Weightlifting, once seen as a domain dominated by traditional masculine norms, is now becoming a space for the LGBT+ community to challenge stereotypes and find strength. Val, a non-binary athlete who has won five bodybuilding contests, combines their passion for weightlifting with a job at a sports equipment store. They note that when they train, the men around them often whisper and glance at them. Val's sculpted body aligns with the standards of bodybuilding, and their presence in the gym is part of a broader trend. The imagery of queer weightlifting has even appeared in films like Jim Queen (2026) and Love Lies Bleeding (2024). In France, weightlifting has grown significantly in popularity, with over six million people now participating regularly. For many in the LGBT+ community, the gym—a space once associated with traditional masculinity—has become a place to explore their identity and reclaim their bodies. On social media, some coaches proudly display the rainbow flag, rejecting the idea that strength and fitness are solely for men. Their posts receive tens of thousands of views, showing the growing visibility of queer athletes in the fitness world. Martin Page, a non-binary author, writes in their book The Gentleness of Weightlifting: For Artists, Queers, Women, the Unfit, the Elderly, the Disabled, the Neurodivergent, Parents, the Poor, the Nonconforming, the Disgusted with Sport (Le Nouvel Attila, 2025) that muscles represent care for oneself and others in a society that often overlooks the needs of minorities. Lou, a weightlifter in Paris, finds weightlifting a way to change how others see her. Key, a bodybuilder for eleven years, describes weightlifting as a way to shape their identity without necessarily undergoing hormone therapy or surgery. For others like Luna, a weightlifter and sex worker in Marseille, it's a discipline that offers structure and strength in a challenging life. Gyms are also adapting to this new audience. Some have created spaces specifically for women, while others have faced criticism for excluding transgender individuals. Guillaume Vallet, a researcher in gender studies, notes that while some gyms claim to be inclusive, real change is limited. For many in the LGBT+ community, finding a safe and welcoming gym remains a challenge. Julien, a weightlifter in Paris, says he started lifting to conform to certain gay masculinity standards, but still feels observed in the gym. Habibitch, a queer artist and activist, uses weightlifting as a space to express political views and assert her presence in a place not originally made for her. Weightlifting also has a rich history with the LGBT+ community. Eugen Sandow, a 19th-century bodybuilder, became a gay icon, and the practice was later revived by gay communities in California during the 1960s and 1980s. Arnold Schwarzenegger, a bodybuilder and actor, was influenced by this era, blending bodybuilding with dance to enhance his stage presence. Today, the aesthetic of this "golden era" is making a comeback, even among those who support far-right politics. As the presidential election approaches, calls to "get strong against the far right" are growing. For many in the LGBT+ community, weightlifting is not just about fitness—it's about survival, strength, and self-confidence in a world that still challenges their identities.