If you grew up in the U.S. before 2013, you probably remember the Presidential Fitness Test.

Whether it was racing classmates in the shuttle run, wheezing through a mile in the heat or trying to touch your toes during the sit-and-reach, it was a rite of passage in American schools — and for many, an annual mix of dread, sweat and sticker-based validation.

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Now, more than a decade after it was phased out, the test is coming back. President Donald Trump officially reinstated it earlier this month, framing the move as a return to national strength and discipline.

The announcement came alongside a rebooted Presidential Fitness Council stacked with athletes and sports celebrities — all part of a promise to get American kids moving again. The council includes pro golfer Bryson DeChambeau, along with others who’ve attracted controversy such as former New York Giants linebacker Lawrence Taylor, a registered sex offender.

For some, the test brings back memories of being singled out, embarrassed or publicly compared to classmates. Experts are now asking whether this kind of one-size-fits-all testing actually promotes healthy habits or if it reinforces outdated ideas about performance, punishment and what it means to be “fit.”

“As a fitness professional with over eight years of experience, my first reaction to the news was: ‘Wow, read the room, Mr. President,’” Bianca Russo, a movement coach and Level 2 GOATA Recode Specialist, said.

“From what I’ve seen and heard over the years, the Presidential Fitness Test has rarely, if ever, benefited the majority,” she said. “Sure, a small group of kids who enjoy competition and have natural physical ability may have liked it. But for most, it was damaging.”

But even in its heyday, the program had critics. Many pointed out that it focused more on elite performance than on participation or progress. The rigid benchmarks didn’t account for students with disabilities or those who struggled with coordination, speed or strength. And over time, educators began to question whether the test actually encouraged fitness or just made kids feel bad about their bodies.

“Children thrive when they’re raised to love movement in environments that meet them where they’re at: spaces rooted in joy, curiosity and play,” Russo said. “But this kind of testing promotes shame, low self-esteem and a lifelong avoidance of physical activity when they inevitably fail.”

By 2012, under the Obama administration, the test was quietly phased out, and was replaced by the Presidential Youth Fitness Program, a more inclusive and evidence-based model that emphasized personal progress instead of ranking students by percentile.

“The update to the program was a step in the right direction,” Katie Gould, founder of KG Strong, a strength and movement studio, told HuffPost. “It emphasized personal progress and health over raw performance metrics. In my coaching practice, I’ve found that when people, especially kids, track their own improvements and feel celebrated for effort rather than perfection, they’re much more likely to stay engaged and build lifelong habits. That’s the kind of motivation we want to cultivate.”

Now, with the original test set to return, which includes a one-mile run, sit-ups, push-ups or pull-ups, a shuttle run and a sit-and-reach test, the question isn’t just whether kids can pass it, it’s whether the values it was built on — competition, uniformity and measurable toughness — still make sense in 2025.

“Education focusing on daily movement and regular exercise is the best way to teach children about creating healthy, lifelong habits,” Dr. Bobby Mukkamala, President of the American Medical Association, said. “Movement should be integrated into daily life through recess, classroom breaks and extracurricular activities. Parents should encourage their children to get outdoors, take the stairs and make healthy food choices.”

“What kids need isn’t forced competition,” she said. “It’s cooperative games. Nature walks. Recess that’s actually fun. I remember getting whistled at and scolded at recess for doing the very sort of play that would condition us for such a fitness test. Make it make sense!”

Gould adds that while the decline in youth fitness is real and concerning, returning to a punitive model isn’t the answer.

“I don’t want to minimize the very real decline in physical fitness among American children. It’s a major concern, and I do think we need to implement a variety of approaches to help students feel more motivated to move, play and eat more real food,” she said. “That said, I just don’t see a return to the original Presidential Fitness Program as the solve.”

Instead, she believes schools should broaden the definition of movement and offer more flexible, engaging options, Gould said, and at the core of it all, fitness education should be about empowerment, not performance.

“Fitness shouldn’t be about separating the strong from the weak,” she said. “It should be about helping people of all ages feel stronger and more capable in their own lives. I hope that whatever version of fitness education we move toward in schools reflects that — and supports teachers in delivering it with compassion, context and fun.”

While experts and educators debate the test’s return, the strongest reactions may be coming from those who actually lived through it.

For many former students, the announcement stirred a wave of visceral memories, and though the experiences vary widely, one thing is clear: The Presidential Fitness Test left a lasting impression.

“The test was the worst day of the school year for me,” Benjamin Teague, 37, told HuffPost. “Only one or two people actually looked forward to it, and the rest of us dreaded it. It was a waste of time and in no way made me want to get more active or try harder in gym class. It felt like a day to just body shame everyone who wasn’t a star athlete.”

Jason Alexander, 31, agreed. “I absolutely dreaded that test, and I remember our teacher would never tell us when it was, so we’d just show up one day and have to run a mile, sometimes in jeans. It was truly traumatizing for some of my classmates. I remember going to lunch after and just having to sit in my sweat.”

He adds, “But honestly, it was no real test of fitness. I’m in the best shape of my life now and probably couldn’t pass that test. I’d love to see every single politician try it.”

For others, it wasn’t just the surprise or the sweat — it was the structure of the test itself that felt wrong.

Jenny Chapin, 40, now a barre teacher, still shudders when she thinks about one particular version. “At one point we got rid of the mile and started doing the pacer — basically running sprints back and forth in the gym to the sound of a beep that got faster and faster. If you missed the beep, you were out. The beeping still haunts me,” she said. “I was not a runner, and to fail out in front of your entire class was so embarrassing. Absolutely traumatized by the pacer — but I was incredible at the sit-and-reach and trunk lift. It makes sense I became a barre teacher.”

Other former students recall feeling confused not just by how the test was run, but by what it was supposed to accomplish.

“I went to a lot of different schools, all over the country, multiple on military bases,” Jessica Versaw, 36, told HuffPost. “I can never remember the test being taken seriously or explained as anything more than a box to check. I don’t remember anyone ever saying what the results meant or why we were doing it.”

What she wishes she had instead was actual education about her body and nurturing her own fitness goals: “Curriculum that could help me later in life, like how to set fitness goals, proper running form, exposure to strength training, or even just the concept that fitness is something you can improve over time. These ‘tests’ just showed who was already good at them. They did nothing to support long-term health or help most kids build a better relationship with movement.”

Eric Taylor, 39, said he would try to skip school every year when he suspected the test was going to take place. “As a kid who grew up overweight, I was already embarrassed in gym class to begin with, and this test just made it so much worse. Nothing about it promoted health or fitness. It felt like one big public shaming.”

Sarah Rasby, who now works in wellness, echoed that disconnect, and said the test left lasting emotional impacts. “It felt pointless and stupid, especially because the same boy always did the best, and I’m not flexible by nature,” she said.

Now, 42, she sees it through an even more critical lens. “I find it ableist because children have varying abilities — especially kids with disabilities, connective tissue disorders like Ehlers-Danlos or those on the autism spectrum. So many kids were either forced to participate or excluded outright, and that sends a really damaging message. Basically: If you can’t do this well, you aren’t good enough.”