Why Not Train Outdoors.

Why I Trained in the Park Wearing Oversized Tracksuit Bottoms (And Didn’t Care Who Watched)

I didn’t go out that day expecting a workout.

I was wearing my comfiest oversized tracksuit bottoms, the kind you wear when you’re not trying to impress anyone — baggy, worn-in, pockets slightly too deep. I had headphones in, no plan, and a head full of noise. One of those days.

The city was loud in the usual way: bus brakes, a couple arguing by the Co-op, kids throwing crisps. I sat on a bench thinking I’d just walk it off. Instead, I saw the rusty pull up bar near the swings — the one no one uses unless they’ve just seen a Rocky montage.

So I tried.

At first, it was just a dead hang. Then a pull. Then another. The bar wobbled like it hadn’t held weight in a decade, but it didn’t snap. Neither did I.

I don’t know why I had my 20kg dumbbell set in my backpack — maybe I’d planned to train later. I took one out. Farmers carries down the path. Lunges past confused dog walkers. Sweat pouring into my eyes. But I didn’t stop.

Something weird happens when you work out where people don’t expect it. You stop performing and start processing. There’s no gym mirror. No curated playlist. No TikTok form check. Just movement. And sometimes, that’s all you need to stay afloat.

Later, when I got home, I looked at the gear I used. The same dumbbells I curse every Monday. The same old tracksuit bottoms. And I thought: that was better than any gym session I’ve had in months.

I’ve used the best doorway pull up bar in the world — the kind that is solid steel and ones you feel comfortable even rolling over. But nothing beats the feeling of lifting yourself up, literally, on a day where mentally you’re down.

This isn’t motivation. It’s just reality.

We don’t always train for the body. Sometimes, it’s for the brain. And oversized tracksuit bottoms help.