February 18, 2025
I was never the typical athlete.
I was strong because I was active—outdoorsy, determined, always pushing myself to try new things. But I never played sports. Never identified with the world of traditional fitness.
What I did identify with, from a painfully young age, was the pressure. The relentless expectation that to be beautiful, to be worthy, meant being thin.
I watched women I look up to try every diet that came out. Watched commercial after commercial push Atkins, Weight Watchers, the latest quick-fix for a smaller body. I was taught to dissect my own reflection before I even understood my worth. And that lesson stayed with me for years.
I’ve never considered myself skinny. And yet, I could look back at old photos and think, did I really think I was overweight?
In my early adult years, I fell into the same trap so many women do—believing my worth was measured in pounds. I shamed myself for every indulgence, convinced I needed to “earn” my food in the gym. But I hated the gym. I wasn’t a runner, but all the thin people I knew ran, so I ran. I forced myself through workouts I didn’t enjoy, hoping they’d make me smaller, better, more acceptable.
I spent summers sweating in oversized hoodies, terrified of being seen. Cringed when people complimented my body, because it only reinforced the idea that what I looked like held value. I spent years believing I had to shrink myself to be enough.
And then, 10 years ago, a friend told me about Gymnazo.
They encouraged me to apply for a member services position on the team, and I laughed. Me? Work at a gym? I didn’t even like going to the gym. I didn’t have a “fit” body. I couldn’t imagine a place where I wouldn’t feel judged.
But I needed a change.
I walked through the doors expecting to be surrounded by people who had it all figured out—people who had mastered discipline and diet, people who would inspire me to finally do things the “right way”.
What I found was something entirely different.
Gymnazo met me exactly where I was—no expectations, no judgment. It wasn’t about how I looked or what I could do; it was about showing up and moving in a way that felt good. Whether you’re a seasoned athlete or someone who’s never stepped foot in a gym, you belonged here. No treadmills, no mirrors lining the walls—just a space designed for movement, challenge, and connection. I didn’t have to overthink my workouts; they were already planned for me, structured yet fun. And the community? Unlike anything I had ever experienced. People weren’t comparing or competing over ego—they were supporting each other. There’s a running joke that we must serve some kind of “kool-aid” at Gymnazo because the camaraderie is just that strong. But the truth is, it’s not the drinks—it’s the people.
Over the past decade, Gymnazo has redefined fitness for me. It’s no longer about punishment for what I ate, or striving for an unattainable body type. It’s about honoring my body—for what it can do, how it can move, how it allows me to show up in my life. A celebration of the non-scale victories.
In my 20s, I was chasing a thigh gap. Chasing a number on a scale. Chasing an image of myself I could never quite reach.
In my 30s, I’m chasing strength. Mobility. Longevity. I train so I can run, lift, and play with my young kids without hesitation. So I can do things I love like snowboard, wakeboard and so much more.
Gymnazo taught me something I wish every person could understand: Your worth is not in your weight. It never was. It never will be.
I know I’m not alone in this experience. I see it every day—people stepping into a new fitness journey, desperate to shrink themselves. I hear it in their words, in the social media comments, in the commercials selling the latest weight-loss injectables.
So if this is you—if you’ve spent years fighting against your own body—I want you to hear this:
Find a community that lifts you up for who you are. Embrace your body for getting you this far. Honor it for carrying you through your lifetime. Move for vitality and longevity—not for punishment. Not for shame.
Because you were never meant to spend your life at war with yourself.
With love,
Mercedes
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