Introducing Trade Secrets: a new column by Ryan D. Petersen
February 22, 2026
I’m Ryan D. Petersen, a writer living in New York.
Welcome to Trade Secrets—a monthly dispatch about rituals, distractions, and what I benched.
Lifting weights can feel like being in the shower. The mundane things around you become way more interesting than the task at hand (i.e. bathing or exercising). Unless, of course, you’ve started to bring your phone into the shower.
In the absence of content, the listed chemicals on the back of your body wash feel urgent. And when staring down your next set of curls, that previously ignored text takes precedence. Time to lock in and reply to that week-old email, heart a lame joke in the boys chat, and re-up on whey protein.
I usually look for new music when I work out. A good idea in theory, but poor gym etiquette in practice. The next set can’t begin until I settle on the right track, which means I can end up hogging the machine.
That’s why I prefer hitting the gym late at night, especially in the winter. You end up building a quiet camaraderie with other 2am regulars, who, like you, have trekked through dog-piss snow to pump iron. You stare at the wall with your Airpods in and catch one of their eyes, make a quick nod of recognition, then stare down at the ground. The gym, for us, is about solidarity in isolation. Apart, but never alone.
So for the inaugural issue of this column, I thought I’d run through the last five songs I’ve found, plus the accompanying arm day exercises I did while listening to them. Maybe you can read along while you’re working out. Or taking a shower. Let me be the label on your shampoo bottle.
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This song keeps coming up in my Reels feed. It’s part of a viral trend where people film themselves sipping Vietnamese coffee and then start having chest palpitations in sync with the music. I don’t know if I fully understand it, but the song is catchy. It’s also a good example of vinahouse: EDM remixes of Vietnamese or Chinese pop songs with a four-on-the-floor beat and heavy bassline. The genre is a bit of an acquired taste…the kind you might develop after huffing one too many nitrous balloons. The autotuned Vietnamese vocals have an undeniable, stim-like quality to them though. One of the translated Reel comments insists that “despite the song’s sad emotions, the addictive beat pulls people in and makes everyone vibe along!” I listen to it on loop and pull the bar down in time with the bass drop.
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After listening to a bunch of trashy tech house, Spotify recommended this remix of Flo Rida by Felguk. I’ve always found the lyrics to this song to be a bit sad. “You know how I know how, to make them stop and stare as I zone out…” sounds like someone describing their antisocial ketamine habit. The remix amps up the melancholy with an acoustic breakdown. I finish the last curl and stand up from the bench, my biceps burning. I do a slight shimmy with my shoulders and mouth the lyrics. But then I catch myself in the mirror and immediately freeze. It’s tough to see your reflection when you’re hyping yourself up. I guess that’s the appeal of workout classes, the drill sergeant being an external figure. “Watchin' you watchin' me, I go all out,” as the song goes.
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There’s an old Youtube video of these Russian brothers doing a tektonik dance in their kitchen that’s making the rounds again. I vaguely remember the video, but never knew the track they were dancing to. To be honest, the song loses its aura after the first thirty seconds. But from the spoken intro (“You know, bad girls need love too…”) into that first electro drop, it’s just about perfect. I keep rewinding to the beginning before I pick up the barbell, picturing the brothers swinging their arms around, looking like proto e-boys. We should bring tektonik back to the club. It’s like voguing for straight guys.
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(by Peter Martijn Wijnia pres. Majesta vs. DJ Shah feat. Adrina Thorpe) As a man, there are times when you need to hear the corniest trance imaginable just so you can feel something. A female vocal about a “beautiful, shining tomorrow” over twinkling arpeggios can save you, if you’re open to its message. I don’t know much about this track, just found it searching through some oldhead’s likes on Soundcloud. Armin Van Buuren played it in his A State of Trance mix from 2008, apparently. In any case, it does the job. Lyrics like “dance dance in morning light, open up your darkened eyes” hit so hard when it's 2:37am and you’re braindead in an empty gym. Something about the combo of progressive trance and bodybuilding puts me in a primal state. As I raise the dumbbells to my chest, it feels like I can trace my lineage all the way back to the troglodytes, hooping and hollering around a mammoth carcass. Maybe I’m losing my mind. Only one exercise left!
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I’ve been following João for a while. His alter ego EMILIANO BRUSCHETTA helped me appreciate circuit music by nudging it out of its gay club context. In real life he’s a Brazilian cowboy. This song was posted on his Soundcloud a couple months ago, but I’m just getting to it now. It’s a baile funk version of an arrocha song: slow-tempo, sentimental music from the province of Bahia. The beat on the remix is bubbly, verging on sexy. Always smart to end the gym session with some libidinal energy. A reminder of why we do this. I start to think of warmer times. Of playing music in a car with the windows down, on the way to the second (or third) location. Of feeling physically and spiritually hot while walking down a city sidewalk. One of these days the soiled snow will (finally) melt and I’ll free myself from this nocturnal gym cycle. But until then, my late-shift brothers and I trudge along, lost in our private routines. Push/pull/leg. Rest, then repeat. I squeeze my shoulder blades together, then release the rope grip. Time to go home. As I leave, I fist bump the old man on the row machine and think to myself: he’s just like me for real. But then I notice the Dunkin Donuts cup next to him, and realize he’s only now starting his day. We’re just two lugs passing in the night.