There was a time when that question was my entire identity.
When I was younger, that’s what mattered. Not how far I could run, not whether I could touch my toes, not whether I could do a single pull up. The bench press. That number was who I was. If you’d asked me to sum myself up as an athlete, I’d have given you a weight, and I’d have said it with my chest out.
I hear the high school kids talking about it now — comparing numbers, chasing that one lift, wearing it like a badge — and I laugh to myself. Not at them. I was them. I know exactly where their heads are, because mine was in the same place, and I remember how much it mattered.
And then, almost every time, my brain does this thing I can’t help anymore.
Yeah — but how much can you squat?
How much can you power clean?
You got some pull ups too?
The thing nobody told me back then
I didn’t know what I was missing, because I was measuring myself with one ruler.
A big bench is a great thing to have. I’m not knocking it. But it’s one thing. And I built a whole identity on that one thing while a hundred other capacities of my body sat completely untouched. I could push a bar off my chest and I couldn’t have run a mile to save my life. I could load up a bench and I couldn’t have squatted to depth or held myself over a pull up bar for more than a second.
I thought I was strong. What I actually was, was strong at one thing and blind to everything else.
The part that still gets me
Here’s what I think is genuinely cool about what we do now, and it’s a feeling I never got chasing a single number: we get to be good at so many different things.
Strong off the floor. Able to keep going when the workout gets long. Able to move our own bodyweight around — pull ourselves up, hold ourselves up, get up and down off the ground without thinking about it. Able to move fast, move heavy, move for a long time, and pick the right one for the moment. Balance, coordination, stamina, power, speed, accuracy, flexibility — real, trainable things, and we get to chip away at all of them.
That’s not a consolation prize for people who can’t specialize. That’s a richer way to be strong. When you’re good at a bunch of things, life stops catching you off guard. The heavy thing, the long thing, the awkward thing, the fast thing — you’ve got a little bit of an answer for all of it.
The kid version of me would’ve told you he was strong. The version of me now is capable, and it’s not close.
Why this is the whole point
This is why the question at our gym is never just “how much do you lift.” It’s how well do you move, how many different things can you do, and are you a little more well-rounded this year than you were last year.
That’s fitness for life. Because life doesn’t only ask you to bench. Life asks you to carry, to climb, to catch yourself, to get down on the floor with your kids and get back up, to go all day. The person who trained one lift for a decade isn’t ready for most of that. The person who trained a little bit of everything is ready for almost all of it.
So to the kids talking about their bench in the weight room — enjoy it. Chase the number. There’s nothing wrong with being proud of getting strong.
Just know there’s a whole world out there past that one lift, and it’s a lot more fun than you’d think.
Because eventually, if you’re lucky, someone’s going to catch you mid-brag and ask you the questions that actually matter.
Yeah — but how much can you squat?
How’s that power clean look?
And be honest with me… you got some pull-ups too?
See you at the gym,
Coach Joe
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