Consider the metadata. One archived file includes the original DVD menu’s "Play All" feature. Another preserves the FBI warning screen that used to play before every workout. There’s even a scanned PDF of the P90X "Calendar" with handwritten notes from someone named "Dave" in 2009: "Day 3: threw up. Day 30: seeing ribs. Day 60: new girlfriend. Day 90: brought it."
Thanks to the Internet Archive, he’s right. The digital ghost of P90X will outlive us all—pushing up, pulling down, and muttering "I hate pushups, I hate pushups" in an infinite, preservable loop. internet archive p90x
The problem was the medium. DVDs, by the late 2000s, were already dying. Laptop manufacturers were dropping optical drives. Kids were watching YouTube, not swapping discs. Owning P90X meant owning a physical shrine: a cardboard box holding 12 fragile silver discs. And discs scratch. Discs get lost. Discs get left at an ex’s apartment. Consider the metadata