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."

Without the Archive, those marginalia vanish. The experience of using P90X—not just watching clips on YouTube—would be lost. Streaming gives you the video. It does not give you the scratched-disc anxiety, the joy of trading worksheets, or the absurdity of a 2005 Excel schedule. As of 2025, physical media is all but dead. The Xbox Series X and PS5 offer disc-less editions. Cars no longer come with CD players. And yet, the P90X ISO files keep getting downloaded—thousands of times per year, according to Archive metrics.

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.