I wasn’t going. I’ve gone maybe once this year, in spite of having nowhere else to go all day. It was a waste of money.

But I’ve been working out as hard and as consistently as at any point in my life because, after way too many years, I figured out something important about myself: it’s not the working out that I hate. It’s going to the gym. Specifically, it’s all the other people there. The judgy meatheads. Maybe there is a gym somewhere that isn’t full of them, but I’ve never found it.

Except I did. For the cost of about 1.5 years of monthly dues, I built a gym in my basement. I got a bench, an olympic bar, and a full set of dumbbells.  I can go down there whenever I want: no driving. No meatheads slamming the weights down, yelling at the machines (“HOW YOU LIKE ME, BITCH!”—seriously, that happened), judging weakling me because I haven’t spent my whole life in there to get meatheaded like them. No waiting around. No terrible music/TV.

No stink. No showering with others (omg worst worst worst worst worst).

It’s not perfect. It’s hard to get lower body work done with this kit. The ceiling’s low, so standing overhead presses and the like are out of the question. I also don’t have a spotter, so I have to be conservative on some lifts so I don’t get hurt. But these are minor, minor problems compared to the pleasure of the lack of meatheadery and judginess. And, unsurprisingly, for the first time in my life, I’m seeing results, so I’m inclined to stay with it.

(Don’t worry, this won’t become a fitness blog.)