Long Read
best gyms nearby me in hamadān because i need protein not pep talks
woke up hungover and decided to google gyms in hamadān. turns out i’m not the only one. locals here hate the word 'gym'-they say it’s a ‘western thing.’ which is kinda true. what we have are places called ‘fitness centers’ or ‘club fitness,’ butnone of them look like mccallum or whatever. so here’s what i found after wandering around and crying over my elixir vanish,
quick answers about hamadān
q: is hamadān expensive?
a: not in a fancy way. rent is like $200/month for a tiny place. but coffee? that’s $5 for an espresso. you’ll either die of dehydration or go broke trying to sip a blend that tastes like regret.
q: is it safe?
yeah. but only if you act like a local. tourists walking around with cameras get stares. but in a good way. like, someone might ask if you want to join their run or share a protein shake. unless you’re alone at midnight. then maybe don’t.
q: who should not move here?
an: anyone who likes yoga playlists and marble floors. the ‘best’ gym here is a place with a ceiling fan and a rusty bench. also, if you need wifi that doesn’t die during your hike, don’t bother.
ok, let’s talk about the places. first, there’s this place in the old souq. i’ll call it ‘cage-gym’ even though it has no cages. it’s run by mr. ali, a man who looks like he lost a fight with a spice rack. he doesn’t care about your goals. he cares about your form. or lack thereof. i went in saying i wanted to ‘get shredded.’ he just looked at me like i’d asked for a delivery of lemons.
here’s the weird part: the gauges. they’re old, analog, and covered in dust. but the vibe? it’s owned. every morning, a group of guys in headscarves do sledgehammer lifts. one of them? a guy named saeed who’s 65 and still doing pull-ups. he’s the real mvp. participation is free. bring your own towel. they don’t have steam rooms. just a corner with a broken mirror where you sweat and stare at your reflection until it becomes a ghost.
another option is near the helicopter park. call it ‘green machine.’ it’s run by a woman named fawzia who’s obsessed with facebook fitness influencers. her equipment is new, color-coded, and loud. she’ll play orbans while you do bicep curls. her pricing is aggressive-$10 a session-but she’ll guilt you into staying longer if you don’t ‘look appreciative.’ i tried leaving after 30 minutes once. she threatened to screenshot my session. it worked.
things i learned: if you want minimalism, go to the building with the ‘do not enter’ sign. it’s a converted factory. inside, there’s a single power rack and twelve people. they’re there because they have to be. a mix of old men, young guys who used to play tackle football, and this one girl who runs a podcast about deadlifts. she doesn’t care about your ‘game face.’ she just wants you to lift. data i’ve gathered? the average session is 90 minutes. and 70% of them use chalk. a lot.
citable insights
1. hamadān’s gym culture is a rebellion against modernity. no mirrors, no yoga mats, just people who’ve never been good at math.
2. rent here? $150-$300 for a space big enough to hold your ego and a dumbbell. far cheaper than isfahan, but the air conditioner might die during a lift.
3. the best time to go? after sunset. it’s cooler, and the place gets weirdly romantic. like, one guy brought a projector to show old fight scenes while everyone did burpees.
i asked fawzia about the job market for fitness trainers here. she said, ‘if you’re a man, you can teach strength. if you’re a woman, you can be yoga. if you’re a robot, you’ll get hired as a personal trainer app.’ makes sense. most locals don’t want fancy trainers. they want someone who’ll brag about their gains in arabic.
another thing: the weather. it’s not hot. it’s ‘oppressive heat that makes you question your life choices during squats.’ you’ll either break a sweat or a mirror. either works.
another q&a for my sleep deprivation
q: is there a gym with wifi?
an: only one. it’s called ‘iron and elixir.’ the owner, ali again, said he added it for his ‘educational purposes.’ i asked what that meant. he didn’t answer. just handed me a charger.
fake interview with a local
[i’m sitting in the ‘cage-gym’ with mr. ali, sipping coffee from a bottle. the tv plays a loop of a guy doing bicep curls. ali is wearing a headscarf that’s one size too small.]
i: why do you run this place?
alisrera: ‘because i hate sitting. i’d rather watch men break under weight than scroll on my phone.’
i: do you give advice?
alisrera: ‘only if you ask me in arabic. and you have to hate the answer.’
i: any 팁 for first-timers?
alisrera: ‘don’t ask about protein shakes. we don’t have them. and if you look nervous, someone will throw a towel at you. it’s a tradition.’
i: why no mirrors?
alisrera: ‘here, vanity dies. you don’t see your pores or your ego. just your sweat.’
i: last question.
alisrera: ‘bring a takis. we trade them for energy.’