I read Samuel Medina’s review in #40 (“Muscle Worship”) with pleasure. From what I know anecdotally, historical fascism was not so obsessed with body fitness as it was with physical courage. The fascist man acts without thinking; rational calculations are for pip-squeaks. A punch in the face is the final fascist argument.
My grandfather, to keep his job as a civil servant in my hometown in Italy, every Saturday afternoon had to attend il sabato fascista, where all functionaries, wearing a black shirt and boots, had to jump into a circle of fire, like lions in a circus.
