Lara never thought she’d find herself in a gym.
The very idea used to make her laugh—loudly. “I get my cardio chasing the bus,” she’d say with pride. Her friends joked that the only dumbbells she lifted were her grocery bags. And don’t even get her started on protein shakes. She believed chocolate milk was as close as she’d ever get.
But something changed this spring. Maybe it was the warmer weather, or maybe it was the relentless inspiration (or guilt?) from her Instagram feed—fit girls in matching sets, sweaty selfies, flexed arms, and glowy skin. Slovenia was waking up from its winter slumber, and so was she. So, Lara did the unthinkable: she signed up for a gym membership.
And that’s how we found ourselves here—this morning, with Lara standing in front of the gym’s automatic doors, clutching her water bottle like it was a holy relic.
Her leggings, a brand-new purchase from a local sports shop, still had the tag inside scratching her back. Her sneakers? Also new. They squeaked with every step. She felt like a fraud. Like someone would stop her and say, “Sorry, you don’t belong here. You’re clearly just here for the aesthetic.”
But nobody said anything. Everyone was too busy—sweating, squatting, stretching, lifting. Lara took a deep breath and walked in, heart racing.
First stop: the locker room.
She fumbled with the lock on her assigned locker for a solid minute before realizing it wasn’t locked at all. “Smooth start,” she muttered, laughing at herself. She tossed her hoodie inside, took a selfie in the mirror (of course), and posted it with:
“Pray for me 😂 #DayOne #gymlife #SloveniaStrong”
Then she stepped out onto the gym floor.
Now, gyms are wild places. There’s a kind of choreography happening—people moving from one machine to another, weights clinking, music pulsing in the background. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing.
Lara? Not so much.
Her first attempt was the treadmill. She climbed on, pressed a few buttons, and started walking. So far so good. Until the speed suddenly jumped and the machine took off like it was trying to run away. Lara flailed for a second, then managed to press STOP just in time before she launched herself into next week.
A few people glanced over. One guy gave her a thumbs-up. “First time?” he grinned.
She nodded, laughing nervously. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only a little.”
Feeling bolder, she moved on to the weight machines. She watched a girl using the leg press, memorizing her movements. When it was her turn, Lara sat down, adjusted the seat, and gave it a go. Except she didn’t realize the weight was set to 80 kilos.
Her legs refused to budge.
“Okay, maybe not that one,” she whispered to herself.
Next, she tried the rowing machine. This one felt more familiar. A bit like pulling a stubborn drawer open. She actually got into a rhythm and started to feel…dare she say…powerful?
By the 15-minute mark, sweat was dripping down her temples. Her hair was frizzing. Her eyeliner, traitor that it was, had begun its slow descent down her face. But Lara was doing it. She was working out.
Then came the real challenge: the free weights section.
It was dominated by what Lara secretly called “The Muscles.” You know the type. Tank tops, veins, protein shakes in hand. She hovered near the dumbbells, pretending to stretch, trying to psych herself up.
She reached for the smallest weights—1kg—and began bicep curls. She watched herself in the mirror, trying to look casual. Then something magical happened. A girl nearby smiled at her. Another gave her a nod. It was like an unspoken welcome into this secret society of sweat and strength.
After a while, Lara flopped onto a mat in the corner and tried some crunches. Well, half a crunch. Okay, maybe she just lay there breathing heavily, but hey—it counted.
As she lay there, the gym ceiling spinning slightly above her, she thought: “This isn’t so bad.”
Sure, she had no clue what she was doing. Sure, she’d probably be sore for three days. And sure, she nearly flew off a treadmill. But she showed up. She did something new. And that, in itself, felt like a win.
Before she left, she snapped one last mirror selfie—sweaty, red-faced, hair wild.
Caption:
“Survived my first gym session 💪😂❤️ Maybe I’ll even come back. #gym #teretana #slovenia #slovenija #dayone #feelingmyself”
As she walked home through the streets of Ljubljana, sipping from her water bottle like a victorious warrior, she felt different. Not just physically, but mentally. Stronger. More capable.
It wasn’t about losing weight or gaining muscle (though those might come). It was about showing up. Trying. Pushing past the fear of looking silly. And realizing that everyone, even the most ripped gym-goer, had a first day once.
Later that evening, as she stretched on the floor while watching Netflix, Lara smiled to herself.
Tomorrow, she might not be able to climb stairs. Her arms might feel like spaghetti. But her spirit? That was on fire.
This was just the beginning.
Want a follow-up for day two? Or maybe you want to turn this into a series? Let me know 💪😄
