Z Physique Journal • Volume 3, Issue 2 • September 15, 2026
Somewhere along the way, we got very good at giving movement a purpose.
We go for a walk to get our steps. We lift weights to become stronger. We ride a bike because it’s good cardio. We stretch because we’re supposed to work on flexibility. Even when we’re doing something we enjoy, there’s often a little part of us keeping score. How far did we go? How long were we out there? Did we work hard enough? Did it count?
I’m certainly not against any of that. I’ve spent a lot of years helping people exercise with a purpose, and there is real value in knowing what you’re working toward. Goals can give us direction. A good program can help us make progress. Tracking something occasionally can even show us improvements we might otherwise miss.
But lately I’ve been wondering when movement became something that always needed to accomplish something. I don’t remember thinking that way as a kid.
I don’t remember getting on my bike because I needed thirty minutes of cardiovascular exercise. I got on my bike because I wanted to go somewhere—or sometimes because I had absolutely nowhere to go. Nobody had to explain the health benefits of running around outside. We threw things, chased things, climbed things, jumped over things and occasionally did things that, looking back now as a parent, probably should have concerned the adults responsible for us.
None of it needed to count.
Movement wasn’t something separate from whatever else we were doing. It was simply part of the day. We weren’t exercising and then returning to life. We were moving because life happened to involve movement.
Of course, adulthood changes that. We have responsibilities, schedules and considerably more awareness of what can happen when we land incorrectly. I have no desire to recreate every physical decision I made when I was twelve, and I’m fairly certain my body would object if I tried.
But I wonder if we changed in another way too. Maybe we didn’t just become more responsible about how we move. Maybe we became more serious about why we’re allowed to move at all.
There are plenty of understandable reasons for that. Our lives get busy, so it makes sense that we want the things we make time for to have a purpose. If we have thirty minutes to exercise, we want those thirty minutes to matter. If we’re trying to become stronger, healthier or more capable, we want to know that what we’re doing is helping us get there.
The strange part is how easily that thinking can follow us into almost every kind of movement.
A walk isn’t just a walk anymore. It becomes three thousand steps. A bike ride becomes cardio. Working in the yard becomes a way to burn calories. Even playing with our kids or grandkids can earn a little mental checkmark because at least we were active.
We become very good at translating movement into something useful. And once we’re used to doing that, it’s pretty easy to start deciding which movement isn’t useful enough.
A ten-minute walk might not feel worth doing because we don’t have time for thirty. An easy workout can feel somehow less legitimate than a hard one. We can spend an afternoon moving around, carrying things, climbing stairs and doing all sorts of ordinary physical tasks, then say we didn’t do anything that day because we never officially exercised.
I’ve heard versions of that thinking many times as a trainer, and I’ve probably been guilty of it myself.
There’s almost an invisible line we draw between movement that counts and movement that doesn’t. I think that’s where play has a hard time getting through. Play isn’t especially interested in efficiency. It doesn’t always have a progression plan. It may not improve from one week to the next, and sometimes the entire point is trying something you aren’t particularly good at.
That’s very different from the way many of us learn to approach fitness as adults.
We want to know the rules. We want to know what we’re supposed to do, how many times we’re supposed to do it and what we’re supposed to get from it. Then, naturally, we want to know whether we’re doing it well enough.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to improve. But when every movement becomes something we can evaluate, movement can start feeling a little like a test.
Was I fast enough? Strong enough? Coordinated enough? Did I do enough?
And maybe the most revealing question of all:
Did it count?
Play asks something different.
Not, Was I good at this?
More like, What happens if I try this?
That question leaves a lot more room for being a beginner.
I think that’s something adults can become uncomfortable with. We spend much of our lives becoming competent. We learn how to do our jobs. We figure out our routines. We know how to get through the grocery store efficiently, navigate our neighborhoods and handle most of the ordinary things the day asks of us.
There’s a certain comfort in knowing what we’re doing.
Then try something unfamiliar with your body and suddenly that competence can disappear pretty quickly.
Move your feet through a pattern you’ve never tried. Toss something with the hand you don’t normally use. Learn a new dance step. Try to follow someone else’s coordination drill. There can be a brief moment when your brain understands perfectly well what is supposed to happen and your body apparently has other plans.
I find those moments interesting.
Not because struggling with something is automatically good for us, and certainly not because we need to make ourselves look ridiculous in the name of fitness.
It’s because the question changes.
Instead of asking how well we’re performing, we can become curious about what we’re learning.
Maybe the first attempt is awkward. The second one might be awkward too. Then something begins to make a little more sense. Your feet find the pattern. Your balance adjusts. You stop thinking quite so hard about every part of the movement.
You haven’t necessarily accomplished anything impressive. You’ve simply figured something out. There’s a satisfaction in that which feels different from adding weight to a lift or improving a time. There’s no reason those accomplishments can’t coexist, but they don’t feel quite the same.
One is progress we can measure. The other is discovery.
And I wonder if discovery is part of what gets lost when movement becomes too serious.
Children are allowed to explore movement without already knowing what they’re doing. Adults tend to want instructions first.
Maybe that’s why play can feel uncomfortable at first. It asks us to participate before we know whether we’re going to be any good at it.
But I don’t think playfulness requires us to behave like children.
It certainly doesn’t require climbing the nearest tree, jumping off something questionable or attempting to prove that we can still do everything we did twenty or thirty years ago. Knowing our bodies, respecting our limitations and making sensible decisions aren’t signs that we’ve stopped playing. They’re signs that we’ve lived long enough to hopefully make a few better choices.
Play can be much smaller than that. It can be tossing a ball around without keeping score. Taking a different route on a walk because you haven’t been that way before. Trying a movement because it looks interesting. Moving to music in your kitchen when nobody is grading the technique. Playing with a child or grandchild and letting them decide what the rules are, which is usually when you discover that the rules are surprisingly flexible.
It might be as simple as allowing movement to be enjoyable before asking whether it’s productive.
That’s an unusual order for adults.
We tend to want the benefit first.
Tell me why this matters. Tell me what it improves. Tell me how much I should do.
And if we’re not careful, we can do the same thing with play. We can take something spontaneous and immediately turn it into another wellness prescription.
Three sets of fun. Ten repetitions of curiosity. Rest sixty seconds between moments of joy.
I’m not sure we need to optimize it quite that much.
There are legitimate reasons to train with structure. I believe in them. Strength doesn’t build itself simply because we’re having a nice time. Improving fitness often requires consistency, progression and some willingness to do things that aren’t particularly entertaining.
But perhaps structure doesn’t need to occupy every corner of our relationship with movement.
There can still be room for something that doesn’t have a target attached to it. Something we’re allowed to do badly. Something we don’t record. Something we might never become better at. Something we do simply because, for a few minutes, we wanted to see what would happen.
I think that’s the part I’ve been coming back to.
We spend a lot of time talking about maintaining our ability to move as we get older. We want to stay strong enough to carry things, balanced enough to trust our footing and fit enough to keep doing the things that matter to us. Those are good reasons to exercise, and I don’t expect I’ll stop talking about them anytime soon.
But staying comfortable with movement may involve something else too.
Maybe it’s not only about preserving what our bodies can do.
Maybe it’s also about preserving our willingness to use them without always needing a reason.
That’s different from telling ourselves we should play more. The moment play becomes another item on the list of things we’re supposed to do for our health, we’ve probably made it more complicated than it needs to be.
I don’t think we need another obligation.
Maybe we need a little more permission. Permission to take the walk that isn’t long enough to qualify as a workout. To throw the ball even though nobody is keeping score. To try the movement we’re not very good at. To laugh when our feet don’t do what we thought we told them to do. To move sometimes without asking what we’re getting in return.
None of that makes structured exercise less important. If anything, I think the two can support each other. Training gives us strength, endurance, balance and confidence that we can carry into the rest of our lives.
But the rest of our lives are where we get to decide what to do with those things.
Maybe some of that strength gets used carrying groceries.
Maybe some of that endurance gets used on a long day.
Maybe some of that balance helps when the ground isn’t quite where we expected it to be.
And maybe, every once in a while, we use some of it for absolutely no practical reason at all.
Just because something looked fun.
When we were children, nobody had to give us permission to move that way.
Somewhere along the way, perhaps we started waiting for a reason.
I’m not sure we ever needed one.
Continue the Conversation
Think about the kinds of movement you enjoyed before you started deciding whether they counted as exercise. What did you do simply because it was fun, interesting, or worth trying? And is there a small version of that kind of movement that still has a place in your life today?
Research Perspective
Research on adult playfulness is still developing, but it offers an interesting perspective on the idea explored in this Journal. A 2018 study found small-to-moderate positive associations between adult playfulness and measures of activity, selected health behaviors, and aspects of physical fitness. The researchers were careful to note that the cross-sectional findings do not establish cause and effect. Read the study in Frontiers in Psychology.
More recent research has continued examining playfulness in adult wellbeing. A 2026 qualitative study of highly playful experiences reported themes including positive emotion, stress reduction, social bonding, and subjective learning. Read the 2026 Frontiers study.
Your Next Step
This week, leave a little room for movement that does not need to accomplish anything. Take the shorter walk. Toss a ball around. Try an unfamiliar movement. Put on some music. Choose something appropriate for your body and circumstances, and resist the urge to turn it into another goal. The point is not to become better at play. It is simply to remember that movement is allowed to be enjoyable.
Healthy Lifestyle Starter Guide
If you are working on building healthier habits that fit real life, the free Healthy Lifestyle Starter Guide offers a practical 35-page workbook with self-assessments, action plans, habit trackers, reflection exercises, and simple strategies for building consistency.
Continue Exploring
Between the Milestones — A Journal reflection on how healthy habits support the ordinary moments that make up our lives.
Movement Confidence: Why It Matters More Than Perfection — A practical look at how strength, balance, stability, and repeated experience can help us trust our bodies.
Online Fitness Memberships — Explore Z Physique options for follow-along workouts, structured programs, education, and ongoing support.
From the Editor
I spend a lot of time thinking about how to help people move with more purpose. Writing this Journal reminded me that purpose does not have to be attached to every movement we make. Sometimes strength gives us the ability to do something useful. Sometimes it gives us the freedom to do something simply because we enjoy it. I think there is room for both.
— Evan
