Sometimes I think the fitness industry is one more pendulum swing away from being involuntarily committed. 5 minutes ago it was, “Put butter in your coffee or your mitochondria will file for divorce.” Now apparently you need to wake up at 4:17 a.m., stare directly into the sun, dip your balls in a glacier, eat liver from a cow you personally counseled through childhood trauma, and post the whole thing shirtless on Instagram or you simply do not care about your health. I remember a few years ago, if you didn’t conform to whatever the industry had decided was ‘healthy,’ you were basically exiled. God forbid I recommend a protein bar, some dude with “OPTIMAL HUMAN” in his bio would materialize out of a Himalayan salt lamp to explain that ingredient #7 causes inflammation in Norwegian field mice. And our actual clients were basically saying: “Cool. I have 3 kids, a flight in 2 hours, 6 meetings today and I’m standing inside a fucking Wawa. WHAT DO I EAT?” That’s when I stopped trying...