This morning I was reading about a new exercise competition that is supposedly taking New Zealand gyms “by storm.”
(Don’t they all?)
It’s called Hyrox. Competitors complete eight workout stations, each separated by a 1km run: SkiErg, sled push, sled pull, burpee broad jumps, rowing, farmer’s carry, sandbag lunges, and wall balls. They can race individually, in doubles, or as part of a four-person relay.
Hyrox was founded in Germany in 2017 by Olympic hockey player Moritz Fürste and businessman Christian Toetzke, combining endurance racing with functional fitness. The inaugural event in Hamburg attracted just 650 competitors. Last year, around 650,000 people took part worldwide. Auckland’s event has grown quickly too, increasing from 6,000 competitors in 2025 to more than 10,000 this year.
But not in the far north of New Zealand—not in my gym.
I doubt that any of the members of my gym have even heard of Hyrox, let alone participated in it.
We are a standard, back-to-basics gym. No frills. We do have an eclectic clientele, though: all ages, all sexes (male, female and in between), all sizes, and all demographics. We have school kids, mums, dads, and grandads. We have police, a few firefighters (maybe), a couple of teachers, and one declutter specialist. I suspect we have a few former or current gang members, but who would know with the ban on patches, and leather jackets not being particularly conducive to gym workouts anyway.
The reasons for going—our motivations—are equally diverse and rarely discernible. There are a couple of poseurs who spend more time in front of the mirrors than on the equipment, but I have no idea why the rest of us are there. I don’t even know why I am there, except, in part, to mitigate the worst effects of the beer I engulf and the whisky I relish.
But I do know it is one of my happy places, where I can go to relax, to wind down. There is, ironically, no pressure there to be anybody other than who you are. While we hardly speak to each other (and that’s part of gym etiquette), there is also a quiet, non-judgmental companionship—a satisfying synergy that can only come from being part of the poorest gym in town.
What we won’t have are fads like Hyrox and its 10,000 New Zealand competitors. We avoid them. We don’t even have Pilates. I think that if they did arrive, they would probably destroy the place.
I am writing this on Matariki Day. The time is 9:40 in the morning. It’s a holiday, and I have a good excuse for not going to the gym. But in a little over two hours, for about an hour, I shall be there—it’s such a happening place for me, where nothing happens.
