Obsessed with results? Missing the big picture.

“The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph, but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well.”

Olympic Creed

I’ve been reflecting lately on the fitness industry as a whole and the question of why, why do we exercise?

We’ve been indoctrinated as a culture, I think, to always be expecting tangible, external reward for effort. Our work should produce something, and that something should be photographable so that other people can see what we have or what we’ve become and feel jealous. We’re absolutely mired in that here on Kauai, where everyone seems to be in a competition for the best house, the biggest truck, the most Instagrammable hobbies, as if to say, “I’m living life better than you.”

The point of the Olympics is not to win, it’s to participate. The point of life is not to succeed, it’s to experience. And while I think it’s perfectly reasonable to expect results from your exercise, the visible results are far from the most important ones.

Exercise for longevity - not for events or photos

And yet, we’ve allowed exercise to become just another performance. A means to an image. Somewhere along the way, movement—this deeply human, essential act—was hijacked by the promise of abs, angles, and applause. The obsession with physical appearance as a justification for exercise is not only shallow; it’s ultimately corrosive.

When our workouts are rooted in shame or comparison, we don’t build self-respect—we erode it. Exercise becomes punishment, not expression. A frantic chase to sculpt ourselves into a marketable body rather than a mindful way of being alive in our own skin.

It’s ironic, too, that the bodies we idolize as the pinnacle of health are often far from it. The leanest, most muscular people on your feed? Many are dehydrated, underfed, and hormonally wrecked in order to maintain that level of “aesthetic.” Photos taken in perfect lighting, at perfect angles, under the duress of unsustainable habits. We equate definition with discipline, low body fat with moral high ground.

What does real fitness look like?

Real health and fitness—vitality, longevity, mental stability—is rarely photogenic. It's not always tight skin and glowing abs. Sometimes it’s going to bed early instead of pushing for one more workout. Sometimes it’s a body softening with age, because that’s what the body is supposed to do (within reason).

And here's the crux of it: when we anchor our motivation in appearance, we set ourselves up for disappointment. Bodies change. They age, they scar, they fluctuate with grief, with hormones, with life. If your relationship to movement depends on visible progress, what happens when that progress stalls? When your body stops responding the way you want it to? You quit—or worse, you hate yourself for it. That’s the trap. A results-focused mentality doesn’t foster fulfillment; it breeds scarcity. Always reaching, never enough.

But what if movement was a celebration instead of a strategy? What if we exercised not to become something different, but to come home to ourselves? Strength, presence, capability—these are the kinds of results that can’t be captured in a before-and-after photo. And they’re the ones that actually last.