Our over-achieving attitude stretches all the way to the gym

You will be judged

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The gym.

The thing is about St Andrews is that it’s an over-achieving university. Being third best in the country for academia, it’s a given that students take their studies very seriously and always aim to be the best in everything they do. This attitude never stops, not even at the gym. The deathly silent atmosphere, apart from the sound of that awful Fife radio station and exhausted machines, screams judgment upon anybody that enters. Some own it – they’ve got their cool trainers, designer exercise leggings, and fancy water bottles. They make a beeline to the floaty stair machine which they spend the next six hours on. I, on the other hand, awkwardly shuffle onto a cross trainer, put it on the lowest setting yet hide all the information on my screen so the gymrat next to me can’t judge me by how many calories I haven’t burned.

There are certain parts of the gym which ooze more “HOW DEEP ARE YOUR SQUATS?” pressure vibes than others. The floaty leg one is just that. You know that one? Where you have to keep stepping/sliding/walking up and is supposed to give you thighs of steel? It always has the same girl on it who is clearly into twerk-ing because she seems to be on it for a good hour on a dangerously intense setting. I think it’s always a bit awkward when you’re on one of the machines behind someone, because sometimes on speed 11 it’s like the Anaconda music video. Another example is the weights room. I’ve never ventured into the weights room. It looks a little threatening, with a separate entrance and people going in armed with protein shakes and menacing looks and not seeing them come out…ever. Or maybe I just don’t work out long enough to see anyone exit the weight room.

The gym too, is a victim of those who think everywhere is an FS audition. Sometimes when you look up at the front of a lecture theatre and you feel like you’re in an Apple ad; the St Andrews gym is like that for Nike. Roshes, roshes everywhere. You think you can go to the gym in an old t-shirt and trackie bottoms? Hell no. Do you not know the walk onto that blue carpet is practically a catwalk? Everyone is in that room solely to judge you on the quality of the print on your exercise leggings.

Haven’t felt enough judgment yet? Try the classes. I used to go to Zumba back home and it used to be a great, fun workout among several middle aged and elderly women and occasionally a very camp, gay man. Zumba in St Andrews? I feel a bit like I’m watching people come off of Strictly and straight into the exercise class. Yoga feels like a consistent shock story about the flexibility of some peoples bodies. Those yogis who feel the need to flip their leg over their head before the class starts are just using it as a dominating, mark your territory way, I feel.