Navigating the Gym as a Powered Wheelchair User - The Real, the Awkward, and the Empowering

So far in this short series, I’ve talked about why I train and how I train. But there’s another part of gym life that doesn’t get talked about enough; what it’s actually like to exist in that space as a powered wheelchair user.

Because going to the gym isn’t just about exercises and equipment. It’s about navigating layouts, assumptions, unspoken rules, and the occasional moment where you think, “Was this room designed by someone who’s never met a wheelchair?”

This post is about the bits that happen around the workout—the things you learn through experience, trial and error, and a growing sense of confidence that says: I belong here too.

Space Is Not a Luxury - It’s Access

Let’s start with the most obvious challenge: space.

Gyms are often busy, crowded environments filled with machines, benches, mats, bags, water bottles, and people who swear they’re “just using that for a second.” When you’re in a powered wheelchair, navigating through all of that requires planning, patience, and sometimes a bit of assertiveness.

At first, I hated asking people to move things. I worried about being a nuisance or drawing attention to myself. But over time, I realised something important: asking for space isn’t rude - it’s necessary.

Access doesn’t happen by accident. Sometimes you have to claim it. Now, I ask confidently. I wait when needed. I choose quieter times when I can.

Equipment: Accessible, Adaptable… or Just Not Worth It

Not all gym equipment is created equal and that becomes very obvious very quickly.

Some machines are surprisingly wheelchair-friendly: cable machines, adjustable pulley systems, free weights, resistance bands. Others look promising until you realise the seat doesn’t move, the reach is impossible, or the setup requires standing balance you simply don’t have.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is this:You don’t get bonus points for forcing an inaccessible machine to work.

If something can be adapted safely and comfortably, great. If it turns into a logistical puzzle that drains your energy or compromises your form, it’s okay to walk (or wheel) away. Swapping an exercise doesn’t mean you’re doing less, it means you’re training smarter.

The Social Side of the Gym (a.k.a. the Awkward Bits)

Let’s be honest, sometimes the hardest part of the gym isn’t physical. People stare, people hover. People offer help before you’ve even looked like you need it.

Most of the time it’s well-intentioned, but I’ve had to learn how to set boundaries kindly but firmly.

Simple phrases like:

“Thank you, I’ve got it.” have become part of my gym toolkit.

Familiarity builds comfort for everyone. Over time, people stop seeing “the wheelchair” and start seeing “the person who trains here.”

Confidence Is Built Rep by Rep (and I’m Still Building It)

I didn’t roll into the gym full of confidence and if I’m being honest, I’m not fully there yet. Confidence hasn’t arrived all at once or stayed consistently. Some days I feel capable and grounded; other days I still second-guess myself, feel self-conscious, or notice the room more than I’d like to.

What has changed is that confidence now shows up in small, quiet moments. It's the first time I didn’t apologise for taking up space or the first time I knew exactly where I was heading and why or even the first time a weight felt lighter than it did the week before but the gym felt familiar even if it didn’t feel comfortable yet.

Confidence, for me, isn’t loud or effortless. It’s something I’m actively building, rep by rep, session by session. It’s choosing to show up even when I feel unsure, trusting that I belong there because I’m putting in the work not because I’ve earned the right to be visible. Maybe that’s what confidence really looks like: not the absence of doubt, but the decision to keep going anyway.

Small Hacks That Make a Big Difference

These are the things I’ve learned along the way that genuinely help:

• Going at quieter times when possible

• Using my wheelchair’s positioning (tilt, recline, armrests) for stability

• Keeping resistance bands or straps handy

• Claiming space around cable machines early

• Planning sessions so I’m not constantly moving back and forth

  
  

None of these are revolutionary but together, they make training smoother, safer, and more enjoyable.

Why I Keep Showing Up

I keep going because I’m stronger than I was before and because I feel more confident in my body. Also, the gym has stopped feeling like a place I’m allowed to be and started feeling like a place I want to be.

My powered wheelchair isn’t a barrier to fitness; it’s just part of how I navigate the world and once I stopped seeing it as something that excluded me from gym spaces, everything changed.

What’s Coming Next

In Post #4, I’ll be talking about progress and not the kind you see in before-and-after photos.

We’ll cover:

• How I track strength and improvements

• Why progress looks different for disabled bodies

• Celebrating wins that don’t show up on a scale

• Learning to recognise growth when it’s subtle

  
  

Because progress isn’t always visible — but it’s always worth celebrating.