Do you love your girlfriends? Well, I recommend you hug them tightly because each and every one is about to be swallowed up whole by the newest fitness cult, never to be seen again.
F45, people. Your loved ones are all about to disappear into the circuit-training abyss that is F45.
How do I know this? Because I’m an F45 victim myself. I’ve officially lost my best friend Emily to the Oakleigh “studio” (it’s not a gym, it’s a studio) in Melbourne, and I don’t think she’s ever coming back.
“You seriously have to join,” Em would tell me every 0.023 seconds in her first week. “It’s so much fuuuun. I actually like working out now.”
When we went to drinks that weekend, she was totally consumed in a conversation with another girl at the table who also does F45. And they… well… they literally spoke for an hour about their workout programs, and their fitness trainers, and their group, and how much they love the cardio sessions, and how nice everyone is, and how it’s just so totally not like other workouts, and how they’ve found the keys to the magical faraway forest of Narnia and blah blah blah OMG OKAY YOU GO TO A FANCY PANTS GYM WE GET IT OKAY WE GET IT.
Listen: Crossfit for kids is a thing. (Post continues after audio.)
As the weeks went on, I saw Em less and less. Our only form of contact became Snapchats and Instagrams pre- and post-workout, where she posted 10349 photos in front of the F45 logo, looking sweaty and happy and smug.
Meanwhile, I was on my couch inhaling Zooper Doopers and Cadbury’s Oreo Chocolate feeling annoyed that circuit training literally ruined a decade-long friendship.
I thought F45 would steal my friend, pollute my social media feed, and call it a day. But F45 wasn’t finished yet.
On the weekend, Em went to an F45 barbecue. AN F45 BLOODY BARBECUE. And when I saw her afterwards? Her phone was practically a pseudo vibrator with the number of messages her F45 friends were sending to their “group messenger chat”.