I looked up to the magazine writers when I first entered this field. Those names were the voices of strength, the people I saw on competition stages or in gym photos with bars bending across their backs. I believed every word they wrote.
Later, I discovered most of those articles weren’t written by the lifters. They were ghostwritten, polished, and often had little to do with what the best strength or physique athletes were actually doing.
That realization frustrated me and shaped what I wanted elitefts to stand for in its early days. I wanted the truth to come straight from the source. That’s why we built the original Q&A section with direct words from real lifters, coaches, and athletes. No middleman, no editor twisting context. Just unfiltered experience.
Ironically, not long after that, I began writing for some of the same magazines I had once read, as well as for websites. That’s when I learned something that changed my view again. One editor told me, “I don’t care if you write it on a napkin, I’ll turn it into an article.” And they did. When I saw the finished version, I realized it wasn’t far from what I’d written, just cleaned up and presented better.
That moment made me rethink a lot.
Yes, some of the old information was incorrect, but not all of it. Those early works had value, even if they were imperfect. They also made me realize how the world of information has always had gatekeepers, editors, publishers, and, later, website owners like me.
In the early 2000s, I became one of those gatekeepers with elitefts. I didn’t want just anyone writing for the site. I wanted truly “elite” people, not just in numbers, but in knowledge, experience, and integrity. I wanted to make sure they had something tangible to give. We made mistakes along the way, but most of those voices helped shape an entire generation of lifters and coaches.
Then social media changed everything. The gatekeeper era exploded overnight. Suddenly, anyone could post, teach, or claim expertise. It pissed me off at first. It would drown out the quality information we’d worked so hard to protect. But over time, I realized it also gave a voice to people who would never’ve been heard otherwise, lifters, coaches, and thinkers with incredible insights who didn’t fit into the old model.
That’s when my view shifted again. The more voices there are, the better, as long as the audience learns to be their gatekeepers. Because the responsibility for filtering truth no longer sits with the editors, it now sits with the readers, the lifters, the students. They have to decide who’s worth listening to — and more importantly, when to listen.
There are stages to all this.
When you’re young, you think the goal is to get bigger, stronger, and do everything at once. You can get away with it because you recover faster and bounce back from bad decisions. That’s part of the process. You need those mistakes because firsthand experience is the best kind of education.
Older lifters used to tell me the stuff I was doing was stupid. Looking back, they were right. But I don’t think I could’ve understood that without going through it myself. That’s the Catch-22 wisdom can be offered, but humility can’t be taught. You only earn it when life forces you to slow down and look back.
Now that I’m on the other side of it, I can see it all clearer: the things I did, the things I said, the advice I gave, and where I could’ve done better.
I often prioritize strength over health. I thought pain meant progress, and I paid for it later.
The lesson?
Better health builds better strength. Longevity doesn’t replace performance; it enhances it.
The challenge is knowing when to pass that on and when to let someone else learn the hard way. Because sometimes the best lesson isn’t what you tell someone; it’s what you let them experience.
