Why Seeking Pleasure Makes You Less Happy—Understanding the Exercise Pleasure Paradox

Kris Simpson at Bodies by Design

An eerie silence enveloped the room as I unscrewed the lid of my container filled with hard-boiled eggs. Students turned around, their expressions transforming into looks of disgust. The familiar, noxious sulphur stench, a haunting reminder of my peculiar eating habits, permeated the air like an unwelcome ghost. My food was my constant companion, but on this day, it had drawn not just the ire of my classmates but also that of the professor.

Her piercing gaze cut through me like a dagger as the foul aroma slithered up the front of the classroom, branding me as the source of this odious smell. It felt as if I wore a neon sign proclaiming my guilt: the bulging Tupperware on my desk—a monument to my defiance—where my books should have been. Clearly, it wasn’t difficult for her to deduce the origin of the chaos: a bodybuilder with his daily dose of protein, to the dismay of everyone around him.

The pungent smell filled the room, and her face contorted in disgust as she confronted me, her voice tinged with indignation. “You’re breaking the rules by eating in here!” she declared, her eyes blazing with authority. I shot back, keeping my composure amidst the rising tension, “I’m diabetic! If I don’t eat every few hours, I could face a medical emergency!” My heart raced at the lie—there was no medical urgency, but the urge to devour my eggs felt as if my very life depended on it. After all, bodybuilders can be utterly obsessive, and in that moment, I was prepared to spin any tale necessary to satisfy my daily protein target.

From the moment I arrived at school that day, a wave of nausea came in waves, making it a monumental struggle to choke down my breakfast of eggs. Still, I had no qualms about fumigating the room and annoying the students and my professor. This was a typical Monday, or leg day, which meant I would hit the gym after school and willingly load a few hundred pounds on my back, squat down, and rise with great difficulty, all while watching my face turn into a cherry-red tomato, looking like it was going to burst.

Meanwhile, my training partner would shout in my ear, “One more!” What an asshole: the hallmarks of a great training partner. It wasn’t the eggs that were making me feel nauseous; it was the nervous excitement of what was going to be a barbarous workout later that day.

It never got any easier; in fact, when it did, it only meant my friend would add more weight to the bar, making it even more challenging. So yes, I was dreading Monday because I was willingly going to subject myself to one of the most brutal leg workouts, and if I got through it without throwing up, it would be a miracle.

Years later, I was rewarded for my Monday and every other day of the week sacrifices by earning the title of Mr. Canada in the light-heavyweight division. I was well admired by friends, family, and many onlookers, but I knew their admiration originated from a place of bewilderment. Why was I so driven to live one of the most challenging lifestyles, one of punishing training and dog-hungry dieting?

This is a question I wouldn’t have dared to ask myself while competing, as self-awareness might have jolted me out of my delirium, hindering my achievements. But now, happily retired from bodybuilding—not sporting a dad bod—I'm still training and managing my diet more humanely and sustainably. I can now take a different perspective on the counter-intuitiveness of weight training and exercise.

Here’s the situation: we voluntarily pick up a barbell; knowing that we have challenged the bar to a contest, it has become our opposition; our goal is to, naturally, win. Yet, logically speaking, there is no winning against a weighted barbell. No matter how strong we are, regardless of our stamina, the bar always wins and we have to accept defeat. This is unlike any other athletic challenge where you face an adversary and sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose.

Even mountain climbers, who confront an immovable object, can measure success by reaching the peak. However, in weight training, or any resistance-based exercise, each match begins with the victor predetermined.

Yet this doesn’t dampen our motivation; we return time and again, refusing to give in. We endure searing pain, sometimes feeling as though our muscles might tear right off the bone, persevering under the burden of immense weight.

And what about the aftermath, filled with achingly stiff muscles? Climbing a set of stairs feels like a mountain trek, and putting on our clothes becomes so challenging that we resort to wearing our gym gear full-time. Still, we compete in rematch after rematch, with our scorecard forever showing no wins.

So, is this just a form of mainstream masochism? Well, based on the Oxford Dictionary definition—the tendency to derive pleasure from one's own pain or humiliation—minus the sexual aspect, it certainly sounds like it.

Let’s state the obvious; many have not embraced this masochistic trend that began in the early 1900s. According to the CDC 2020 National Health Interview Survey, only about 24.2% of adults aged 18 and older meet the Physical Activity Guidelines for both aerobic and muscle-strengthening activities, which include regular weightlifting. So not everyone is borderline insane. So what are the other 75.8% of Americans doing for fun?

Well, if they aren’t seeking pain, then they must be seeking pleasure.

This is entirely rational as we are naturally gratification-seeking beings; our cognition and physiology are well adapted to seek out things that activate the pleasure and reward systems within us.

Due to this, we all possess hedonistic tendencies, which involve the pursuit of self-indulgence. However, here’s the catch: when we chase those "boy, that feels great, let’s do it again” experiences, we find ourselves on what is termed the “hedonic treadmill." This treadmill isn’t something you’ll find at the gym; rather, it describes a phenomenon known as the “Pleasure Paradox."

The pleasure paradox, also referred to as the paradox of hedonism, suggests that the direct and conscious pursuit of pleasure can ironically result in less pleasure and happiness, as focusing on pleasure may interfere with the experience of it.

In the quest for instant gratification, we may wish to forfeit our struggle, be unwilling to make sacrifices, and not want to endure discomfort; instead, we may desire everything immediately and at no cost.

I don’t believe that reality, on this planet anyway, has ever supported this assertion. This is something we teach our children at an early age so they don’t have to learn it the hard way when they’re adults.

Many philosophers and spiritual teachers have proclaimed over the years that suffering is essential for growth, fulfillment, and enlightenment if you’re one of the fortunate ones.

Paradoxically, those who don’t suffer voluntarily are more likely to feel unhappy, unfulfilled, and resentful towards the world, never experiencing enough, or the right kind, of pleasure in their pursuits.

Even though we have mechanisms built in to seek instant satiation, we weren’t designed to sit around while others serve us food and entertain us. For most of us, this would consist of Uber Eats and endless scrolling on TikTok.

However, it is still a decadence and quite a contrast from our humble cave-dwelling beginnings, where entertainment involved campfire rituals, consisting of singing, dancing, and role-playing, while we toiled, hunted, and cooked our food ourselves.

There is also a connection between the pleasure paradox and substance, sex, and gambling addictions, as these can help us bypass the time, energy, and effort required to achieve the pleasurable feelings we crave.

It’s a quick shortcut, but, like many responsibilities we avoid, there are consequences for our actions, and our neglect eventually catches up with us. I’ve taken this path straight to a dead end, so I consider myself an expert on this topic. This is an ironic twist, as one wouldn’t expect someone who has spent most of his adult life in a gym to also have had such terrible hidden habits, but it allows me to speak on this topic with conviction.

My credo is that we are built for adventure, the struggle, and to pursue a goal that seems impossible, trudging (walking with purpose) towards that lofty destination that we will never reach but gain much wisdom in the journey.

It may seem like a preposterous suggestion to set a goal that is unachievable, but doing so allows us to tap into our true potential. Otherwise, there may still be gas in the tank when we reach the end of the road and pass into the next dimension.

It’s in the breaking down of our bodies and minds that we become renewed and resilient. As we endure the pain of struggle, we’re able to find gratitude in the simple and be happy with less instead of endlessly craving more.

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All INCLUSIVE DIET—Finding Balance

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