Likely Normal

There’s something uniquely humiliating about being yelled at by a pre-programmed fitness instructor who can’t even sweat. I’ve been using these virtual training apps long enough to realize they’re not actually designed to help me – they exist to gaslight me into thinking I enjoy exercise. The way my AI trainer chirps “Great job!” when I collapse after three push-ups feels less like encouragement and more like a participation trophy for barely surviving. Not that I mind, because I probably wouldn’t exercise without them or my Dance Dance Revolution.

These digital drill sergeants have developed frighteningly human-like ways to manipulate us. They remember when I skip workouts (“We missed you yesterday!” – no we didn’t, Karen, you’re an algorithm), pretend to customize routines (oh wow, more squats, how innovative), and have the audacity to track my “progress” with charts that might as well be labeled “Pathetic to Slightly Less Pathetic.” The worst is when they try to motivate me by saying things like “Remember why you started!” – bitch, I started because the app store made it look easy.

What’s truly sinister is how they’ve weaponized rest periods. Thirty seconds isn’t enough time to recover – it’s just enough time to realize I’m paying for this abuse. And don’t get me started on the fake empathy. “I know this is challenging!” No you don’t, you heartless string of code. You’ve never felt the burn of lactic acid. Somewhere between the fake enthusiasm and the very real muscle soreness, these apps have convinced me this is what self-care looks like in 2024.