oh no. There’s an essential rule to follow here: time. And not just any time—perfect time. I cannot, will not, accept finishing cardio at a weird time. If I stop at, say, 37 minutes, my brain explodes. The universe is off balance. We are no longer in harmony.
So, I have a solution. Time has to be a multiple of 60 or 10, meaning 3 or 5 is a magic number. A “nice” number. Anything else? Nope, not happening. I’ll power through and keep pushing myself until I hit one of those magical, perfect times. At least that way, when I finish, I can rest easy knowing that my workout has an orderly, symmetrical conclusion. No weird numbers. No chaos. Just smooth, even numbers.
And please, don’t even think about hopping onto the cross trainer next to me while I’m going through my sacred cardio routine. I can’t deal with it. It’s not even that I’m mad at you—it’s just that you on the machine next to me throws off my carefully timed session. I can’t focus, one empty machine either side of a person is that not what is written in the secret handbook of the autistic gym goer, and before I know it, I can feel the space disappearing between us, trying to concentrate on my workout, and wondering how you can possibly keep going while I’m intruding in your personal space like a man on the train falling asleep on your shoulder.
4. Weight Plates: An Art, Not a Chore
I know what you’re thinking: “Weight plates? They’re just… weights, right?” Well, I’m here to tell you that weight plates are a delicate art form. I’m not just throwing plates onto the bar and calling it a day. Oh no, I am a curator of weight distribution. I have an exact science for how the plates should be arranged. The 20kg plates go inside. The 10kg plates go outside. Don’t mess with the balance—trust me, I can tell when something is off and they come off the way the went on in perfect reverse planning and go on the little podium sametrical and in the right category as the plate god intended.
Dumbbell’s too, they go back in the correct spots two by two just like the ants in the song and straight both positioned as perfectly as possible, and if I see others who have done it incorrectly I’ll quietly step in after them. I can’t help it. The weights must be symmetrical. It’s for the greater good. I’ll quietly—but firmly—correct it. No judgment. Just pure, unfiltered internal peace.
5. The Two Piece -Paper Towel Dilemma: One Is Not Enough
Here’s where things get tricky: paper towels. I see the sign that says “One paper towel per machine,” and I try, I really do. But that one paper towel just doesn’t cut it. I mean, one piece doesn’t fold properly two pieces folded twice making the perfect sized wiping instrument and one spray nope this thing needs to be perfectly painted a darker shade of green. One towel? Nope, not going to happen. So, I use two. And I feel guilty about it the whole time. It’s like I’m breaking some unspoken gym law, but I can’t stop. It’s a necessary evil.
The worst part is, if I accidentally touch a part of the machine I’ve already cleaned while wiping it down (which I absolutely cannot do), I have to do that part again and god help me if I do it again while turning to fix my mistake, I ending up turning in circles like Barbara finding the perfect spot to go to the loo. If I miss a spot and have to clean it again? I’ll have to do it right, which means cleaning again. It’s a vicious cycle, but it’s the only way I can make peace with myself.
6. Lockers and Showers: Number-Based Stress
Let’s talk locker rooms. Oh, the joy of picking the right locker. This is no casual decision. It’s a life-or-death matter of personal significance. Locker 69? Oh, yes, that’s my locker. It’s not just a number; it’s the number, internal snigger. But if it’s taken? Well, now I’ve got a problem. The universe has shifted. I can’t just pick any locker. I’ve got to find one that’s “right.” One that speaks to me. One with a number I can remember, or else I’ll spend the whole workout anxiously wondering if I’ve forgotten where I put my stuff.
And let’s not even discuss showers. I’ve got my “go-to” shower, but if it’s occupied? Well, there’s a backup plan. I’ll walk around in circles, internally freaking out about having to change my routine. What if both showers are taken at once? Now, I’m lost. So, I sit in the changing room in my towel, pretending like it’s no big deal, but really, I’m mentally preparing for the cold shower I might have to take in a worst-case scenario.
7. Water: The Hydration Ritual
Hydration isn’t just about chugging water; it’s about doing it in the right way. Two mouthfuls, broken down into four tiny sips. And it has to happen at the five-minute mark of my workout—always. If I mess up the timing, it throws everything off. I can’t focus. The workout’s ruined. It’s like the universe itself is watching, waiting for me to make a mistake. The worst thing? If I miss my water-sipping window, I can’t just skip it. I have to make up for it by drinking extra water later, like some weird hydrating penance.
8. Parking and Crossing the Road: A Journey of Anxiety
Finally, parking. Oh, parking. It’s the anxiety-inducing final hurdle. I don’t park in the gym car park. No, no. That’s too risky. I park across the road because I’m terrified of getting a parking ticket. It doesn’t matter that I’m clearly within the limits. My brain insists that I will go over my time limit, and it will all end in financial ruin and don’t get me started about parking spaces, see shower above. So, I walk across a busy street, waiting for the green pedestrian man to light up. If that light doesn’t change fast enough? You’ll find me doing a little internal dance of impatience. And if someone dares to cross before the green man appears? Well, that’s just pushing the limits of my patience.
Final Thoughts: Gym Life Through My Eyes The gym might look like a place where people go to sweat and chat about their protein shakes, but for me, it’s a carefully structured world of rituals, routines, and—let’s be real—a whole lot of internal stress. But you know what? I’m out here, doing my thing. I’m putting in the effort, following my rules, and secretly winning the Olympics of gym life every time I make it through a workout without a meltdown.
So, next time you see me at the gym, give me a smile (from a distance, please), and know that I’m just over here trying to make everything fit perfectly, one perfectly-timed rep at a time. My headphones on, music up loud in a fitness world I cant live without.
I mean does this look like a guy that’s not enjoying himself.
First leg day back at the gym
First day back at the gym for a while