Unleash Yourself: Fitness, Self-Care & Confidence

I went out with my personal trainer and some of his other clients last weekend. After a couple hours of my slightly withdrawn flavour of hooman socialising, it was time for Pup Gio to make an appearance. Slipping on my hood, a sense of calm contentment came over me. I found myself the only pup at the pub, drawing a few curious stares and smiles, and happily receiving scritches and belly rubs from others in our group.

For many of us, our hood is an extension of who we are, regardless of whether we see pupping as social, kinky or sexual—or a mix of the three. Our alter ego, or sona, can make us feel strong, confident—even brave. And, in my case, warmer and more sociable.

The pub closed and we piled into an Uber XL, embarking on a painfully slow ride to a club which promised a varied crowd and a safe space for self-expression. Exiting the car, muffled beats emanated from the arches behind us. Surly bouncers frisked us and rummaged through our bags. Personal bias here: I’ve found that clubs with bouncers who wear shades in the middle of the night often go hand-in-hand with crowds that can be a bit… how do I say it… basic as fuck. So, the bar was set low.

Inside, I took stock. Steroid queens. Basic. Edgelords. Basic. Coked-out twinks. Baaaaaaaasic. But then… Latex vamps? Genderfuckers? Animé boys? An outdoor garden filled with eclectic, friendly people? A self-serve water cooler near the main bar? Why isn’t this a thing in every club?! It’s life-changing! The night was looking up.

I’ve always found the pup community to encourage self-acceptance and body positivity. Getting in the headspace and playing together means no one is thinking about body types, diets or exercise regimes. Pup play encourages us to be who we are in the skin we’re in.

I never hired a personal trainer to get ripped and, indeed, I am far from ripped—my reasons were much more practical. Four years ago, I had a hip replacement thanks to a genetic issue which caused the natural joint to wear out prematurely. After the initial recovery, I found a PT with a sports medicine background to get me back to peak strength so I could, once again, enjoy my true love, urban freeriding—a fancy way to say I ride bikes down stairs and stupid shit like that. But I’m not gonna lie—I don’t hate the side effects of what that training has done to my body. It feels good to look in the mirror and not hate everything I see.

My programme is light—three or four 30–45-minute workouts a week at home. My equipment is minimal—10 kg (22 lb) and 17.5 kg (39 lb) dumbbells, an 8 kg (18 lb) medicine ball and a TRX. It’s enough to improve my strength and remain on the slimmer side of thicc. Spending endless hours in a gym is not my vibe.

When I ride, I ride hard. I’m always on the lookout for the perfect drop or set of stairs. My heartrate generally stays between 120 and 170 bpm—in the moderate to hard range. Riding, to me, is a workout that doesn’t feel like a workout—and it burns a lot of calories.

Alongside my training I do watch what I eat, but with a light touch. I’ve always eaten a mainly Mediterranean diet—a good starting point—and rarely eat highly processed foods. Cooking is another way I destress and wind down in the evenings and the Mediterranean diet is full of fresh vegetables, olive oil, grains, pulses, seafood and poultry—so healthy and reasonably low-calorie. The only thing I’ve had to change since starting training is adding in a bit more protein—in practice, this means a roasted chicken leg or fish fillet on the side.

Standing against a wall near the dancefloor, one of the club photographers approached. “Would you mind if I took your photo?” she asked. I obliged, flattered to have been asked.

The dancefloor was packed, hard trance was calling, and the shirts were off. I’ve always been self-conscious being shirtless in public, but my confidence was high and I had my lime green harness which visually streamlines the bits about my body that I hate. Time to get out of my comfort zone. I took off my shirt and then bag-checked my backpack with it securely inside—no going back. I got on the dancefloor and threw myself around, my self-consciousness dissipating as I stopped thinking about my flesh on display. I realised I had neither the best nor the worst body in the place and, throughout the night, I had several requests for chest and belly rubs, which made me happy and feel good about myself.

Confidence is such a complicated concept. What we portray on social media often doesn’t reflect how we feel inside. Getting likes and positive comments is validating and feels amazing, of course, but those are based on curated photos of our best angles. Real life is not so controlled.

I find myself attracted to confident dudes—thicc, chunky, lean… body type doesn’t really matter. To me, confidence equals sexy—it’s about someone owning what they’ve got. That said, I am partial to a bit of fur… okay fine—the furrier the better. Nuzzling a furry chest puts me in my happy place.

Not everyone is into piercings or ink but, for me, they increase my confidence because they distract the viewer from the parts I don’t like about myself—in my head, at least. I got my nipples pierced when I was 19 because I like the aesthetic and I enjoy having them played within an intimate, consensual setting.

My ink has become a way to document meaningful things in my life—a floral sleeve with sunflowers, thistles and olives native to the region of Greece where my family lives, an orthodox cross as a good omen, a couple of ancient Greek maxims that resonate with me, and some geek-ink of things that make me happy. While I am mindful about what I have inked on my arms and other routinely visible parts of my body, I’ve allocated my torso as a free-for-all where anything goes.

Self-care and time-outs are so important for mental health—spending 30 minutes meditating under the sun, some light yoga or a full body stretching routine, booking in for a massage, or taking of couple hours to have a bubble bath and grooming session. With technology out of reach. Just time spent in your own company, clearing your mind of daily thoughts.

The more intimate side of self-care is known by a cringy word that I fucking hate—one which smacks of high school sex-ed classes awkwardly taught by teachers well outside their comfort zones. We need to normalize it by calling it bating. Nearly all of us bate, but even in 2024, some still associate it with feelings of guilt or shame for reasons including religion, conservative families, and the influences of mainstream society. Let’s pause for a second to be clear: It’s not dirty. It’s not disgusting. It’s not shameful.

I primarily identify as a side/bator, reserving penetrative sex for those I’m in a long-term, intimate relationship with. Even for more casual play, I prefer to have an established, in-person connection with others first—I’m not one for dial-a-fuck apps. We all have our own preferences—you need to do what feels right for you. I’m into CMNP (a play on CMNM, or clothed male naked male, in this case naked pup)—it scratches the itch for both my service pup side and my objectification and exhibitionism kinks. It’s about taking instruction from someone to enact their fantasies for their enjoyment. It may seem submissive, but there is a huge amount of power when you have the control to make or break someone’s fantasies.

I believe everyone deserves—even owes it to themselves—to explore their bodies and seek out every possible (legal and consensual) way of experiencing pleasure. Understanding yourself and what excites you is key to building intimate relationships with others. And playing with toys, cockrings or getting creative in other ways means having potentially new experiences to share with intimate partners in future. Also, don’t be afraid to photograph or film yourself—you don’t have to send them to anyone, but this can help you learn new things about yourself and feel more comfortable with your body. If you do want to share, getting together with like-minded friends to enjoy a sesh can be a huge pleasure in life. Bating should be fun and a guilt-free pleasure—explore yourself with confidence and a clear conscience!

The sun was up when I made my way home from the club. My hood had let me set aside my autistic awkwardness and find my confidence and willingness to engage with a friendly crowd—and I’d had an amazing night of dancing and socialising. Being the only pup enabled me to bring something different to the venue and I the attention I received made me feel appreciated. I’d gone in with low expectations—in retrospect, it was my anxiety speaking—but I came out full of joy and, most importantly, feeling good about myself.

As pups, it’s important that we build meaningful relationships within our own community—whether platonic or intimate. Bonds with people who appreciate you for your authentic self are strong and special, providing companionship and emotional support—and there’s nothing like a good hug, cuddle, or belly rub from someone who really gets you. Being a pup is more than just wearing our hoods—it’s about letting others see your authentic self. Investing in self-care, maintaining a fitness level that’s right for you, and building confidence are key to being your best pup self. And that means having the energy—mentally and physically—to enjoy life and be the best pup you can be for those you love, treasure, and care for.

Unleash yourself—unapologetically and with pride.