“Here´s the soap tube,” a doorman welcomed me in downtown Ottawa, the capital of Canada, in July as he was doing to all potential patrons queued ahead. I was the only Black man, and Black person in line at that hour. Whilst others were dispatched into the gym with just a single warning on handshaking, the door-man probed me: “Are you gonna join, just look around, anything?”

As if the doorman’s ordeal was not demeaning enough, a floor-man on the weights-lifting section sprung to his feet as soon as I kneeled on the carpet. “No touching, no trying bars, just whistle.” I nodded despite seeing that a bevy of white women and men were sitting on the floors sampling stationary bikes. Which is exactly “touching things.”

The floor man, bulky and intimidating like the Proud Boys, shadowed me until I found myself exiled to an overpriced Raleigh brand stationary bikes section, which is where he probably guessed I couldn’t afford, would be bored, and dash out.

I loitered around the booths and inquired about that $60 fitness plan. “You can get a gym plan around $20, this is our cheap price for you, my friend” the salesperson sneered at me. Again, that emotional shame of being Black and viewed by retail salespersons as deserving a price knockdown because you are probably poor to pay the listed price.

“$20 exercise plan won’t do me good,” I countered. For $20 I could run and jog alone in the woods and not be here in the gym in the first place.

They grinned, “I see your face is not from here. $60 monthly plans…?” 

On arrival home I could hardly sleep through the calm spring night, thoroughly humiliated from a $60 gym enquiry. I was, according to my landlord Paul, that perfect retail gym scare: a young Black man with no credit card (I hate credit cards), and speaking perfect English to the point of being dubious. “Worse could have happened,” he said. 

Fast forward to last week´s purchasing of a $50 exercise plan at an upmarket mall gym, my spring humiliation ticked in my mind. This time an elderly cashier at the front desk asked to see my ID when I presented my debit card at her at the register to tie up the gymn deal. Her other floor stewards stopped and gathered their eyes for the transaction like athletes suddenly frozen by a whistle. She was polite but firm in requesting for my ID which I handed over to her along with my debit card. Nothing escaped from me: that for a young Black man purchasing a pricey exercise object, justifying “legitimate source and proof of ownership of funds” is as emotionally oppressive as the circumstances that make some Black people less able to afford pricey stuff in the first place. Or feel confident to walk into upmarket gyms.

My personal experience of joining gyms and maintaining membership as a young Black man in Canada is an emotional burden of being patrolled around the floor, being greeted a dozen times with a wary eye; some aides leaving foldable weight benches to keep an eye on you; frowning tellers refusing to disclose membership refunds prices for you, “in North America we don´t tell the refund price upfront.”

According to my lived experiences, whiter patrons are left to their own fun. So, I have resorted to sometimes “window shopping” gyms outside rather than slipping inside.

In the resurgence of Black Lives Matters debate, it´s worth highlighting why simple gym experiences in upmarket places are still heavy mental burdens for some black young men in Canada.

Nothing gives me heart palpitations like the thoughts of police suddenly being called on me whether in the bank, or inside a gym. Hence when shopping for a pricey gym, I dress “properly” to give a visual cue that I can afford the price. In fact, properly dressing, serves as a calming impression to upmarket gym cashiers that “he looks like the owner of the debit card.”