Tony's Gym (Autotheory, 2025)

I am leaving soon and I don’t know how to tell him. 

The clock says 06:46 and I am getting on my bike. The crisp morning air stings my face. My gym clothes sit tight on my body underneath my warm and loose sweatpants and sweatshirt. I put on my big headphones and put on an ABBA song. My bike squeaks and makes “‘krunk”-sounds - its noises begging me to take it to the bicycle mechanic. 

Tony used to be a bicycle mechanic, then a boxer, I think. Now I’m pretty sure he works at a museum other than being the sun, a handful of Taastrup’s citizens revolve around, in his private gym in an industrial part of town. 

I cycle my usual way to Tony’s. I cross the cobble stoned main street, cycle past the water tower, turn right towards the Mr. and Mrs. Denmark-villas, past the kindergarten hidden under pine trees, lowering my gears as I cycle up the slightly hilly road with industrial buildings on both sides until I finally turn to the left down a grey driveway leading to a building containing a sawmill - as well as Tony’s. 

You really have to know that Tony’s Gym is here. Someone has to let you in on the secret. But that’s also what makes it so special - like all hidden gems. You must befriend a local who, before you may enter, will tell you tales of this magical place. They’ll prepare you with sentences such as Thou shall bring an extra T-shirt for Thine first T-shirt will be drenched in sweat after the strenuous workout or We usually drink chocolate milk after the workout because Tony says it’s good for you. And then once you have packed your extra t-shirt, your gym shoes, a water bottle and perchance a chocolate milk box, you will be led down the road. The road that leads to Tony’s. 

Outside the gym’s entrance (a white inconspicuous door) is a standing poster holder with the text Tony’s Gym and a picture of Tony’s face on it. In the photo he’s looking right at you. Bald head, rectangular glasses, grey trimmed beard and blue eyes - and it’s as if he’s staring right into your soul. When the poster is out, Tony’s in. I press down on the handle and read the sign on the door: Today it hurts, tomorrow it does you well.

Loneliness is the epidemic of our time, I hear time and time again and it’s killing people. Literally. Implicitly. Silently. Loneliness has been linked to depression, stroke, anxiety and early death. And big cities are a big sinner in this equation. 

The World Health Organisation has recognized loneliness and social isolation as a global health threat and American studies show people spend 20 hours less on average with their friends per month since 2003. I wonder what happened to that number after COVID hit. There’s the paradox of density in urban areas - we live closer, but when I am missing just one egg for my cake, I will cycle to the supermarket instead of knocking on my neighbor’s door.

In many cities people experience a loss of  ‘third places’, the places that are not work or your home, places that allow for social interaction, where you can bump into a friend or a stranger. Places such as cafés, parks or libraries - or shall I say, small gyms? When I lived in Iceland the small villages had a café or two where people would bump into each other and I found that the local swimming pool (always with at least two hot tubs - thank you geothermal heating) was a gathering place where neighbors, family and friends chatted while soaking up the good times. 

In the city we are living closer but have fewer options to be together, and even fewer options to be together in places where we don’t have to pay to be there. When I lived in Aberdeen there was a space in the city centre, where the authorities had to decide whether it should become a park or an additional mall to the 5 they already had. Aberdeen now has 6 malls. 

This culture of separation og individuality seems especially to be a problem in bigger cities - and that’s exactly where I’m headed soon. 

I step inside the orange and black colour coded gym and as I change into my white gym shoes I am met with several Goodmorning!-s from other recently-woken-up-Taastrup-ladies as well as one Taastrup-man and a Hej Amalie! from Tony himself. During the Thursday morning class we’re usually a handful of women, one man and Tony himself of course, and we work out to popular tunes from the 90s I grew up listening to or country music depending on the mood of the day. But usually something from the 90s, from when I can imagine Tony was young, wild and free. Now he’s just wild and free. 

Tony knows exactly when to push you and when to let you go under the radar. Today he silently (but with a big grin) puts a 16 kg kettlebell down in front of me for one of the exercises and takes away the 12 kg one, I picked myself. Equally as silent, equally as smiling, I accept the exchange. Sometimes Tony pushes you by simply standing silently beside you while you are on the assault bike (fighting for your breath and therefore also your life) looking at the numbers on the little screen, quietly letting you know you gotta push a little harder. Sometimes it’s verbal. You have to turn your hand this way during the rotation - yeah that makes it a little harder, right? or Maybe you should pick the one to the right today (read: the heavier weight). Sometimes he just smiles to you kindly and lets you get on with it, because he can tell that today is not a push-day, it’s a I’m-proud-I-even-showed-up-day. 

No matter whether it’s a slow paced morning workout or a high paced evening workout, there’s a certain way a workout at Tony’s always plays out. 

Firstly, you arrive and say hello to everyone. Tony expanded the gym last fall after negotiating with the saw-mill next door for more space, so the classes are now up to 12 people instead of 9 people. And the spots are often maxed out. 

Secondly, you small talk. A study by psychologist Elizabeth Dunn showed that even quick interactions, be it a short conversation, a smile or a joke, can create a feeling of belonging and happiness. And boy are there little bits of connection all over the place at Tony’s. We talk about people’s vacations, a TV show everyone is watching and catch up about work. When are you guys leaving for Italy? I’m gonna be so much stronger than you when you come back!

Thirdly, you go to one of the big blue and red square mats for the warm-up. Tony makes a new one for each month. And yes, you will kindly be made fun of if you do ‘the waiter’ exercise the wrong way around. Never really learned left from right, did you? The best warm-up name Tony ever came up with for an exercise is Jørgen and Annette. First, you would press your arms together in front of you and push out your back, ‘closing your body’, so to speak. Then, you’d stretch out your arms and push out your chest, ‘opening your body’. The first representing Tony’s closed off friend Jørgen, the second representing Jørgen’s very open and friendly wife Annette. 

Fourthly, Tony explains the workout for the day. We all dread it. If the assault bike is on the schedule, I always hope I get that one out of the way first and I usually do - most likely because Tony hasn’t figured out how much I despise that bike. 

Fifthly, the workout starts. Tony presses his remote for the countdown clock on the wall. It counts down from 10. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. Tony flows around the room and among us. Pushes the ones that need a push, stares at the ones who need a silent push, gently instructs the ones who need help. He yells out FIVE MINUTES LEFT - WAIT - FOUR! or YOU’RE DOING MUCH BETTER THAN THE OTHER CLASS TODAY or teasingly increases the resistance while you’re going crazy on the goddamn assault bike. 

Sixthly, the workout reaches its end. Depending on whether the workout was a 8/10 or a 10/10 in difficulty (it’s usually never below), we are lying on the floor, catching our breaths or helping with putting away equipment. Tony’s walking around proudly for half killing us, but most importantly, the last step is coming up. 

Seventhly - the high fives. You get a high five, and you get a high five, and you get a high five! Everybody gives each other high fives. It’s such a simple, but meaningful act. We did it. Together. Under Tony’s guidance. 

There’s a reason why the high fives feel so good. As it is with many things in society nowadays it has to be backed by science. We can’t just say High fives feel awesome! You simply must put some weird looking hat and patches on a person’s head and measure their brain waves while you high five them, look at the numbers and then say Yeah! It’s true! High fives DO feel awesome. However, I digress. But there’s a point to it. High fives are shown to release dopamine which then boosts a feeling of happiness, resilience and motivation as well as - you guessed it - a sense of belonging.

Tony has created a safe space in the small community named Taastrup. A place where there’s room to grow muscle and as a person. A place where you build confidence, friendships and the ability to make better come-backs when your ankles “click” along to the beat of a 90s song while you’re doing squats. Tony’s Gym is the antidote to loneliness because being a part of it creates a feeling of togetherness. Tony is making people live forever, fighting off strokes and early death, building bone and muscle densities all around. Tony’s Gym is the perfect recipe for belonging. 

I’m scared I won’t find this in the city. That I’ll find myself on a treadmill, surrounded by hundreds of people, headphones in, TV screens high up on the walls flaring reality shows full of people I don’t give a shit about. Sweating away amongst people hovering around work out machines waiting for the other person to be done, among people with caps on putting their heads down, among people checking themselves out in the mirrors. Together, but so very alone. Activating my muscles, except my social one. I’ve tried googling small gyms in the big city, but hidden gems are hidden for a reason. I can only hope I will be led to a new one, in my new home. 

It’s 08:01, and as I change my shoes after the morning workout and put on my sweatpants and -shirt again, I say goodbye to the ladies and the one morning-man. I wave and yell Tak for i dag! to Tony who’s at the other end of the room. He waves back and yells Vi ses snart, Amalie! And a wave of sadness hits me cause I am leaving soon.

And I still don’t how to tell him.