Nothing can make you believe we harbor nostalgia for factory work but a modern gym. —Mark Greif
I’m writing this post on Labor Day even though you won’t be reading my words until long after the sun has set on the Central Labor Union’s annual national festival for affirming the glories of factory work and has subsequently risen again on a new day wherein the bourgeoisie has returned en masse to the gym to foster its nostalgia for the same.
What I’m talking about here is the middle-class’s self-imposed compulsory observance of “health and fitness,” the modern culture of socializing and proselytizing the lubrication and maintenance of machine man.
Just think about it. In robotic fashion, the members of the cult of perpetual preservation program their computer brains to regulate the mechanical processes of their bodies by measuring out their meals, counting their calories and carbohydrates, calculating the minutes they ambulate on stationary conveyor belts, counting the number of times they lift levers, pull pulleys, and oscillate on rubber mats placed on the floor.
As if they have not given enough of their leisure time to the nostalgia of the former factory work, when they finish there, they submit themselves to examiners who measure their body temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure, assess their cholesterol and body mass index, and quantify their body fat percentages so they can accurately report to them just how long they will continue to live.
All of this is done for the inane desire to preserve in a state of optimal form, the bodies no one will inherit when they die. Or worse still, to tacitly defend—by passing off as “being healthy”—their identity as they have rooted it in their perceived sexual desirability.
So, whether you agree with me or not—please do tell me in the comments—the next time you feel guilty for not going to the gym, or shamed for eating that delectable pasta dish instead of your socially assigned Kale salad, just remember: no one is going to inherit your optimized physique when you die, your life is worth more than the time you spend counting reps and carbs reminiscent of factory life, and your identity as a human being runs much deeper than your perceived sexual desirability.
Plus, it should boost your confidence knowing you didn’t embarrass yourself making sounds and facial expressions in public that most normal humans only make in private.
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