[sic]

We all want to look good naked. I want my wife to forever think I’m hot. Eons ago, I believe we all looked good naked. If you sit and think about it, no one probably even knew what it meant to be unfit. Back in the days of chasing your food down, your next meal depended on your ability to hunt, fish, and kill. All that running around left zero time for being sedentary.

So how did we go from lean and mean to riding electric carts through the Doritos aisle at Walmart? We traded the loincloth for clothes to cover the beer gut and the front butt. You know what I’m talking about—waddling through life in sweatpants and Crocs. If I couldn’t bend down to tie my shoes, I’d wear them too.

Modern convenience made us lay down our bow and arrow for the refrigerator and microwave. Lean cuts of meat and fish have been replaced with pizza rolls, Hot Pockets, and my personal favorite—chicken nuggets. Delicious, sure, but these little morsels of malevolence will have you moving the wrong way on your belt holes. And it’s always easier to loosen than tighten.

I’m not saying everyone needs a six-pack. But being strong, lean, and able to see your genitals when you look down is primal. Life isn’t easy, the economy’s not helping, and most of us will be working ‘til we’re 80—if we live that long.

The solution is simple: quit stuffing your pie hole and move your body. Calories in versus calories out. But how you move matters. With the internet, a thousand “experts” are screaming for your attention, and picking the wrong one can cost you years chasing results that never come.

Enter the influencers—the Old Country Buffet of fitness. Plenty of options, but nothing really tastes good. (You can only eat so much chocolate mousse and chicken nuggets.) Everyone’s selling a different flavor of snake oil. One day it’s cold plunges, the next it’s nasal strips. If I see a meathead wearing one on a podcast, I’m out. Most of these guys are juiced to the gills, attributing their godlike physiques to breathing hacks and overpriced supplements—conveniently leaving out their PED protocol.

Then there are the lesser influencers—the parrots. They recycle half-baked advice expecting you to enjoy their two-day-old cold pizza of content. And don’t get me started on CrossFit, with their steroid-backed mutants preaching “functional fitness” while definitely not on steroids. 

Real fitness doesn’t need a gimmick. It’s not supplements, crash diets, or flexing in front of a rented Lamborghini. Real fitness happens when consistency meets the squat rack and good old-fashioned iron. It’s built through progressive overload when nobody’s watching.

There’s no filter for discipline, no shortcut for time under tension. You can’t swipe your way to strength—you earn it one rep at a time. You want results? Get off your ass, pick up something heavy, and put it back down. Keep doing that until the mirror finally shows you what you want to see.