Working Out, Showing Up: Why Doing Hard Things Together Makes Life Better

There’s a version of me that still surprises people — and honestly, sometimes it surprises me too.

Just over two years ago, I was fifteen kilos heavier than I am now. I was also heavier in ways you can’t measure on a scale: heavy with grief, disconnection, and the sense that I was drifting through my own life, half-asleep and half-hoping someone else would show up to fix it for me.

They didn’t. So eventually, I did.

But what actually turned it around wasn’t a six-week shred, or a perfect meal plan, or some glossy fitness transformation reel. It was something slower, messier — and maybe, paradoxically, more joyful than anything I’d expected: it was showing up to do something hard, again and again, beside other people who were just as tired, sweaty, and determined as I was.

The Effort Paradox

There’s a piece of research that explains this better than any before-and-after photo could. Psychologists call it the Effort Paradox: the simple but often overlooked truth that people don’t just tolerate effort — we crave it.

We humans like things that are hard. It’s why people run marathons they might not finish, or build furniture they could buy pre-made, or drag themselves to dawn workouts even when the bed is warm and the sky is still dark. The very fact that it costs us something — time, sweat, energy, ego — makes it matter more.

I didn’t know any of this when I stumbled into my first group workout. Back then, I wasn’t chasing endorphins or community. I just knew I had to do something different, or I’d drown in the version of myself I’d built by default — the one who numbed out with too much booze, too much scrolling, too much pretending to be okay.

So I showed up. And then I showed up again. And over time, the hard thing — the thing I used to dread — became the thing that reminded me who I was becoming: someone who doesn’t flinch at discomfort. Someone who can do the hard thing, especially if someone else is doing it beside me.

The Ridiculous Beauty of Doing Hard Things Together

Group fitness is a strange beast. You pay money to sweat next to strangers, grunt your way through burpees, and maybe even yell “woo!” when the music hits just right. It’s ridiculous. But it works.

Psychologists who study friendship say that we need three things to forge real connections: proximity, ritual, and shared experience. That’s exactly what happens when you haul yourself to the same class, at the same time, with the same people, week after week. It’s effort — but it’s also belonging.

I’ve found friends this way. Not just the “hey, good job” kind, but real ones: people who text to check in when I skip a week. People who cheer when I hit a new PB. People who stand next to me in the middle of a brutal workout and make it feel, if not easier, at least less lonely.

It’s the same thing I’ve seen in volunteering, too. When people get together to do something hard for someone else’s benefit — pack food boxes, clean up beaches, cook meals for strangers — they’re not just giving time. They’re investing effort. And the paradox holds true: the more effort it takes, the more meaningful it feels.

Good for You, Good for Us

Arthur C. Brooks wrote recently about the old Roman philosopher Cicero, who argued that the best way to feel good is to do good. Not because you’ll get a gold star or public praise, but because virtue and effort and happiness aren’t separate — they feed each other.

That’s been true for me, too. I’ve learned that moving my body isn’t just about staying “fit.” It’s about protecting my mind. It’s about burning off the noise and anxiety that used to pin me to the couch. It’s about showing up for the people who show up for me.

And in the same breath, I’ve seen how doing good for others — whether that’s feeding horses at dawn, volunteering, or helping someone find their first friend in a new city — strengthens the muscles that the gym can’t reach. Purpose. Connection. Belonging.

That’s why we built Get Out’s volunteer matching tool. Not because we think community service is a box to tick, but because we know from lived experience: when you gather people to do something hard together, you fix loneliness at the root.

The Hard Thing Is the Point

I wish I could tell you that every class is easy now. It’s not. I still curse my way through workouts. I still get intimidated by new challenges — whether it’s a HYROX race, a new group, or saying yes to a volunteer shift when I’d rather stay home.

But the point isn’t to make it easy. The point is to keep showing up. To keep choosing the slightly harder path — the early morning, the honest conversation, the awkward introduction, the run in the rain — because that’s where the good stuff lives.

Because there’s another paradox here: the more you do hard things, the more you believe you can do them. And when you believe you can do them, life opens up. Suddenly you’re not just surviving. You’re building. You’re becoming. You’re connected.

A Quiet Invitation

So here’s what I’ll leave you with: If you feel stuck, start with effort. Any effort. Do the thing you’ve been putting off. Join the class. Sign up to help out. Send the message. Move your body. Move your mind.

If you’re lucky, you’ll find your people there, too — the ones sweating, laughing, yearning, giving, stumbling forward beside you.

Because that’s the real gift: a life full of hard things, done together. And a self that’s better for it.