You and The Unknown
A newsletter by my evil twin
Some times I like to go George Costanza mode and wonder what my life would be like if I did the opposite of what I always do. So, I wrote an essay, and then asked Chat GPT’s O3 Mini to rewrite the same essay as if someone who was the complete opposite of me, with a different sense of self, had written it. Here is a lightly edited version.
I recently put an end to my long-standing, increasingly intolerable affair with Hyde Park Gym. The gym’s outdated charms had long since worn thin, and when I received a perfunctory wellness check voicemail from them—a shrewd attempt to fleece more money from me than any genuine concern—I knew it was time to sever the ties for good.
Hyde Park Gym is a monument of the 70s. The air conditioning labors like a tired old dog against the relentless heat; the equipment is battered and creaky, and a persistent friction seems to invade everything—even the dumbbells feel inexplicably heavier than their markings suggest. It seems that the very air in the place is imbued with unnecessary resistance.
The clientele does little to redeem the experience. While I appreciate the diversity of those who walk through its doors—elderly men lost in their own worlds, a woman in jeans who seems to be making a statement, and even kids shuttled along by enthusiastic parents—the overall atmosphere is one of disarray and mediocrity. The most charming place in the gym is a spot, wedged between two clunky machines, where members pause to take pictures – the only spot in the gym where the lighting is good.
Several years ago, before the novelty of the gym had worn off, I noticed a woman training while her toddler slept in a baby carrier beside her. It was an affirming glimpse of life unfolding in an otherwise drab setting that looked like Sylvester Stallone, 80s icon of toxic masculinity, trained there for the movie Rocky. Just weeks before I cancelled, I encountered a child wandering among the outdated equipment. It was the same child from several years ago - now grown, mobile and unsurprisingly looking like a little Tarzan. I had been at Hyde Park Gym for too long.
In contrast, my new membership at the sleek modern climbing gym has been nothing short of transformative. The moment I stepped inside, I was enveloped in a fluorescent light so pure and inviting that it erased the gloom of my previous haunt. This place exudes vitality—its pristine, well-lit spaces speak of an era that values progress, efficiency, and, most importantly, authenticity.
Every detail in the climbing gym is a nod to the present. The members here look impeccably fit, and while some might say they resemble characters straight out of a dystopian high school movie—a modern, stylized echo of Paul Verhoeven’s Starship Troopers—I see it as an emblem of dedication and modernity. Their athleisure isn’t an empty uniform; it’s a badge of commitment to a healthier, more deliberate lifestyle. The exercises are some times Avant Garde – I watched a guy using a functional trainer in a way that defied convention, hanging down from both ends of a smith machine and dragging himself on the floor, like his body was immobile, except for his strong hands. His unencumbered movement (or lack of it in this case) a testament to the gym’s emphasis on progress and mobility. Here, smiles are scarce; you have to earn every smile in an environment that nurtures community and self-improvement.
The climbing gym complex is a vibrant ecosystem—a curated community hub that caters to every facet of modern living. Beyond the state-of-the-art workout spaces, there’s a sauna to unwind in, a coffee bar that serves as a social nexus, a pickleball club next door, and even a pizza spot that doubles as a meet-up area for newcomers to the gym. There’s a coworking space that feels like a progressive incubator for ideas, a far cry from the stagnant relic that was Hyde Park. This is a place where community is not an afterthought but the very fabric of its identity.
The sauna remains a beloved haven—a nod to tradition amid modernity. It’s filled with friendly souls, often with names like Kyle, Matt and Travis, who share sincere moments of relaxation and thoughtful conversation as they catch up on their life’s little updates. There’s a comforting calmness in the space, where every whispered word and soft apology (once murmured after a minor mishap) is met with understanding, reflecting a community built on respect and genuine care.
Gone are the faded posters of Floyd Mayweather and Arnold Schwarzenegger that once tried to inspire me at Hyde Park. Instead, the walls are adorned with millennial-branded art that speaks in soft, refined palettes—a design that isn’t just aesthetically pleasing, but also a subtle celebration of inclusivity and forward-thinking. It wouldn’t surprise me if, in the near future, the gym offered GLP-1 injections to further harmonize the pursuit of health and individuality—a fitting symbol of its commitment to modern wellness.
I couldn’t be more committed to this new chapter of my fitness journey. The climbing gym isn’t just a place to work out; it’s a dynamic space that feels entirely real, entirely aligned with the present moment—a stark contrast to the nostalgic, anachronistic ode that was Hyde Park Gym. In embracing the new, I find not only physical vitality but a profound connection to a community that celebrates the now, in all its authentic, vibrant, and unapologetically modern glory. The now is all that matters.
