======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====

My girlfriend and I lie on the floor, panting and covered in a thin veneer of sweat. I felt exhilarated, exhausted, ecstatic, and wanting to die all at the same time, and as I looked over at Jennie, she was clearly feeling the same. I reached over and grabbed her hand, letting her know I was there for her before I heard the instructor’s booming voice echo through the room.

“Come on everybody, time to stretch.”

I peeled myself off the foam floor, which was probably half a pound heavier after absorbing an hour’s worth of my sweat. When I finally stood, I pulled Jennie to her feet and gave her a smile of accomplishment. We had just finished our first Orange Theory class.

Over the past six months, I’ve begun to become lazier when it comes to my workout regimen. I used to be a hardcore, five or six times a week guy, mixing in a healthy dose of cardio with some quality time in the weight room. I wouldn’t say that I was a gym rat or a buff dude at any point, but I had the experience and know-how to throw a few wagon wheels up on the barbell and do respectably. Since I started going out with Jennie, however, the five or six days a week dropped to three or four, and sometimes even two or three.

Relationship gut is a very real phenomenon. As you spend more and more time together, more nights cuddling by the TV or out getting drinks, your gym routine falters. It’s hard to squeeze in time on the bench when you’re supposed to meet for dinner right after work, or you’re spending just about all weekend together.

To make matters worse, I’ve managed to find myself a girl who–inexplicably–finds me attractive just the way I am: a pudgy, soft, jelly-donut of a man. That compounds my issues because truly, my only motivation in life to hit the gym is so that I can appear more attractive to the female of the species. Without that impetus, with the knowledge that those extra sit-ups, pull-ups, and curls don’t matter to my girlfriend, my motivation to work out on the few free nights I have available is limited, to say the least.

So when I looked myself in the mirror, just two weeks before our first big beach excursion as a couple, and was appalled at what I saw, I knew I had to make time for myself. When I expressed my concerns to Jennie, hoping I’d be able to set aside a few extra hours for my gym sessions, she immediately jumped on the opportunity to rope me into one of her long desired “couples projects” for us: fitness classes.

When she and I first matched on Hinge many months ago, her profile noted that she was a fan of “bougie fitness classes” and boy is she ever. Ever since she locked me down, she’s done everything in her power to convince me to join her at some class. SoulCycle, Barre, yoga, whatever. Constantly, she’s entreated me to join her. And always I resisted, but now her pull was far stronger.

There’s a generally understood viewpoint among males when it comes to fitness classes: that we don’t mess with that shit, it’s for girls. There’s no logical reason for it, but I’m willing to bet that when I admitted that I went to Orange Theory a lot of guys reading thought “I knew it. A beta move, whipped, girly man, not doing real exercises of lifting very heavy things high up like the rest of us.”

Even though Orange Theory is unlike Barre or yoga, involving treadmills, rowing machines, and honest-to-god actual dumbbells, there’s still some distrust. Some connotation that attending this class means I don’t have the confidence, knowledge, ambition, or just pure testosterone to get in a good workout alone.

It seems wrong to need instruction and motivation to get your swole on. Fitness classes seem like a modernized version of those old aerobic videotapes from the 90s. Sure Juan up front with the microphone might be jacked to the rafters, but to an outsider, the class might as well be run by Richard Simmons or Jane Fonda. Which is why I resisted.

But finally, after much pleading and cajoling, I gave in. I agreed to go work out with my girlfriend in a class.

Walking in for the first time, I’ll admit I was nervous. Nervous to be working out in front of other people. Not because I was worried that I was going to be the only dude there (I wasn’t, there were maybe 4-5 other males) or because I was going to fail spectacularly (I held my own), but because of that primal fear of being judged. Being laughed at, mocked, whatever. As illogical as it was, that great fear was, truthfully what had been holding me back.

As I got into the swing of things, however, I realized that no one was looking at me. It’s kind of hard to focus on anyone else when you’re on the verge of keeling over. Guys, Orange Theory is fucking hard.

The basic set up for one class is about 20 minutes of rowing, weights, and running, circling between those stations. But even those activities will get broken up a bit. Do five minutes of running, then walk on an incline for two. Do a four-minute row, then a set of squat jumps. After your hammer curls, tricep extensions, and pull-ups do a minute plank. This shit is no joke. For 60 minutes you get flogged.

My other major concern going in was the ambiance, namely the instructor and the music. One of the big reasons I steer away from SoulCycle or yoga is that I’m not going to be “in the zone” working out to Katy Perry while some sorority girl on summer break shouts words of affirmation. When I’m working out, I go hard in the paint. That means listening to some old school rap, rock, or metal. Luckily, the class we went to was right up my alley.

Sure they were playing contemporary hits, but at least they had some edge. A good amount of Eminem, Kanye, Panic! at the Disco, Foo Fighters, and even a little Five Finger Death Punch thrown in. Not my ideal playlist by any stretch, but at least respectable to keep me going.

As to the instructor, well Juan was exactly what I would have wanted in a coach. Encouraging, but not overbearing. Clear, gave good instruction but didn’t impede the pace of the class. He’d come along to help if your form was faltering, but didn’t make a big deal in front of everyone. Shouting a few words of encouragement, but largely staying silent. He knew we weren’t there to hear him talk, we were there to work. And work we did.

Orange Theory also has a great system where they track the time your heart rate is elevated and award you “splat points” for every minute you’re really pushing yourself. The points are as meaningful as the points on Who’s Line is it Anyway? but they add an element of competition to each class as you’re trying to beat your own record or stay at the head of the pack. Full disclosure, Jennie beat me in terms of splat points but I claim this is a false victory as my heart rate monitor was shorting out consistently! Next time we go, I’m going to kick her ass.

Yes, there will be a next time. This was confirmed after we left. Even though I know she wasn’t thrilled about all of the weights they used, she could tell that was a strong appeal to me. Plus, she loved lording it over me that she got more splat points than I did. But now, both of us are going into this fitness journey together, once or twice a week at the nearby gym. Because, truthfully, even though it was a kick-ass workout, it’s nothing I couldn’t do on my own, for free. But doing it with my girlfriend, trying to beat her, and trying to be fit with her, is great motivation. .