Number one, like yourself. Number two, you have to eat healthy.

Host:
The sun rose like laughter over the bright blue coast of California, painting the sky in pinks and oranges that felt almost too alive to be real. The morning air was thick with the smell of salt, coffee, and sunscreen, and the world already pulsed with movement — joggers on the boardwalk, the crash of the waves, the hum of the day’s energy building.

A radio blared from a smoothie bar nearby, playing some disco remix of the eighties, and in that perfect absurdity, there sat Jack and Jeeny on a pair of mismatched beach chairs.
Jack, with his grey eyes hidden behind black sunglasses, looked as though he’d been dragged there against his will. He held a cup of black coffee, untouched.
Jeeny, glowing in the morning light, was laughing — the kind of laugh that came from deep within the ribs and carried warmth like sunlight.

Between them, the quote hung like a bright balloon of optimism.

Jeeny: (grinning) “Richard Simmons once said, ‘Number one, like yourself. Number two, you have to eat healthy. And number three, you’ve got to squeeze your buns. That’s my formula.’”

Jack: (raising an eyebrow) “Squeeze your buns. Philosophical genius.”

Jeeny: (teasing) “Don’t mock! There’s wisdom under all that glitter.”

Host: The waves crashed in agreement, rhythmic and confident, while the sun spilled gold across the boardwalk.

Jack: “If Simmons is the new Socrates, then I’ve officially lost faith in humanity.”

Jeeny: “You’re missing the point, Jack. It’s not about the glitter — it’s about joy. The man took health, discipline, and self-love and made them fun. That’s harder than it sounds.”

Jack: “Fun is overrated. Most great things come from discomfort. You think the Stoics squeezed their buns?”

Jeeny: (laughs) “Maybe they should have. They’d have smiled more.”

Host: Jeeny leaned back, stretching her arms toward the sky as the morning light shimmered on her bracelets. Her eyes carried that calm conviction — the one that disarmed Jack every time.

Jeeny: “Think about it. Simmons’ formula is simple, but complete: Like yourself, eat well, and take care of your body. That’s philosophy wrapped in sequins.”

Jack: “Or self-help disguised as a workout video.”

Jeeny: “You’re impossible.”

Jack: “Real philosophy demands complexity. Socrates asked questions that tore the soul apart. Nietzsche stared into the abyss. Simmons tells you to ‘squeeze your buns.’”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s what the world needs more of — not abysses, but abs.”

Host: A group of joggers passed by, laughing, their sneakers thudding like a heartbeat on the pavement. The sound merged with the ocean — life in rhythm, movement in harmony.

Jack: “Alright, I’ll humor you. Explain to me why this glitter guru belongs in a philosophical conversation.”

Jeeny: “Because he understood something profound — self-love isn’t narcissism, it’s survival. You can’t fix the world if you hate yourself.”

Jack: (pausing) “That’s… not wrong.”

Jeeny: “See? Even cynics need cardio.”

Host: The wind picked up, tossing Jeeny’s hair across her face. She pushed it back, her tone softening.

Jeeny: “Jack, people spend lifetimes chasing validation. They build empires, seek fame, lose themselves — all because they don’t like who they see in the mirror. Simmons tried to heal that through movement. He wasn’t just teaching exercise; he was teaching forgiveness.”

Jack: “Forgiveness of what?”

Jeeny: “Of your own reflection. Of your failures. Of every part of you that you’ve tried to hide. That’s why he said ‘like yourself’ first. Everything else comes after.”

Host: The waves whispered, foaming and retreating — like the ocean agreeing with her.

Jack: “You think that’s all it takes? Self-acceptance, salads, and squats?”

Jeeny: “Not takes — starts. He wasn’t offering salvation. He was offering a beginning.”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “So, liking yourself is the architecture. Eating healthy is the maintenance. And… squeezing your buns?”

Jeeny: (laughs) “The celebration!”

Host: A brief silence followed, filled only by the crash of surf and the laughter of children chasing seagulls down the sand.

Jack: “You know, maybe you’re right. His formula’s ridiculous, but honest. Simple truths tend to outlive complex lies.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We spend so much time trying to look profound when all we really need is a reason to wake up smiling.”

Jack: “That’s dangerously optimistic.”

Jeeny: “No — that’s human.”

Host: The sun climbed higher, its warmth spreading across the sand, across their faces. A group of seniors in neon tracksuits began an impromptu stretch circle nearby, their laughter cutting through the noise of the world.

Jack: “You see that? They’re doing exactly what he preached. Liking themselves out loud.”

Jeeny: “That’s what Simmons gave people — permission to be joyful without apology.”

Jack: “Strange. He was like a clown and a prophet rolled into one.”

Jeeny: “That’s because he understood something most philosophers forget: wisdom doesn’t have to be solemn to be sacred.”

Host: The breeze softened, carrying the smell of the sea and sunscreen. Jack leaned back in his chair, the faintest smile cracking his usually guarded face.

Jack: “You know, Jeeny, for someone who quotes disco philosophers, you make a compelling case.”

Jeeny: “Because I listen to the spirit, not the sequins.”

Jack: (grinning) “And because you secretly want me to squeeze my buns.”

Jeeny: (laughing) “Only if it helps your enlightenment.”

Host: Their laughter spilled into the air, blending with the gulls’ cries and the music from the café. For a moment, philosophy didn’t need marble columns or ancient scrolls — just sunlight, humor, and two people remembering what it meant to feel alive.

Jeeny: “You know what I think, Jack? Simmons’ ‘formula’ is just an invitation — to be present in your own body, to feed yourself with kindness, and to celebrate being here.”

Jack: “To stop waiting for permission to enjoy life.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s the truest architecture of all — building joy out of the simplest proportions.”

Host:
The ocean glimmered like a sheet of diamonds. The joggers disappeared into the horizon, leaving footprints that the tide would soon erase.

Jack took a long sip of his now-cold coffee, looked at Jeeny, and said quietly —

Jack: “Maybe, just maybe… the world could use more people who teach philosophy through laughter.”

Jeeny: “And leg lifts.”

Host:
The wind carried their laughter away, bright as the sun itself, and for a fleeting moment, the beach felt like a temple — a cathedral of light, motion, and forgiveness.

And there, in the heart of all that joy, Richard Simmons’ ridiculous, radiant wisdom became clear:

That self-love is the root of strength,
that discipline can dance,
and that sometimes,
the soul’s deepest truth is found between a smile, a salad, and a squeeze.

Host:
The sea roared once more, endless and alive —
and Jack, the skeptic, finally smiled without irony.
Because in that moment, life itself felt perfectly, proportionally… fun.