I went through a brief phase years ago of getting Men's Health

There are times when humor conceals a deeper truth, when the jester speaks with greater wisdom than the sage. Such are the words of Frankie Boyle, who once said: “I went through a brief phase years ago of getting Men's Health then I realised there are actually only three ways to do a sit-up and they're just repackaging it endlessly.” Though his words appear laced with comedy, beneath them lies a reflection on the human obsession with novelty, the endless search for reinvention, and the illusion that truth must always appear new to hold our attention. His jest, light as it sounds, pierces through the vanity of modern culture — a culture that trades wisdom for packaging and depth for distraction.

The meaning of Boyle’s words is simple yet profound. He speaks of Men’s Health, a magazine symbolic of a world forever hungry for self-improvement, forever chasing new methods to attain perfection. Yet, as he discovered, there are only three ways to do a sit-up — the core truth does not change, only the way it is presented. This observation stretches beyond fitness into the heart of human nature: that people often seek change not because the old ways have failed, but because they have grown weary of simplicity. We tire of what works and long for what sparkles. Boyle’s humor, then, is not mockery of exercise, but of the illusion of progress without purpose. He reminds us that wisdom often lies not in discovering something new, but in mastering what is already known.

The origin of this insight lies in the comedian’s own gift — the ability to see through the absurdities of modern life. Boyle, whose satire often reveals uncomfortable truths, turns his gaze here toward consumer culture, where industries thrive on the promise of perpetual innovation. The magazine’s constant “repackaging” of the same few exercises becomes a metaphor for society’s cycle of reinvention — in health, in fashion, even in thought. Like merchants at an ancient bazaar, we dress the same idea in new colors and call it revelation. Yet underneath the glitter lies repetition — a truth that the wise have always known: form changes, but essence endures.

History offers many echoes of this wisdom. The philosopher Seneca, in the twilight of the Roman Empire, wrote of men who endlessly sought new teachers and new philosophies, yet never found peace. “They change not their way,” he said, “but only their weariness.” The Athenians, too, were famed for gathering in the marketplaces to discuss “some new thing,” mistaking novelty for knowledge. Yet even then, the sages taught that truth is constant — that whether spoken in marble halls or printed in glossy pages, the path to strength, wisdom, or virtue remains the same: discipline, humility, and perseverance. Boyle’s jest thus joins a lineage of ancient voices reminding us that wisdom repeats because it must — not because it is dull, but because it is eternal.

There is also a subtle lesson here about illusion and commerce. The modern world thrives on convincing us that satisfaction lies just beyond the next edition, the next trend, the next secret. But as Boyle discovered, there is no secret — only work. Whether one seeks fitness, enlightenment, or success, the principles remain fixed: consistency, patience, and honesty. The “three sit-ups” are metaphors for every pursuit in life — love, health, mastery — each governed by truths so simple they seem unworthy of attention. And so, we abandon them, searching for glamour in place of growth.

Yet, Boyle’s humor carries not cynicism, but freedom. In recognizing the absurdity of repackaged wisdom, he frees the listener from endless striving. He reminds us that clarity lies not in accumulation, but in focus. To know that there are “only three ways to do a sit-up” is to awaken from the spell of marketing and illusion. It is to stand where many run in circles, to laugh gently at the world’s noise, and to rediscover the quiet dignity of simplicity. For the one who truly understands a single principle — who perfects one movement, one thought, one habit — has already mastered more than those who chase a hundred.

So, my listener, take this teaching to heart: do not let the world’s repackaging of wisdom distract you from its heart. Whether in exercise or in existence, seek not the new, but the true. The form of the teaching may change — it may come on parchment or in pixels — but the law remains the same. Strength comes from repetition. Growth comes from patience. Truth does not need new clothing; it needs understanding.

And thus, as the ancients might say, the wise man is not the one who discovers new truths each morning, but the one who returns each day to the same truth and sees it anew. Frankie Boyle’s laughter, sharp and timeless, reminds us that simplicity is not ignorance — it is mastery. The sit-up, the poem, the prayer, the lesson — all are mirrors of one eternal act: the striving of the human spirit to rise, again and again, toward perfection.