Every time I saddle up on the Schwinn Airdyne for my daily hour of self-inflicted cardio torment, I don’t just ride—I perform. My mission? Burn 720 calories in 60 minutes. My method? A particularly deranged form of mental gamification I call Suffering-as-Spectacle Syndrome—the belief that my private workout is being broadcast live to a breathless nation, complete with commentary by Jim McKay and Howard Cosell.
In my mind’s eye, the camera pans across a roaring stadium. A chyron flashes: “BREAKING: McMahon Must Hit 700 Calories to Avert National Crisis.” Jim McKay, with his signature gravitas, informs viewers that if I fail to meet my target, the U.S. economy will spiral into recession, gas prices will surge to $14 a gallon, and toilet paper will vanish from store shelves once again. The stakes are ludicrous. And completely imaginary. But they work.
By the 50-minute mark, drenched in sweat and gritting my teeth through lactic-acid hell, I’m at 600 calories. McKay’s voice echoes through the fantasy ether: “Ladies and gentlemen, we may just be in the clear. Barring catastrophic collapse, Mr. McMahon appears poised to save the republic.”
And I believe him. For that final, lung-shredding stretch, I’m not just pedaling a stationary bike in my garage. I’m anchoring Western civilization.
This isn’t just exercise. It’s an endorphin-fueled psychodrama. It’s Rocky Balboa meets CNN breaking news. And yes, it’s completely unhinged—but so is trying to extract meaning from a piece of cardio equipment designed to make you question every life choice you’ve ever made.
Cinemorphosis 
Leave a comment