When the Gym Stops Being a Community

This past Sunday, I was at the gym doing my usual workout routine. I was alternating between the adductor machine and the leg extension machine—nothing fancy, just my standard circuit. At one point, as I turned back to the leg extension machine, I saw that another gym member had placed her towel on it and was sitting there, AirPods in, clearly resting between sets. I approached politely and gently tapped her on the shoulder to ask if I could get in a quick set while she recovered. What happened next shocked me.

She flinched, pulled away, and looked at me like I’d just committed a crime. I instinctively stepped back, hands up, and tried to explain that I’d already been using the machine and was just working in between sets. But she didn’t want to hear it. She shook her head, avoided eye contact, and turned away. No words. No acknowledgment. Just silent indignation.

I moved on, thinking the situation was odd but over. Later though I learned she had filed an incident report with the gym manager, claiming I had made her uncomfortable. I was stunned. I then had to respond in writing to the incident report and sit through an in-person interview with the manager to explain my side of the story.

All over a shared piece of gym equipment.

This isn’t really about gym etiquette, though. It’s about something much deeper that’s unraveling in our culture. Years ago, a situation like this would’ve been resolved with a simple conversation: “Hey, are you using this?” or “Mind if I jump in?” And most people would have replied, “Go for it,” or “Give me one more set.” There might be some slight awkwardness, but there was mutual recognition—an understanding that we were all just people trying to share a space and get through our workouts.

But something has shifted. Today, the gym feels more like a collection of isolated bubbles than a communal space. Everyone’s wearing headphones, eyes locked on screens or distant stares, and there’s an unspoken rule that you should never break someone’s personal audio-visual force field. We don’t talk to each other. We don’t acknowledge one another’s presence unless absolutely necessary. And if something feels even remotely uncomfortable, we escalate instead of engage.

Technology certainly plays a role. AirPods, smartphones, and social media have made it easier to cocoon ourselves in our own little worlds. The moment someone taps your shoulder or interrupts your flow, it feels like an intrusion instead of a connection. But I think the problem goes deeper than tech—it reflects a cultural drift toward hyper-individualism, where we prize personal comfort over shared responsibility. That woman in the gym didn’t see me as a person to talk to or work something out with. She saw me as a threat to her comfort zone. And instead of speaking with me directly, she went to an authority figure to “handle” the situation.

That impulse—to avoid conflict, to insulate oneself from human interaction—reveals how fragile our sense of community has become. We’ve lost not just our gym etiquette, but our social etiquette. The willingness to share, to compromise, to recognize the needs of others alongside our own. And when we abandon those habits, we lose something essential: the ability to trust one another, to coexist with generosity and grace. What people like this woman are essentially saying is, “You don’t matter. My workout is what counts.”

To be clear, this isn’t about being perfect or always knowing the right thing to say or do. It’s about showing up with a basic sense of respect and acknowledgment.  We need to remember that public spaces, like gyms, only function when we treat each other like fellow members—not just of a fitness center, but of society. When we stop seeing each other as obstacles and start seeing each other as co-participants in a shared experience, everything changes.

Maybe the lesson here is that we need to take better care of ourselves in order to coexist with others. And that means not just focusing on our physical health or personal comfort, but on our ability to connect, to communicate, and to resolve tension without calling in a manager. It’s time to re-learn how to be part of a tribe—one built around shared space, mutual respect, and the simple acknowledgment that we’re all here together, trying to get through the day.

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