I Asked People About the Real Reasons Why They Post Their Workouts Online.
I run marathons. I write about marathons. But you won’t see my sweaty face mid-stride, my mile pace, or the ugly truth about what 26.2 miles does to your body. No photos of my form crumbling at mile 20, no documented new insecurities that arise when you realize your stride is asymmetrical or your breathing sounds like a dying dog. I share the accomplishments—a medal, a bib number, maybe a picturesque shot from the course—but I carefully monitor the messy reality.
Is this humility? Self-defense? Or am I simply bragging, with plausible deniability, about getting healthy but refusing to actually do it? After all, social media isn’t inherently a platform for bragging , not a bragging we all tacitly agree to support? So why does hitting the “Publish” button feel like walking a tightrope between inspiration and judgment, between pride and shame? And why am I so acutely aware that in 2025, as thinness regains momentum and the aesthetic ideal and fatphobia flood our feeds with renewed vigor , every fitness post finds itself in a minefield of interpretation? Social media may not be the “real world,” but when it comes to our mental health and how we perceive our bodies, it is a very real world—a world with real consequences.
I posted a survey on Instagram asking people about their attitudes toward sharing workouts and fitness content. The response was overwhelming: over a hundred responses – from fitness influencers building their brands to private accounts that rarely post, and everyone in between. People were enthusiastically discussing the topic, which suggests we’re all asking the same question: when does sharing information about your health journey become implementing it, and what do we lose in the translation?
The effectiveness of healthcare in social networks
“Social media didn’t create this—it merely amplified what already existed in fitness culture,” says Echo Wang , founder of Yoga Kawa. “It became a platform for attracting attention and selling one’s image, so it’s no surprise that health and fitness culture thrives there. People have always wanted to look a certain way, and social media made that public and permanent.”
The changes haven’t affected the pursuit of fitness, or even the vanity that sometimes drives it, so much as the volume and speed. Wang says what’s most concerning is “how expectations of body image are becoming increasingly inflated. The duality of social media is that you have access to endless knowledge and community, but at the same time, you’re drowning in comparisons and misinformation. The flood of conflicting advice keeps the industry afloat because everyone is looking for a quick fix or a magic formula.”
This feeling of being pulled in different directions was the main theme in my inbox. “I feel like I’m being pulled in a million different directions without my consent regarding what I should be doing to get the most out of my workouts,” says Polina Jewel. “I think about rep ranges, calorie deficits, and creatine, when the only way to feel better during workouts (read: be in your body) is to connect with myself, listen to what feels good, and use that information to improve.”
Even when you’re only talking to yourself, you’re internally fine-tuning the relationship between what you see in the mirror and what you feel in your body. Social media isn’t designed for such a delicate and complex balance. These platforms, designed for sharing information, have created such an overwhelming cacophony that the only solution is to disconnect and listen to your body.
The True Price of “Public Responsibility”
Ryan Nielsen summed up what many apparently felt when he said, “Being publicly accountable helped me get going right away, but it didn’t change my results. I think sometimes you have to trick yourself when developing a new program.”
Dr. Simon Fineboim , a psychiatrist at Neuro Wellness Spa, describes both sides of the public accountability equation: “By posting your workouts, you can feel like you have your own support group; likes, leaderboards, and achievement streaks make your efforts visible and provide quick social rewards. This kind of public accountability can help people be more consistent, especially if you value competition, enjoy friendly competition, or are motivated by seeing progress over time.”
But he quickly identifies a pitfall: “On the other hand, it’s easy to chase empty metrics like pace or step count at the expense of recovery and/or sleep. Constantly monitoring performance can trigger fitness anxiety, where the fear of looking slower, running less, cycling less, or lifting less pushes people to overtrain or only choose ‘good’ workouts.”
One Instagram response about step counting perfectly captured this anxiety about effectiveness: “I’ve been on a 10,000-step streak since last year. I regularly connect with friends online, so I’m determined to extend it to at least 365 days, but somewhere over the past few months, I started thinking less about staying in shape and more about reaching the goal, even when it’s probably time to take a break.” It would be remiss not to mention that walking 10,000 steps every day is nothing special . But the meaning of these goals gets lost in the rush to post about achieving them. And when the numbers inevitably fall short, people feel like failures. What began as an accountability tool has become an obligation, potentially to the detriment of the very health it was intended to promote.
Sarah Lebow also articulated this contradiction at the heart of the “social responsibility” defense. She says, “Most of what people do online is pseudoscientific wellness or a form of optimization that can only be described as an obsession with control that permeates every aspect of our lives, from work to dating. I want to exercise, not keep track of everything in this world. And yet, I weigh myself and then feel insecure because that’s just how life is.”
The illusion of lightness
If you’ve ever been shown a “revealing” photo of a fitness influencer, you’re probably not thrilled with your own body. But isn’t it inspiring? #BodyGoals, right?
Matthew Singer, a yoga teacher, says that most fitness workouts (fitness inspirations) “are as beneficial to fitness as winning lottery numbers are to winning millions. Fitness workouts cannot account for genetics, work and family circumstances, medical history, or any of the countless other factors that influence health.”
This brings us to a fundamental problem: fitness-inspired content presents results without context, and bodies without the invisible foundation that created them. Similarly, actor Sean O’Connor says, “We need to remember that everything captured by a phone or other device’s camera lens is relatively staged and fabricated, just as food ads never use real food.” O’Connor argues that the same mechanics apply to fitness influencers: “Even a selfie camera without additional filters or digital tricks is a lens that doesn’t exist in reality. Simply turning on the ring light illuminates your face in a way that would never naturally occur in real life.”
But it’s not just about angles and lighting. O’Connor describes the invisible infrastructure that makes the creation of desirable bodies possible: “All these public figures have teams of people who help them look effortless. They have nutritionists, personal chefs, personal trainers, state-of-the-art equipment at home, and some even have a PR team who help them cope with eating disorders, planning how to provide them with the bare minimum of nutrition necessary to maintain relative performance, like a warden in a forced labor camp.”
The class aspect is impossible to ignore: “These people don’t have to work, commute, rush through lunch, cook their own food, or take out lunches to avoid the ever-deteriorating quality of fast-food restaurants. There’s absolutely no reason to feel guilty about comparing themselves to the wealthy, who have every imaginable resource at their disposal.”
O’Connor redefines the essence of fitness: “Fitness isn’t about perfect looks, it’s about taking small steps toward achieving and maintaining longevity so you can live a long, healthy life. Anyone trying to sell you a quick fix is lying. Fitness is a marathon. And it takes a lot of frustratingly small steps to see what you want to see in the mirror. Don’t let the hype and hype of social media discourage you from making slow, steady progress. Your body will thank you. (And so will your bank account, because we live in a deeply stupid, propaganda-ridden society where the healthcare system operates like a casino.)”
Mason Boudry, who describes himself as “a man known for posting gratuitous thirst traps,” offers perhaps the most nuanced perspective on the pressures of online fitness. “I think the first thing to consider is how many men literally showing off their physiques online are using steroids/Tren/testosterone, etc.,” he says. “If you take that out of the equation, the next thing to consider is that for many, creating this content is a job, so they spend hours a day trying to achieve their desired results, which is completely impractical and unrealistic for most people.”
Boudry also describes the dark side of achieving the perfect craving trap: “Body dysmorphia, eating disorders, and exercise-induced bulimia.” The latter describes when “bulking” is actually binge eating, and “cutting” is unhealthy restriction. “This is certainly true for me, and I know it’s common, even if people don’t recognize that obsessive tracking and strict adherence to dieting can qualify as an eating disorder.”
But even with such self-reflection, Boudry acknowledges the psychological toll: “I have bad days where I beat myself up for not exercising, and that sometimes turns into resentment and resentment at the idea that people feel entitled to my body. It can all seem disingenuous, considering my naked body is being liked and shared thousands of times right now. There are so many layers and layers to it.” When you feel pressured to constantly achieve perfection—something even you can’t handle—it’s natural to feel ashamed on the days when you just can’t keep up.
This is much more than just metrics.
Trust me: fitness is a boring, gradual, and uninteresting endeavor that happens entirely outside of social media. The result of fitness—ring-lit selfies, carefully toned muscles, the perfect angle—has virtually no connection to the actual practice of maintaining a healthy body over the long term. And it doesn’t get likes.
Instead, another recurring theme was the observation that social media fitness culture is almost completely disconnected from real-life health. Particularly when it comes to viral fitness content, the demand for perfect aesthetics reaches absurd levels. “The desire to go viral drives these influencers to go to extreme lengths,” says Andrew Barlow. “On the male side, I see extreme workouts, including one guy doing incline crunches using an actual bench. On the female side, it’s hypersexualized, and their target audience doesn’t even seem to be women striving for fitness. Both of these issues are clearly problems with our culture as a whole, but they’re exacerbated by algorithms and the pursuit of likes.”
Echo Wang describes this disconnect in terms of what’s being lost: “From a health perspective, it’s this constant chatter that causes anxiety and burnout. The pressure to prove you’re ‘healthy enough,’ ‘fit enough,’ or ‘disciplined enough’ is exhausting. When everything revolves around data, validation, and aesthetics, you lose touch with your body.” This applies to both aesthetically-focused apps like Instagram and ostensibly fitness-focused apps like Strava and its rankings. Because by posting my runs on Strava, I’m hiding all my data—I’m too shy to admit how mediocre a runner I am, and I know plenty of runners who share my shameful privacy. So if you’re not perfect, why post anything at all?
Who is this performance really for?
Perhaps the most revealing question: what audience are fitness posts aimed at? The answers reveal that even the authors themselves aren’t always confident in their judgments.
Claire Lower, a former Lifehacker contributor and powerlifting enthusiast, offers a perspective rooted in a genuine love of her sport: “I love lifting weights; I look forward to it. I go to the gym whether I post or not. It has nothing to do with accountability—that’s why I pay my coach. Posting is a good way to document yourself and track your progress. But if you watch any video of a woman powerlifting, a man is bound to comment on her technique; I don’t want to reach a wider audience.” Here, posting serves a documentary function—a kind of digital training diary—but Lower intentionally limits her audience to avoid the unwanted feedback and mansplaining that plague women in online fitness communities. Good for you!
Chika takes a different approach, posting strategically, with a distinctly political undertone: “I intentionally post heavy weights because it’s really important to me that people see women lifting over 200 pounds, especially now that weight loss is on the rise. Of course, health/fitness is very low on my online presence, and part of that is probably because I don’t have the typical ‘fitness girl’ figure. So, I’m afraid that if I post workouts regularly, people will think I’m on a ‘fitness journey’ rather than just doing what I do.” Plus, I know firsthand that Chika is right when she says fitness content is “guaranteed to get a good response, so I often do that intentionally when I want to promote something else on my Story.”
For others, the audience becomes an unwanted source of anxiety. Shenuk Tissera says, “I think fitness for health is really great advertising, but much of the content and results of online fitness leave me feeling uneasy. I now feel a bit obligated to exercise for online content, even though I started exercising for my own needs and health. And while I didn’t previously judge myself for my body’s regular fluctuations, I find myself talking about it in a much more negative way, which is amplified by social media.”
Maya Almogi succinctly describes the comparison trap: “When I see other people’s posts, it all serves as a reminder that I personally didn’t run today. Even if I did run that day and saw a post about someone else running more? Now I’m haunted by a feeling of inadequacy.”
The Fatphobia Factor
The resurgence of thinness as a beauty ideal has become a particularly troubling topic. Jo Wilde expresses the cognitive dissonance experienced by many: “I’ve recently seen a resurgence of fatphobia, which is perceived as something ‘cool,’ which really disgusts me, and frankly, I feel ashamed to deliberately change my body. I worry that the reason I want to be strong is because I secretly want to be thin, and I don’t want people to know it. At the same time, I can’t fit into my favorite pants anymore, so maybe I’m only working out in the hope that one day the button will close again. But I don’t go to the gym or dance on social media because I don’t like to think I’m contributing to a ‘health craze’ that’s really just fatphobia in disguise.”
This represents a new level of anxiety, not only about whether you’re fit enough, but also about whether your pursuit of fitness is making you complicit in a larger cultural problem. It’s performance anxiety, linked to fitness itself.
Alex Phipps, a fitness instructor, shared an interesting perspective on online classes: “People who don’t usually exercise or don’t enjoy them have become much more involved than they used to be in person, and many of them have told me they can’t do anything else because they’re afraid of being perceived as rude by other fitness enthusiasts. But online, they feel free to try and really push themselves. I’ve always been motivated by the idea of strength, not thinness, and that’s what I try to cultivate in my students.”
This suggests that for some, digital spaces actually offer greater freedom from judgment than physical gyms – though this is ironic given the anxiety others feel about posting workouts online.
Finding balance
Fineboim offers practical advice on how to navigate this situation: “The best solution is to periodically hide or downplay the numbers that bother you, share them selectively, set goals you can control, think long-term about progress, and post about rest days and achievements as often as you feel comfortable. Ultimately, use the crowd’s support and let the numbers follow your body’s needs, not the other way around.”
But one of my favorite quotes comes from Dorian DeBose, who posts about his fitness achievements as part of his adult content: “I think the vast majority of people are happy to see you try. They understand it’s a process and accept your imperfections. I project my insecurities onto them. It’s like shadowboxing for me.” In other words, much of the fear of posting fitness content isn’t about what the audience actually thinks. It’s about what we fear they will think, and that oftentimes, it’s just a projection of our harshest self-judgments.
The main message of these responses is that fitness culture on social media exists in a state of productive tension: it can inspire and support, but it can also easily provoke comparison, anxiety, and alienation.
The question isn’t whether to publish or not, but whether we can find a way to engage with these platforms so that they focus on our real bodies and health, rather than health metrics for an audience that may be more imaginary than real.
And maybe it all starts with you posting your sweaty face after all. Or not posting at all. Or posting only on days when it feels more like record-keeping than achievement. The answer, however frustrating or liberating it may seem, is that there’s no consensus on how to post. Like posting photos of your kids, or your political views, or that perfectly timed gym selfie you sneaked in the locker room: it’s your choice. There’s the personal physical experience, and then there’s how we present it to a wider audience. It’s a constant negotiation, and you need to be honest with yourself if you’re getting a raw deal.