Same Calories, Less Adventure

Dogs are still living their ancestral life—no boutique fitness apps, no $8 protein shakes, no self-consciousness about what their “summer body” looks like. Just vibes, naps, and suspicious holes in the backyard.

Meanwhile, we humans have gotten so good at survival (hello, grocery delivery and central air) that we had to invent entire industries to trick ourselves into moving again. A hundred years ago, arms day was just... Monday, because survival was the workout—grind the wheat into flour, churn the butter, run from bears, and beat the dust out of the rug and quilts until our deltoids were sculpted like Terry Crews' pecs.

Sometime in the 20th century, we evolved and specialized to the point that we have something that would make our ancestors want to punch us in the throat: leisure time And yet, here we are—sitting pretty in front of as much as 21 square feet of 4K TV and we still dare to sigh, "There’s nothing on," as we scroll past 150,000-plus hours of shows and content no one asked for. And that's just from the big four: Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, and Apple TV.

In the 1960s, a coach in New Zealand told the world to "jog" for fitness, ostensibly because we hadn't been dragging deer carcasses through the snow while avoiding scavenging wolves for several decades. Just 60 years later, here we are—decked out in special clothes, buying treadmills and stationary bikes, and paying people $29.99 a month to yell "You got this!" through tiny screens. Meanwhile, our dogs lounge on the couch, and give us that now-you’re-just-embarrassing-yourself look.

If you’re cheap like me—and wise enough to realize movement doesn’t require an expensive subscription if you’d just get up and do it—you walk the dogs because you love them and it's a duty to their physiological well-being. In my 21st-century mind, “duty” is far more persuasive than “because it’s good for you” when it comes to me racking up 10,000 steps before dinner. Besides, my fur babies are basically dragging me along like personal trainers I don’t have to tip.

Walking three dogs at once is, often, less cardio and more like trying to knit a sweater with live ferrets—a chaotic tangle of start-stop, start-stop, sniffs, lunges, and Gordian leash knots that definitely qualify me for a Boy Scout merit badge.

Still, I envy them because dogs haven’t changed. We have. They still believe in chasing squirrels for the thrill, rolling in the mud for the spa treatment, and shaking off pond swims with a full-body turbo spin. If only I could fling water with the same gleeful abandon without having to call a chiropractor and check my deductible. I still have a sore neck when I forget to pack my special pillow that probably cost more than my great grandmother's whole bed. Ah, survival skills!

Maybe we could learn a thing or two from our pets. Less self-punishment, more joy in movement. Less app-tracking, more stick-chasing. For canine companions, the dog days aren't about sweating it out in some fluorescent-lit spin dungeon—they’re about lying belly-up on the cool tile floor, no agenda except dinner and investigating that thing that looks like a piece of Milk-Bone that landed within a paw's reach under the couch.

In the end, maybe they’re onto something: life’s better when you live for the simple pleasures and move for the joy of it—not because your smartwatch said so.

Dogs still run for the sheer joy of it—no mileage trackers, no heart rate monitors, no sponsored playlists blasting motivational slogans. They move because it feels good, then flop down for a nap without an ounce of guilt. And maybe that’s why they always look so content—they aren’t burdened by screens, notifications, or the pressure to optimize every moment.

Meanwhile, we have been scrolling, comparing, and chasing digital dopamine hits until we forget what real play even feels like. Dogs don’t need an app to tell them to get outside or a wellness guru reminding them to “be present.” They just are.

I’ve realized my own version of a digital detox isn’t really about turning off my phone—it’s about turning off my inner algorithm. That voice that insists I should be further along, thinner, more productive, and definitely drinking more water. I’m working on unfollowing her.