People need to have clear goals about why they are exercising

Host: The gym was closing for the night. The air was thick with the scent of iron, chalk, and sweat — the perfume of ambition. The last of the treadmills had stopped, and the only sound left was the faint hum of a ceiling fan and the clink of a barbell being re-racked. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, harsh and white, casting long shadows across the mirrors.

Jack sat on a bench, his towel slung around his neck, his body tired but restless. Jeeny leaned against the wall by the stretching mats, her hair tied up, her water bottle half-empty. They were the last two left — as usual.

Jack looked up, breaking the silence.

Jack: “Lynn Davies said, ‘People need to have clear goals about why they are exercising, and they should consult a fitness expert to find out what kind of exercise is suitable.’”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Clear goals. Imagine that. Everyone’s chasing something — but no one really knows what.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s why they chase. It’s the movement that keeps them alive, not the destination.”

Host: Her voice was soft, but it cut through the heavy air. The mirror beside her reflected her face — calm, centered — the kind of stillness earned, not inherited.

Jack: “You really believe that? That motion alone is enough?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes. But not always. I think what she meant is that exercise isn’t just about movement — it’s about direction. Without it, you’re just running in circles and calling it progress.”

Host: He leaned forward, elbows on knees, the sweat on his arms catching the light.

Jack: “That’s life too, isn’t it? Everyone lifting emotional weights without knowing which muscle they’re trying to build.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You can’t train what you don’t name.”

Host: Her words hung there, heavy and luminous.

Jack: “You sound like a therapist.”

Jeeny: “Or a trainer.” She smiled faintly. “They’re not that different. Both ask you why you’re doing what hurts.”

Host: A single overhead light flickered again, buzzing softly. The world outside the gym had gone quiet — only the hum of machines and the faint echo of effort remained.

Jack: “You know what I realized about the gym? It’s full of people trying to rewrite their stories with their bodies. As if a better shape could erase old pain.”

Jeeny: “And maybe it can — a little. The body remembers what the mind tries to forget. Sweat’s just the body’s way of letting go.”

Jack: “Letting go of what?”

Jeeny: “The ghosts of yesterday’s decisions.”

Host: He laughed, but it wasn’t mocking. It was tired — the kind of laugh people give when they recognize something true and uncomfortable.

Jack: “You really think working out is that deep?”

Jeeny: “It is when you stop doing it to punish yourself.”

Host: The hum of the fan slowed as the power cycled down. The silence that followed was almost holy.

Jack: “You know, I used to go to the gym just to feel in control. Counting reps, tracking calories, logging miles — like I could measure my worth in numbers.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: “Now I just want to feel present. Strong, not perfect.”

Jeeny: “Then you finally understand what she meant — clear goals. It’s not about appearance; it’s about awareness.”

Host: She walked toward him, picking up a dumbbell from the floor, turning it over in her hands like a question.

Jeeny: “You see, exercise is supposed to align your body with your intention. But most people move without meaning — they’re chasing images, not health.”

Jack: “So you think it’s all vanity?”

Jeeny: “No. It’s fear. Fear of stillness. Fear of not being enough when the body stops moving.”

Host: The mirror caught both their reflections — him seated, her standing, both looking tired but alive, two different kinds of strength sharing the same room.

Jack: “You ever think it’s strange how we train the body but ignore the mind?”

Jeeny: “We don’t ignore it. We just hide it behind the body because it’s easier to see muscles than meaning.”

Jack: “You’re saying every treadmill’s a confession booth.”

Jeeny: “For some people, yes. Every drop of sweat says something they can’t.”

Host: He smiled, looking down at the floor.

Jack: “You ever get tired of being this philosophical?”

Jeeny: “Only when I’m lifting heavy.”

Host: They both laughed — quietly, easily. The sound softened the hard edges of the room.

Jack: “So if we took Davies literally — clear goals, consult an expert — what would she say about us?”

Jeeny: “She’d say you’re overtraining your doubt and underworking your trust.”

Jack: “And you?”

Jeeny: “She’d say I forget to rest.”

Host: The gym lights dimmed further, their reflections fading from the mirrored wall. Outside, through the glass doors, the streetlights glowed faintly on wet asphalt.

Jack: “You know, maybe she’s right. Maybe the real discipline isn’t in the reps — it’s in the reflection.”

Jeeny: “That’s where all the real transformations happen. Inside first, then out.”

Host: He stood, slinging the towel over his shoulder. The weight of fatigue seemed lighter now, replaced by something gentler — resolve, maybe.

Jack: “You ever think the gym’s just a metaphor for life?”

Jeeny: “Of course. You push, you fail, you rest, you grow. The form doesn’t matter — only the reason you keep showing up.”

Host: She bent down, picked up the dumbbell again, and placed it gently back on the rack. Her reflection looked straight into his — not challenging, just steady.

Jeeny: “So what’s your goal now?”

Jack: “To stop lifting things that don’t belong to me.”

Jeeny: “Good start.”

Host: The automatic lights began to shut off one by one, each click echoing softly in the growing darkness. The last one above the mirror flickered for a moment, then steadied.

Jack turned toward the door. Jeeny followed.

Jack: “You think she meant fitness experts or life experts?”

Jeeny: “Both. But maybe they’re the same thing — people who remind you not to break yourself trying to be stronger.”

Host: They stepped out into the night, the door closing behind them with a soft metallic sigh. The city breathed around them — cool, damp, alive.

And as they walked beneath the streetlights, their shadows moved in rhythm, silent and sure — like two hearts learning to pace themselves.

In the glass of the gym’s darkened window, their reflections lingered for a moment —
stronger, yes —
but also clearer.

Because maybe, as Lynn Davies meant all along, the point of exercise — and of life — was never just to move,
but to understand why you move at all.