What kept us in the gym in 2025

This is a philosophy she has forged from experience. Four years ago, Roselyne did not see herself as a “fitness person” at all. While growing up, exercise felt punitive.

“Fitness felt like punishment. Anything long, exhausting, or physical, I avoided it.”

We catch up with her just after her morning workout at Raw Gym at Lavington Arcade, Nairobi. On the table between us is a quick breakfast she packed before she left her house: a yoghurt and chia seeds smoothie and a banana. She observes what she eats.

“The food you eat will always show up on your body. Diet goes hand in hand with exercise.”

Her arms are well toned. She is a heavy lifter, and all the things she set out to do in the gym and outside of it for fitness in 2025 have beautifully found a home in her.

Her entry into the gym was circumstantial. While she lived in the UK, a housemate who felt unsafe training alone at night paid for Roselyne’s membership so she could have company.

“She needed me there for support—just to feel safe.” She admits that safety is among the top concerns that many women have when taking up fitness. The tag team of two hit it off in the gym and never looked back. “Once I entered that space, I never left.”

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Even though the results started manifesting outwardly, what kept her going back was not aesthetics; it was control. Working in a demanding medical environment where her days would unfold unpredictably, her gym routine slowly transformed into a much-needed anchor.

“My why has always been mental,” she explains. “The gym is the one place where whatever you put in, you get out. That structure calms my mind.”

Over time, she grew accustomed to consistency as it stopped being effortful. She routinised early morning training sessions, prepared meals, and practised deliberate nutrition.

“This is my normal,” she adds. “I don’t even have to think about it anymore.”

Roselyne abhors rigidity. She organises her fitness life in seasons. Strength-focused months give way to endurance phases, which then shift to competition prep. “I’m okay being a beginner again and again. That’s how I stay interested.”

She says this in response to my question on how, four years later, she still wakes up early to workout.

In 2025, that openness pushed her further than ever before. She learned to run for the first time, gradually increasing distance and tolerance for discomfort.

Later in the year, she signed up for HYROX, a demanding endurance competition. With no coach, she relied on observation, online feedback, and community support. “I literally taught myself,” she says. “People I had never met were correcting me and encouraging me.”

Unexpectedly, the year also revealed her influence. Once a self-described lone ranger, Roselyne now ends 2025 surrounded by a growing fitness community.

“I didn’t expect people to watch me,” she admits. “But when you step out, you open doors for others behind you.”

As a woman who lifts heavy, she is often told she “lifts like a man.” She dismisses the label. “It takes years and aggressive training to ever look like a man. The gym is five per cent of my day. I’m just a girl who works out.”

For women hesitant to start—especially those afraid of changing their bodies—she shares what she wishes she had known in the beginning. “Don’t be afraid. Change the narrative in your head. Trust the process. Be okay being bad at it in the beginning.”

Looking to 2026, Roselyne is ready to move from her signature quiet consistency to intentional leadership. Having discovered the reach of her voice, she wants to build a broader brand rooted in honesty and mentorship. “I’m not the most experienced person I know, but I have enough experience to share.”

Her message, she says, extends beyond fitness.

“You can. But you need audacity. People less capable than you succeed because they try.” 

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Peter Ortega, 41, does not train to look good. He trains to stay alive. His fitness journey began in 2004 while he was still a student at Kenyatta University. Its urgency, however, was shaped by fear. After being violently attacked by a group of young men in broad daylight, Ortega realised his physical vulnerability.

“They saw me as a target,” he remembers. “I was tall, skinny, and not intimidating.” He entered the gym looking for size and strength. “At first, it was about muscles,” he shares. “I wanted to look strong.”

But in 2012, after eight years of working towards his desired body, a life-threatening pulmonary embolism changed everything.

Hospitalised for a month, Ortega was told by his doctor that his body had fought for him. “He said, ‘I don’t know how you’re still here,’” he recalls.

“That’s when I understood why I had been training all along.” 

The condition, hereditary in nature, has since returned two more times—the most recent one in 2025. Ortega now lives on blood thinners and blood pressure medication. 

Discipline and self-awareness

“From that moment on, my fitness stopped being about appearance. It is now about longevity. If I stop, I die. I like that I am fit and I look muscled up, as many people would want, but this is not just about how I look,” he explains. “I want to live long enough to see my daughter grow up. That’s my why.”

Two decades later, Ortega’s discipline is uncompromising. The longest he has stayed away from the gym is one month, and this was while he was hospitalised. His workouts are short, intense, and efficient.

“I don’t train for more than an hour. Twenty-five minutes of high-intensity work is enough if you’re intentional.”

His approach combines strength training and HIIT. No supplements. No shortcuts. “I focus on sustainability,” he adds. “Carbs for energy, protein for muscle, fats for balance. It has to make sense for life.”

For Ortega, fitness trains more than the body. 

“Ninety per cent of the time, you won’t feel like working out. Discipline is doing what you’re supposed to do when you don’t feel like it.” He sees the gym as a rehearsal space for life. “There’s chaos in the gym,” he says. “You stare at a weight and panic. Then you calm your mind and lift it anyway. That teaches emotional control.”

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In 2025, his goals were incremental: increase strength, reduce training time, and maintain health. He achieved all three, reaching 99 kilograms while keeping body fat in check.

“Small wins matter. Clap for yourself,” says the “Drill Sergeant,” as he is fondly called by his clients.

Looking to 2026, Ortega wants to scale his impact beyond his immediate circle. “I’ve refined myself. Now I want to bring it outward.”

His challenge is visibility.

“So much of what I do goes undocumented,” he admits. “I prefer helping people face to face, but I know I need to adapt.” His emphasis is on a message that is close to his heart and perhaps his life mantra: “Take care of your body. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.”

For Wahida Huggins, who just turned 40, fitness is not a trend or a short-term goal. It is a lifestyle anchored in discipline, self-awareness, and survival.

“I’ve always been a sporty person,” says Wahida, the Managing Director of Predictive Analytical Resources. In her younger years, sport was second nature. In high school, she played competitively, and at university she was part of the basketball, field hockey, and volleyball teams.

“The question was never whether I would work out; it was how I would fit it into a very demanding life.”

When she left university and entered the world of work, the structure of organised sport disappeared. In its place came long hours, responsibility, and pressure. In all that, she refused to stop moving. “Even if it was once or twice a week, I had to find a way to go to the gym,” she recalls.

Returning home after university brought a different challenge. Things slowed down, and she needed balance. Wahida returned to her former school, the International School of Kenya, this time as a volleyball coach. From 2010 to 2015, she coached the girls’ team—first as an assistant, then as head coach.

“I wanted to give back while at the same time staying busy.” Her fitness gradually became non-negotiable. “Over the years, it just became natural. I realised that my consistency was no longer forced. It became part of who I am.”

For the past four years, Wahida has trained consistently with her current trainer, Dennis Okaka, at Raw Gym in Lavington, Nairobi. She reports for workouts at 4 a.m. before the workday begins. Initially, she was intimidated.

“I saw what my trainer’s clients were doing and thought, ‘Can I really keep up?’”

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Used to longer sessions with previous trainers, she worried that one-hour workouts would not be enough. “But he explained how every muscle group is worked through the week. I learnt efficiency.”

What kept her committed, however, was more understanding than just programming. Years of sport had left her with injuries, particularly in her knee and shoulder.

“Through personalised training, I know how to tweak workouts,” she says. “If something is off, I adjust. There’s no ego in this game.”

Beyond physical strength, the gym has become a place of emotional healing. Wahida admits that for years she struggled with self-confidence.

“Looking at myself in the mirror was hard. I had internalised things said to me growing up.” Her trainer insisted she face herself—literally. “He would say, ‘Look at yourself. Affirm yourself.’ It was uncomfortable, but it changed me.”

Fitness is now a form of therapy. “I come in, do my one hour, and leave everything else outside. It clears my mind.”

In 2024, she experienced a serious health scare, a setback that forced her to stop training temporarily. Doctors advised her to slow down. “From lifting heavy to being told to just walk—it was difficult.” Her build-back was slow, but the discipline she had learned over time carried her through.

Later, she was diagnosed with IBS, requiring a strict diet—no gluten, dairy, sugar, or acidic foods. “It’s restrictive,” she admits. “But I had to ask myself: what do I want for my body?” The answer was longevity. “I have a child. I want to be there—to see him grow, graduate, live.”

Motherhood has never stopped her from showing up for herself. Eight weeks after giving birth, she returned to training, gradually rebuilding strength.

“Fitness taught me that I can start and finish things,” she says. “That was new for me.”

In 2025, her goals included unassisted push-ups and advanced strength milestones. Not all were achieved, but she is at peace. “I’ve learnt to appreciate progress. I celebrate small wins.”

Looking to 2026, Wahida wants deeper squats, heavier deadlifts, and continued mental clarity. “This journey doesn’t stop. It’s for life.”

For her, fitness is not about perfection. “I’m learning to love the person I see. Scars, flaws, and all. They remind me how far I’ve come.”