I think if you exercise, your state of mind - my state of mind -

Host: The morning hung heavy with mist, the sun struggling to break through a veil of gray. Seagulls cried over the bay, and the sound of distant waves folded softly against the wooden docks. A small café sat at the edge of the pier — quiet, half-empty, the smell of salt, coffee, and rain-soaked timber filling the air.

Jack sat by the window, his running shoes still wet, sweat drying on his neck. He looked like he’d just outrun something — not just distance, but thought. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her tea, her fingers delicate, her eyes watchful, as if she was reading the weather inside his soul.

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence carried the weight of morning’s honesty — that fragile calm before life begins to demand again.

Jeeny: “You’ve been running again, haven’t you?”

Jack: “Yeah.” (He gave a tired half-smile.) “Trying to tire myself into peace. I heard Stone Gossard say once — ‘I think if you exercise, your state of mind — my state of mind — is usually more at ease, ready for more mental challenges. Once I get the physical stuff out of the way it always seems like I have more calmness and better self-esteem.’”

Host: Jeeny nodded, her gaze softening. The steam from her cup rose, twisting like a thought searching for form.

Jeeny: “He’s right. The body is the first battlefield. Once you’ve won there, the mind stops fighting so hard.”

Jack: “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just another illusion — a way to feel in control when everything else is out of it.”

Jeeny: “You don’t think peace can come from discipline?”

Jack: “I think peace is a myth. Exercise, meditation, therapy — they’re all just ways to distract us from the chaos we can’t solve. You run, you lift, you sweat, and for a minute you believe you’ve outrun your demons. But they’re just stretching behind you, waiting.”

Host: The light from the window shifted, touching the side of Jack’s face — a brief warmth against his cold expression. Outside, a jogger passed, earphones in, breath visible in the chill air.

Jeeny: “You sound tired, Jack. Not just physically, but spiritually. Maybe the point isn’t to outrun anything. Maybe it’s to move until the storm inside finds rhythm.”

Jack: “You make it sound poetic. But life’s not poetry. It’s physics. Effort, friction, fatigue. You burn energy, you feel better. That’s just chemistry, not spirituality.”

Jeeny: “Then why does it feel like more than that? Why do we cry after a long run or feel lighter after a walk under the rain? It’s not just endorphins, Jack. It’s release. It’s the body saying what the heart can’t.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened — a reflex, like he wanted to resist the truth but couldn’t. The café door opened, a breeze sweeping in, carrying the smell of seaweed and diesel from the boats.

Jack: “You’re turning it into philosophy, Jeeny. It’s not that deep. Gossard just meant that when you sweat, you think clearer. That’s all.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. He meant something more. He meant that motion is a form of prayer. That discipline isn’t about control, but acceptance. You can’t think your way out of pain — you have to move through it.”

Host: Jack looked at her, brows furrowed, his eyes reflecting the gray waves beyond the window. The moment hung between them, the way a note lingers before it fades.

Jack: “So what are you saying — that running makes you wise?”

Jeeny: “Not wise. Just whole. Because the mind and body aren’t separate — they’re dialogue. When you move, your body speaks back to your mind and says, ‘I’m still here. You’re still here.’ And that’s where calmness begins.”

Host: The coffee machine hissed in the background, steam curling like a breath of thought. Jack tapped the table, thinking, his fingers restless.

Jack: “You make it sound like the body is some kind of teacher.”

Jeeny: “It is. It teaches us the truth that the mind forgets — that we’re not just brains with ambitions, but animals with hearts. That sweat is a kind of honesty. You can’t fake it. You can’t intellectualize it. You just do it.”

Jack: “But what happens when you can’t move? When the body fails? Where does your peace go then?”

Jeeny: “Then you learn another kind of motion — the motion of acceptance, the motion of stillness. There’s strength in that, too. But the body — it’s our first conversation with existence.”

Host: Outside, the sun finally broke through, turning the mist into golden dust. The light fell across their table, catching the edge of Jeeny’s cup, glinting like a small miracle.

Jack: “You really believe exercise can do all that?”

Jeeny: “Not the exercise itself — the intention behind it. When I run, I’m not escaping anything. I’m returning to something. To my breath, to my heartbeat, to the fact that I’m alive.”

Host: Jack leaned back, staring out at the harbor, where the tide had shifted, the water calmer now. His shoulders relaxed, his breathing slowed, as though her words had settled somewhere deep.

Jack: “You know, I used to box when I was younger. Not for fitness, for anger. I thought if I could hit something hard enough, I’d stop feeling weak. But now I get what Gossard meant — once you get the physical stuff out of the way, there’s this… stillness. Like the storm has finally said what it needed to.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s the purge before the peace. The chaos before the clarity. When the body is done, the mind can finally listen.”

Host: The waves softened, lapping at the pier in a slow rhythm. The café had filled with light now, the mist lifting, the world wide awake.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what self-esteem really is — not confidence, but balance. The moment when your body and mind stop arguing and start agreeing.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “You know, Jeeny, for someone who doesn’t run, you’ve got a runner’s soul.”

Jeeny: “And for someone who runs, Jack, you’re finally starting to slow down.”

Host: The two of them laughed, the sound mingling with the seagulls and the soft hum of morning. Outside, the sky cleared, blue as forgiveness.

Jack finished his coffee, his eyes brighter, his voice lower, gentler.

Jack: “Maybe motion isn’t about running away. Maybe it’s about coming home to yourself.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And maybe that’s why Gossard called it calmness. Not because the world becomes quieter — but because you do.”

Host: The camera of the moment pulled back, framing them against the sea, the light, the endless horizon. Two souls, anchored by the simple rhythm of breath and being, learning that the path to peace sometimes begins with a single step, sweat, and a heartbeat that still wants to believe in balance.

And as the scene faded, Stone Gossard’s words lingered like a chord that refuses to die —

“Once I get the physical stuff out of the way, it always seems like I have more calmness and better self-esteem.”