A Gym Girl’s Tale: There and Back Again

My relationship with sport and physical activity will likely resonate with countless other women. As a child, I was energetic and adventurous, willing to throw myself into any sport or activity. But as I grew older, I became more cautious and self-conscious, feeling that sport was no longer “for me”. Instead, it seemed to belong to the bolshy, competitive boys whose enthusiasm for movement only intensified with age.

And so began my slow descent into physical inactivity. First to go was swimming, which I had loved since I was a toddler. Running was next to go, then trips to the park. Dance followed soon after, countryside walks with my family became “uncool,” and PE became something to avoid with elaborate excuses. By the time I was a teenager, I was almost completely inactive. In hindsight, this was a troubling pattern—one all too familiar to young girls across the UK and beyond. But at the time, it felt entirely normal.

This period of inactivity lasted from around age 12 to 18—a time when I should have been exploring what my growing body could do, rather than shying away from movement as something to fear. University presented an opportunity to change that, with endless clubs and societies on offer. But nothing ever stuck. Sure, I was more active than before, which felt like an improvement, but it was inconsistent, forced, and somewhat joyless.

Then, in my final year of university, fortune struck: I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. That might sound like an odd way to characterise a serious medical condition, but without it, I fear I would have continued on a path of inactivity well into adulthood. 

I had been experiencing severe lower back pain since I was about 17. I’d gone to multiple GPs, but they usually sent me away with painkillers and a growing sense that I was making a fuss over nothing. The pain worsened over time, and simple tasks, like tying my shoelaces, became impossible without assistance. Luckily, my GP in my final year of university recognised that something wasn’t quite right and sent me off for some tests.

I was diagnosed with Axial Spondyloarthritis (axSpA), a chronic inflammatory disease that primarily affects the spine and sacroiliac joints, though it can impact other areas, too. Over time, vertebrae can fuse, severely limiting mobility for some sufferers. One doctor helpfully informed me upon diagnosis that “some people end up in a wheelchair.”

At 21, that was simply not a reality that I was willing to accept. Fortunately, my diagnosis came relatively early—the global average time to diagnose axSpA is 6.7 years (see full report here). I was told that regular exercise and a healthy diet focused on vegetables, whole grains, and lean proteins could help manage my condition. So, like any 20-something, I turned to Instagram and YouTube for advice from fitness influencers.

Getting into the gym 

Determined to slow my disease's progression, I became obsessed with the idea of a “healthy lifestyle”. I experimented with my diet—Keto, Paleo, meticulously tracking my macronutrients—to reduce inflammation and prioritise protein and healthy fats. But the biggest shift came when I started strength training.

I had toyed with the idea of lifting weights before but never dared to step into a gym. The thought of going into a physical gym and using weights in front of strangers was far outside the realms of my comfort zone. Yet, using the wry and savvy confidence of online fitness influencers as inspiration, I finally mustered the courage to walk through those gym doors—and discovered something astonishing: I actually enjoyed it.

In fact, I loved it so much that I wanted to share that experience with others. Knowing that exercise would be essential for managing my condition, I decided to qualify as a Personal Trainer to help others reap the same benefits.

So began my journey into the gym. I moved to Canada, spent years working and training in a gym, and probably dreamed about the gym when I wasn’t in it. Of course, I hit a road block when Covid-19 threw a minor spanner in the works, but some extortionately priced weights to facilitate home workouts helped tide me over. After years of training alone, I took a job at a gym in Canada and realised that the gym offered more than just exercise—it provided a community. This was a crucial realisation, given how far away I was from my own community, and I experienced firsthand how movement could bring people together and create a shared sense of purpose. This represented a distinct shift in my thinking about exercise, which had previously been a rather stoic and individualistic pursuit—the kind that had me hunched over Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations between sets, nodding solemnly as I deadlifted my existential burdens.

Despite this shift, I still approached exercise in a rigid way: X reps for X sets, a prescriptive formula that eventually felt constraining. I began to wonder if there was a more fun, playful approach to fitness—I just wasn’t sure what that looked like yet.

Venturing Out of the Gym

Fast-forward a few years: I moved back to the UK to complete my Master’s degree at Oxford. While I still enjoyed structured gym workouts, I started losing motivation—not least because UK gyms seemed dominated by various manifestations of “gym bros” in a way I hadn’t experienced in Canada, where women were a more regular presence.

It was then that my Mum mentioned a company called WildStrong, which had a location about 25 minutes from me. Their website emphasised playful movement, connection to nature, and a supportive community—and I was intrigued.

It was here that I had my eyes opened to the many ways I could move my body while still building strength and fitness. Fast-forward two more years, and I’m now their Project Coordinator, helping others to rediscover the joy of movement that had eluded me for so long.

That doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned the gym—far from it. I still love a good deadlift and often slip back into familiar routines of counting reps and sets. There is still a place for that, and it has its own value. But now, I also make time for playful movement: laughing while running with others in the driving rain, balancing on logs during dog walks, and embracing the freedom that movement can bring.

A New Approach to Movement

I am incredibly grateful for my journey into the gym—and, oddly enough, for the disease that brought me there. As of last year, my condition was imperceptible on MRI scans, and it no longer poses an obstacle in my life. This is largely thanks to a (relatively) quick diagnosis, which I attribute to my fantastic GP in my final year of university. But it is also down to the change in lifestyle that I created; the close attention I paid to nutrition, and leaning into the power of exercise to transform both physical and mental health.

However, I’m also grateful for “emerging” from the more rigid aspects of gym culture, bleary-eyed and dazed by the realisation of just how capable our bodies truly are, and the joy it creates when we allow them freedom in movement. I no longer count calories or macros. I enjoy a healthy diet, but show myself kindness on days when that doesn’t happen. I still train in the gym regularly, but with a newfound lightness—I’m no longer fixated on bicep growth, or my squat stats. Instead, I focus on moving in a way that supports my everyday life and, most importantly, brings me joy. This is the true power of movement, and I encourage anyone and everyone to explore what movement can do for them; it’s nothing short of life-changing.