I would rather be able to lift my child up into the air in my middle age than have recurring shoulder injuries from too much bench pressing.
I would rather have a strong back to lift heavy boxes when I’m moving than have bulging biceps that serve little useful purpose.
I would rather have a sharp mind in my retirement than suffer the ill effects of concussions while playing heavy contact sports now.
I would rather foster strong relationships with friends and family than spends hours training to run marathons.
I would rather be able to walk in the park with my wife in the twilight of our years than be stricken with knee pains from too much leg training.
I would rather be able to enjoy good sleep than wake up at an ungodly hour to train endlessly.
I would rather enjoy the richness and complexity of food than be obsessive over nutrient profiles, caloric intake, and other archane components of gastronomy.
I mean no disrespect to weightlifters, marathon runners, or any other athletes, professional or amateur. However, in a society that measures fitness according to incredibly stringent standards and bills the incredible physique of elite athletes as the rule rather than the exception, a degree of sanity is important.
I would rather live life healthy, well, and satisfied, than be constantly driven by a gnawing urge to reach some mass-marketed potential form.