Your Gym Routine Is Making You Less Human
Three years ago, I was that person. You know the one—religiously hitting Planet Fitness at 6 AM, tracking macros on MyFitnessPal, following some influencer's 12-week transformation program. I looked fit enough in photos, sure, but I felt... empty. Mechanical. Like a well-oiled machine that had forgotten what it was actually built for.
Then I spent two weeks in the Utah backcountry with a group of archaeology students, hauling equipment up canyon walls and sleeping under stars. No gym. No programmed workouts. Just pure, purposeful movement from sunrise to sunset.
I came back stronger—and more alive—than I'd felt in years.
That experience cracked something open for me, and I've been chasing that feeling ever since. Turns out, there's a reason why our modern approach to fitness feels so... off.
We've Turned Humans Into Hamsters
Walk into any commercial gym and what do you see? Rows of people on treadmills, going nowhere. Folks mechanically lifting weights in predetermined patterns. Everyone staring at screens, counting reps, marking time until they can escape back to their sedentary lives.
It's exercise divorced from purpose. Movement stripped of meaning.
Our ancestors would be absolutely baffled.
For 99.9% of human history, the idea of "working out" would've been laughable. Physical activity wasn't something you scheduled between meetings—it was how you survived. You moved because you needed shelter. You ran because dinner was getting away. You climbed because the good fruit was twenty feet up.
Every calorie burned served a purpose beyond just burning calories.
But here's the kicker: we haven't evolved past needing that purpose. Our brains and bodies are still wired for meaningful movement, for physical challenges that matter beyond just looking good in a mirror.
And that's exactly why your 45-minute elliptical session feels like torture while a day of helping someone move feels... well, not exactly fun, but definitely more tolerable.
Your Body Is a Ferrari Stuck in Traffic
Think about this: humans are literally built to be endurance monsters. Not the strongest, not the fastest, but we can outlast almost anything when the terrain gets tough. In the right conditions, we can outrun horses. We can travel vast distances carrying everything we own.
We're persistence hunters by design—the species that brought down woolly mammoths not through brute strength but through sheer, bloody-minded determination to keep going when everything else collapsed from exhaustion.
Yet most of us spend our days shuffling between chairs. Car seat to desk chair to couch. The only long-distance traveling we do is scrolling through Instagram.
No wonder anxiety and depression are skyrocketing. No wonder we feel restless and vaguely unfulfilled even when we're technically "succeeding" at modern life.
We've got Ferrari engines and we're stuck in permanent traffic.
What Ancient Societies Knew That We Forgot
Here's what really gets me fired up: traditional cultures understood something we've completely lost. Physical challenges weren't just about fitness—they were about becoming fully human.
Native American tribes required warriors to run all day not just for practical reasons, but because endurance was tied to identity, to belonging, to proving yourself worthy of trust when lives were on the line.
In ancient Crete, they literally called youth "not quite a runner" and adulthood began with a ritual called "the running."
These weren't arbitrary hazing rituals. They were recognition that humans need to test themselves against something real, something that demands everything they've got.
Even in recent American history, we see echoes of this wisdom. When JFK challenged marines to complete Theodore Roosevelt's 50-mile hike, it wasn't just about military readiness—it was about rekindling something essential that we'd started to lose.
The marines completed it. So did JFK's brother Bobby. In under 18 hours.
When's the last time you tested yourself like that?
The Boredom Problem (And Why It Matters)
Michael Easter talks about this in The Comfort Crisis—how boredom historically spurred humans toward more efficient hunting, better tools, stronger shelters. Basically, discomfort and challenge were the engines of innovation and growth.
Today, boredom makes us reach for our phones.
But what if we channeled that restless energy differently?
I'm not saying we need to go back to hunting caribou in Alaska (though honestly, that sounds amazing). But we can absolutely tap into those same primal motivators that kept our ancestors sharp, engaged, and constantly growing.
A Different Way Forward
So here's what I'm proposing: instead of fighting your body's natural programming, start working with it.
Make movement social again. Find training partners who actually challenge you, not just people who show up to half-heartedly go through the motions. Join a hiking group. Try rock climbing. Get into Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu where you're solving physical puzzles while someone's actively trying to stop you.
Build something with your hands. Seriously. Whether it's a garden, a deck, or just some shelves for your garage—building engages your body and mind in ways that no amount of bicep curls ever will. Plus you end up with something useful instead of just sore muscles.
Pick a big, scary challenge. Not "lose 10 pounds by summer" but something that makes your heart race just thinking about it. A multi-day hike. Learning to surf. Training for a tough mudder. Something where failure is genuinely possible and success would actually mean something to you.
The key is finding challenges that feel meaningful, not just difficult.
Your Homework (If You're Brave Enough)
Alright, here's where theory meets reality. I'm going to give you three options, and I want you to pick one. Not "think about picking one" or "maybe try it someday." Actually commit to one of these within the next 30 days:
Option 1: The Social Challenge Find three people and commit to a weekly outdoor activity together for the next two months. Hiking, climbing, trail running, even just long walks in interesting places. Make it social, make it regular, and make it outside.
Option 2: The Building Challenge Start a physical project that will take at least a month to complete. Something that requires your body and creates something lasting. Bonus points if you do it without power tools.
Option 3: The Distance Challenge Pick a challenging distance goal and give yourself 3-4 months to work up to it. Maybe it's hiking 20 miles in a day. Maybe it's the classic 50-mile challenge. Maybe it's carrying a weighted pack for 10 miles. Make it specific, make it measurable, and make it harder than anything you've done before.
The Real Question
Here's what I really want to know: when's the last time you felt genuinely proud of what your body could do? Not how it looked, but what it could accomplish?
When's the last time you surprised yourself with your own toughness?
If you can't remember, or if the answer is "never," then maybe it's time to stop treating your body like a machine that needs maintenance and start treating it like the incredible endurance vehicle it actually is.
Your ancestors walked across continents, climbed mountains, and survived ice ages. They passed down incredible physical capabilities that you've barely scratched the surface of.
The question isn't whether you're capable of more than you think.
The question is whether you're brave enough to find out how much more.
So... which challenge are you going to choose?
What's the most physically challenging thing you've ever accomplished? Drop a comment and let's celebrate some real human achievement. And if you're ready to take on one of these challenges, tag someone who should do it with you. Trust me, it's way better with company.
