Confessions of a wannabe athlete from the coolest fitness rave, Hyrox

Certified doomscroller here 🙋🏽‍♀️. If Labubu shows up thrice on my feed, I need it or I’ll combust. Lip balms with charms? I’ll buy two—even though I don’t even use lip balm. Matcha? Lawn water, but still whisked for IG. Peak clownery: bought the Rhode lip balm phone case… without the lip balm.

Then I “leveled up” from cheap dopamine to wellness-core—magnesium pills, protein yogurts, padel/pickle bats (are they even different?). And then, one Hyrox reel wrecked my algo, I saw that reel for exactly 11.5 seconds, of course I track my screen time! Overnight, my feed turned into wall-to-wall burpees, sled pushes, and finish-line collapses. First came the dopamine hit of just watching. Then the realization this wasn’t an add-to-cart situation. I hyped myself into trying a class, failed spectacularly (my max lift is still clipping Labubus to my bag), and landed at the step where brain is braining “Hyrox athlete” but body is not bodying. Which is why I decided: fine, spectate first. Compete later. But I needed to add something to the cart, right? Spotted some cool gear in exactly 11.5 seconds in that reel, ofcourse I need new kicks for the race, copped the Deviate NITRO Elite 3 HYROX Men's Lightweight Running Shoes. 

Cut to walking into NESCO for Hyrox Mumbai 2025—it felt less like a sporting arena, more like a rave powered by endorphins. Music thumping, Puma gear everywhere, and instead of glow sticks, people had sandbags and kettlebells. I thought I was just here to cover the event. Wrong. I was about to catch the Hyrox bug for real.

Hyrox wasn’t only about sweat—it was about passion. Puma even threw in playful pauses: a braid bar for “sweat but make it fashion” moments, and a manifestation wall where I scribbled the only thing that mattered: “See you at Hyrox 2026.” Manifested via Sharpie, powered by delusion.

And the format? Eight 1K runs each paired with a functional workout. Sounds innocent. It’s not. SkiErg looked like wrestling invisible ski poles. Sled push = superhero cosplay. By sled pull I was sweating as a spectator. Burpee broad jumps had the crowd gasping, rowers looked meditative until they weren’t, farmer’s carry felt like carrying your roommate’s groceries—if your roommate weighed 80 kilos. Sandbag lunges = slow-mo warrior parade, and wall balls were the boss fight you can’t escape.

Somewhere between cheering collapses at the finish line and chatting with health coach Digvijay Singh (“Start small. Build endurance. Do pranayam.”), it clicked. Sure, my 2025 vibe was “hydrated spectator,” but every high-five, every roar, every wall ball made me believe maybe I could do this.

So no, I didn’t compete this year. But 2026? That’s my redemption arc. If music festivals are for the soul, Hyrox is for soul and body. And next year, I plan to be on stage—not in the stands.