Thanks to your help I’ve found 50 of the most annoying ‘inspirational’ fitness quotes of all time and I’ve included them all here along with my snarks for your displeasure.
P.S I’ve had some bitchy emails that this shit is offensive to some people. To ensure you aren’t gonna be offended by the rest of this article have a look at the image below. If you’re offended by this go and look at some happy people with muscles.
You know that old saying?
You haven’t thrown a stroppy bitch fit? Then here we go!
Especially useful advice when you’re tackling major roads at rush hour.
No you aren’t! You’re standing there taking a picture of your fucking feet!
…That awkward moment where you’re running a marathon in the former Yugoslavia and you stumble across an unexploded land mine…
Ever seen coverage of the Syrian Civil War where a group of civilians are hopelessly sprinting away from a heavily armed militia?
Well technically a road is a reason to run. Especially if it’s a fucking beautiful road with no potholes. From what I understand some crazy runners actually run on trails, grass, sand and dead bodies as well.
Good luck running into that tornado fuckhead. Try to keep your cool when it sweeps you off your feet. Once you’re back home you’ll have set some new interesting Strava records.
If you’re running to find yourself, you’re in the wrong fucking sport. All you’ll find is more roads and more annoying cunts. To find yourself go to a gym and stare in the mirror for 13 hours. There you are. There are your muscles. Aren’t you sexy? Doesn’t it feel good? Yeah that’s you. You’re a sexy boy. You’re a sexy girl. Fuck yeah. You were lost. Now you are found. You’ve got a friend in YOU.
Unless you’re an ultra marathon runner and you’ve just realised you’ve been running the wrong way for 28 fucking miles.
Run whilst you’re still half asleep and enjoy explaining to the police why you were running down the highway with no clothes on.
Newsflash – you can say ‘I did it. I gave up’ and experience the best of both worlds. That’s the beauty of this shit we call English. It’s like Lego that you shit out of your mouth.
Not exactly the best advice if you’re running through somewhere like Baltimore.
The person you’re talking about doesn’t run because you’re a joyless, defensive, passive aggressive cunt and they’d anything to NOT be like you.
Ever noticed how most runners have voices in their head telling them to stop, smile and/or run faster/slower/happier? That’s because most runners are fucked up and mistake running for actual real fucking therapy. It’s not.
Is this a motivational poster or a death threat?!?!
In other news, cats that are 8 foot tall are the exact same height as 8 foot tall dogs.
So you’re telling me that if I exercise strenuously I will avoid death altogether? How far do I have to run to achieve immorality? Do I have to mainline kale into my cock? If I get the old foam roller out to iron my balls, will I still be around when Keith Richards finally dies?
Remember all of those people who took shitloads of acid and then jumped off the roof of a skyscraper thinking they could fly?
Sore is the most satisfying type of pain? What other fucking types of pain are there? Sexy pain? Actually ignore that. This is neither the time or the place to discuss that shit.
I don’t understand. Is there where most professional athletes store their crystal meth? Better get on the phone to the Russians to find out.
To be fair, this is one that you can apply if you’re struggling on the toilet. Just don’t push so hard that you have to wind your small intestine back into the casing of your ass.
If there is no finishing line to a race that means the race is infinite. In order to prepare for an infinitely long race you will need to run 24 hours a day for the rest of your life. This is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard in my life.
You haven’t thought this through. Let’s say you go out at sunrise for a run and you pass people on their way to work. What are they gonna think when they hear non-stop screaming coming from your calories? They’ll rightly think you’ve got a new job as the village sex offender.
No-one is talking behind your back. You’re off your tits on steroids and totally fucking paranoid.
I didn’t like what I was seeing in the mirror, so I went to Ikea and bought a new one. My reflection still has the same old wonky head with the resting bitch face.
Always fucking exercise even if your legs have turned gangrene and are about to fall off. With the power of psychic positivity you will be able to grow new legs like Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump.
This quote inspired me to go shoplifting for the first time ever last year.
Magic? Not quite. Sweat is great if your wish is to be labelled a smelly bastard in the office and to be told to fuck off home and shower by your boss.
I don’t eat to reward myself. I eat to try to make the emptiness go away but it never fucking works. Besides, how do you know I’m not at least part dog? When I withdraw money from the ATM I get this crazy urge to bark “Thank you” like Scooby Doo, especially when people are behind me.
You might want to ignore this advice if you run around a coastal area with lots of open and exposed cliffs.
What if you’re Adolf Hitler and the best possible version of yourself is still an angry shit-cunt art student who defecates openly in the street? Sometimes you have to aim a little bit higher. Especially when you’re a bit of a cunt.
What does this even fucking mean? And what happens if you push yourself so hard on the gym floor that you end up crawling around the hospital looking for your prolapsed liver beneath the beds? NURSE!
Oh yes it does. You’re obviously not complaining hard enough. You might want to try combining complaining with shadow boxing and jumping up and down on the spot.
That awkward moment when you’re drunk and off your tits on donkey tranquillisers.
Yes. Push yourself until you’re dead! That’s the spirit! You do know that your weekly mileage will soar once you gain your fucking angel wings, don’t you?
What if everyone thinks you’re a cunt including yourself? Who are you meant to believe?
Why the fuck would I care about lapping people on a couch? Who are these cunts anyway and why should I give a fuck what they are doing? I’ve been lapping them seemingly for forever and they haven’t even had the good grace to introduce themselves. Plus comparing yourself positively to the sedentary isn’t exactly helpful is it?
You know what you’ve got to do when your boss tells you to stop shitting in the drinking water fountain.
The Manson family were both dedicated and obsessed. Jeffrey Dahmer had dedication too. And he was obsessed with bottling body parts. What I’m trying to say is FUCK THIS STUPID FUCKING QUOTE. People call you obsessed because you won’t stop fucking talking about your shitty training. Change the fucking channel.
This doesn’t even make sense. You only wear black at funerals if you respect someone or something. If you hate your fat you should be wearing a Hawaiian shirt, a fake moustache and be singing the fucking Macarena as it melts and dies.
Would you stop anthropomorphising fat for fuck’s sake? Fat doesn’t give a shit about you. It’s the cunts who make fun of your fat who are the real problem. Find out where they live and throw a fucking bomb through their window.
What if you’re an ugly bastard before you start your workout and you’re still one afterward? Does that count? Are you suggesting attractive people should roll around in shit and smash their faces in with masonry just to make your shitty quote make any sense at all?
Jim Fixx maybe didn’t have the time to say it out loud..
Does this include alcohol, crystal meth, masturbating in public and invading furry conventions in full Nazi regalia?
This was the ultimatum your Mother gave me last April when I turned up at her house with a severe case of the Whiskey dick.
I think you’re talking about dementia here. A run begins once…you start running.
Good for them. Maybe I’ll accidentally crash into them in my car when I’m pulling out of a Dunkin’ Donuts on my way to work.
Or maybe pain is your body’s way of telling you to back off a little bit otherwise you might get injured. If pain is weakness leaving the body then those who suffer from chronic pain must be the strongest Motherfuckers on the planet. If that’s the case why don’t you ever see them competing in The World’s Strongest Man?
Yes! Only workout and lose weight to appease the shallow bastards who made fun of you when you were a fatty.
“But Miss! My tits have fallen off from all the exercise and I’m not even a lady!”
To the best of my knowledge we don’t live in our bodies. We aren’t fucking snails. If we lived in our bodies then there wouldn’t be a fucking homelessness problem.