DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
A journey through fitness, false identities, and finally figuring your shit out
Fun Way to Exercise, You Say? Let’s Get Delusional.
Let’s start here: Olivia Newton-John basically rewired an entire generation’s brains with “Let’s Get Physical.” She morphed from wholesome sweetheart to headband-wearing fever dream, and somehow we all collectively agreed that writhing in a leotard was fitness. We never really recovered, emotionally or sartorially.
Then there was Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, reminding us that it’s totally fine—encouraged, even—to be obsessive about your passions. Especially if your passion includes dumping water on yourself mid-dance. That “Maniac” scene wasn’t just exercise—it was aspirational chaos. It made sweating look like a personality trait.
Even Popeye tried to get in on it. He wasn’t just pushing spinach; he was pushing the idea that vegetables could give you freakish forearm strength and the confidence to punch boats. No one wanted to be the 90-pound weakling on the beach getting sand kicked in their face. We worked out—not for health, not for longevity—but for the attention of a girl who may or may not even know our name.
Jane Fonda came along and made aerobics a spiritual obligation. Suddenly we were all cult members, grapevining for our lives, and gym bros looked at us like we were losing our minds. You tried aerobics? RESPECT. That’s not cardio. That’s performance art.
And Richard Simmons? That was a whole vibe we still don’t fully understand. Sequins, shouting, sincere encouragement—somewhere between motivational speaker and glitter elemental. Whatever it was, it worked. People moved. They sweat. They cried. They believed.
My step-madre? She was in the trenches with Tae-Bo. Billy Blanks screaming from the TV, and her throwing punches in the living room like a woman possessed. I still don’t know if it was for fitness or because she thought Billy was fine. She’ll never say. She holds secrets like a vault, and no one has the access code.
Supplements & Shenanigans
Just when you thought the movement was enough—enter the supplement era.
We started popping Flintstone Chewables like they were candy (because they were), then graduated to Centrum when we wanted to feel like grownups who still couldn’t swallow pills. Then came Geritol Tonic—that was the truth. Took a sip and blacked out in enlightenment.
Protein shakes replaced food. Creatine replaced logic. Ginseng, ginkgo biloba, and questionable powders scooped into shaker bottles at 6am because someone on the internet said it would “enhance vitality.”
We were building bodies. Fueling potential.
And slowly, maybe accidentally, getting nowhere near wholeness.
Mind, Body, Spirit… and Other Marketing Buzzwords
(Now With 12 Unnecessary Challenges, Just Like Hercules!)
Eventually, the workouts and pills and VHS tapes weren’t enough. People started exercising their minds. Started researching things like inner peace, balance, self-actualization—whatever that is. People wanted to genuinely like themselves. Be whole. Mind, body, and spirit.
Sounds good, right?
But come on—is that even real?
Is that obtainable?
With the flood of curated nonsense, the influencers, the unsolicited life advice, the algorithmic chaos—how does anyone even begin to weed out the bullshit?
Hercules had twelve trials. You? You’ve got:
- Unread emails,
- Burnout,
- Repressed childhood trauma,
- And a morning routine you’re too tired to follow after Day 3.
He had to slay lions and capture magical deer. You have to:
- Journal without spiraling,
- Set boundaries with your toxic cousin,
- And drink water instead of iced coffee for once.
Same energy.
We all want to feel better. More “aligned.” But instead of holy quests, we get wellness content. Instead of oracles, we have mood boards and moon water. Instead of epiphanies, we get an Instagram carousel of “ways to raise your vibration.”
You started exercising your body.
Then your mind.
Then your spirit—probably via breathwork, moon phases, or a yoga class in a converted warehouse with exposed brick and emotional lighting.
And when that didn’t quite fix the aching void?
People started turning to God.
Or the Universe. Or Source. Or the Vibe Manager in the Sky, depending on your belief system.
Every path, every name—people started reaching out, up, and through, looking for a way to cleanse the demons and purify their spirits. Not just the metaphorical demons either—like, the real ones. The ones whispering, “You’re not enough,” while you’re trying to do a downward dog and not weep into your yoga mat.
Prayer, meditation, sacred texts, incense, tarot, gospel, gospel-adjacent YouTube playlists—anything to feel like you’re not just a sentient to-do list trying to find peace in a collapsing world.
Because after you’ve tried all the earthbound answers, sometimes the only thing left is the divine shrug of surrender.
The Real Labor: Showing Up For Yourself
So here’s the thing.
Exercising isn’t fun.
If you think it is—cut that shit out. Seriously. Stop lying to the rest of us who are dragging our carcasses through spin class wondering if our souls are leaking out with every drop of sweat.
But exercising your entire being?
Taking the time to figure out what you actually need?
That’s different.
That’s hard. That’s a process. That’s showing up and sitting in the silence. It’s being real enough with yourself to stop pretending. And yeah, you need to cut that shit out, too.
This isn’t a 30-day fix.
It’s a lifelong pursuit.
One that changes as you do. One that requires you to keep showing up, even when you don’t feel like it, even when no playlist or dopamine hit is waiting.
But if you do it?
If you do the real work?
The reward… it has no words.
It’s a feeling.
Quiet. Deep.
Solid as bedrock.
The feeling of becoming whole—not perfect, not pure, not finished—just complete in the way only honesty can make you.
And at the center of all of this is one simple truth:
The point of this is to Do You.
No qualifiers. No “better” or “best” or whatever recycled buzzword is trending this week. Just you, fully and unapologetically.
As the great Oscar Wilde said,
“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”
You are enough. You always have been.
And if someone tries to tell you otherwise, or if your own brain starts slipping back into that goofy self-hating soundtrack?
Cut that shit out.
About the Author
Mangus Khan did a yoga pose once, and it hurt like hell—respect to anyone still doing that on purpose. He owns a towering stack of unread self-help books, which now function as either a faux end table or a regal perch for his cat, who loves him unconditionally despite the obvious madness. He believes in growth, sort of. He believes in showing up, sometimes. And he definitely believes in cutting that shit out.
Memoirs of Madness 