Look, I do go to the gym. But not because I want to (sorry to my PT).
I go because I love crisps, pints, beige food and living beyond 35. It’s transactional. Joyless. Much like a team-building away day or a conversation with a tech bro about creatine.
So while everyone on Instagram is busy doing Hyrox and posting sweaty selfies with captions like “New PB #beastmode”, I’d like to remind the world of a different kind of full-body workout:
The metal gig.
Specifically, the pit.
Because nothing builds core strength, cardiovascular resilience, and deep existential grit like trying not to die during a breakdown at 190 BPM.
The Gig-Adjacent Fitness Plan for Girls Who Love Beige Food and Violence
Warm-Up: Queue Cardio
Jog to the venue because you’re late from work.
30 mins of high-speed power walking in chunky boots with a bag full of meal deals and trauma.
HR-approved and good for your glutes.
Upper Body: Moshing
Throwing elbows, dodging flying limbs, and holding your pint aloft like it’s the Olympic torch = peak functional strength.
Bonus round: holding someone’s phone light during a ballad like your life depends on it.
Lower Body: Two-Stepping + Pit Squats
Your thighs? Screaming.
Your knees? Ruined.
Your spirit? Ascending.
You haven’t known leg day until you’ve tried to two-step during Malevolence in Dr. Martens.
Core: Barrier Bracing
The barrier is your enemy and your best friend.
Clench every muscle as grown men try to crush you against it to scream “BLEGH.”
Also works your neck from trying to see over a sea of tall people and tactical mullets.
Gym Class vs. Gig Pit
| Exercise Class | Metal Gig Pit |
|---|---|
| £25 per class | £4 tinny on the way in |
| Reformer Pilates machine | Human bodies as makeshift dumbbells |
| Stretch to whale music | Stretch while dodging crowd surfers |
| Protein shake | Warm Neck Oil and a singular crisp |
| Instructor shouting “Push!” | Bryan Garris screaming “EVERYTHING IS QUIET NOW” |
| Cool-down & breathwork | Being held in a sweaty hug by a stranger named Dean |
But Is It Effective?
Let me put it this way:
I once came out of a Slipknot pit drenched, bleeding, and 700 calories down. My Apple Watch was screaming and my mascara had migrated.
Try and get that kind of spiritual exfoliation from a Barry’s Bootcamp.
Also, I haven’t pulled a muscle crowd-surfing since 2018. So technically, I’m an athlete.
Closing Thoughts from a Beige-Food-Obsessed Gym Girl in Denial
Sure, I’ll keep going to the gym.
I’ll begrudgingly hip-thrust in the corner next to lads called Reece who exclusively wear Gymshark.
But my real fitness home is sweaty, beer-soaked, and full of people who’d throw you over a barrier without asking your name.
The pit is my Pilates.
My HIIT.
My Hyrox.
My sanctuary.
And it never asks me to eat clean or wear matching leggings.
Cc: You in the Pit 