I was recently told, “You are way stronger than you present yourself as,” and that struck me. Before you ask, no. It wasn’t some self-help guru or motivational speaker. It was a dude on Instagram sending a message about a squat video.
A moment later, he asked if I competed.
It has been years since I have been in a meet. Those meets were fundraisers to support teenagers who are much stronger than me, not ranked competitions.
I’m a 37-year-old dude who just likes to lift heavy things at his local Genesis Health Club. And believe me, I am well aware there is no scout waiting to offer a middle-aged father of two a sponsorship to deadlift.
And maybe that’s why I love it. It’s only as deep as my squat depth. There’s no larger dream or career goal, just the weight on the bar.
Because sometimes we are trapped by our capabilities. Once you discover you can do something, you may believe you’re meant to do something, but that’s not the reality with weights.
I once heard someone say, “Just because you can hit your max doesn’t mean you hit it every day.”
And it makes sense with the gym. If you’re hitting a PR every other week, you’re either new to the gym or on gear. Your max demonstrates your capacity, not your calling. Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to want to increase that max. I’m not done chasing PRs.
The problem is I rarely leave the weights at the gym. Call me a meathead, but hear me out. In the gym, you add weight deliberately. It’s all part of the plan.
Life outside the gym rarely goes to plan. Weight tends to show up simply because you proved you could carry the last load and almost never in a neat linear progression.
I am good at a lot of things. In my experience, if I prove I can do more, more tends to arrive. Like I wrote last week: can quietly becomes should.
I choose heavy at least five days a week. I love the heavy, but I am beginning to question whether being able to do something obligates me to do more.
Because difficulty isn’t a problem. I put 415 pounds on my back for funsies. I willfully walk into the gym sore from the previous day with nothing but a Connor Price Pandora channel and 150-300 mg of caffeine. My left shoulder rivals that of Prince Vegeta.
But man, if there isn’t something addicting about seeing heavy numbers on your program—but in the right place.
A good program understands the distinction between choosing weight and adding a plate simply because you survived the last attempt. You don’t max every day. You push when it’s time to push. More often than not, you leave knowing you have reps in the tank.
That doesn’t make you weak. You knew what you were training for.
I’m starting to wonder whether I’ve given myself that same grace outside the gym.
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