“Every generation thinks they were the hardest — and every next generation proves them wrong.”
Observation:
The numbers change, but every generation thinks the last was weaker.
Expansion:
“Every generation thinks they were the hardest — and every next generation proves them wrong.”
The numbers change, but every generation thinks the last was weaker. Powerlifting, strongman, bodybuilding — it’s all the same story. Records fall, nostalgia rises. People forget context: gear changes, judging changes, training evolves. The objective standard isn’t the number on the bar — it’s the effort behind it. Every lifter who truly pushes their limit belongs to the same lineage, whether it’s 1985 or 2025.
The truth is, every generation believes they had it tougher. The older crew will tell you, “Back in our day, it was real lifting,” and the new generation will say, “We’re stronger, faster, and more scientific than you ever were.”
They’re both right and wrong — because the conditions may change, but the struggle doesn’t.
When I came up, the gear was different, the benches were different, and the bars were bent more. The rules varied depending on the federation. We didn’t have the same recovery tools, nutrition, or knowledge people have now, but we also didn’t have the same distractions.
We trained because that’s what you did — there wasn’t a camera in the corner or a phone recording your PR. The only validation came from the people in your gym. You earned respect by what you did on the platform, not by what you posted online.
Now, lifters have access to information we never dreamed of — from programming science to real-time feedback through tech.
They better understand recovery, nutrition, biomechanics, and injury prevention. But that doesn’t make it easier — it just makes it different.
The pressure now comes from visibility. You’re not just competing on the platform; you’re competing for attention. Every lift is compared, commented on, and scrutinized.
The mental weight is heavier than most realize.
So which generation had it harder?
All of them — in their own way.
That’s why it isn’t brilliant to pit one era against another.
Raw versus geared. Multiply versus classic—old school versus new school.
None of it matters as much as the work behind it. Every generation had lifters who cut corners — and lifters who lived and breathed the craft. Every era had its legends, its posers, its grinders, and its ghosts.
The equipment, judging, and platforms may evolve, but effort doesn’t. The feeling of walking up to a heavy barbell — that split second between doubt and belief — is universal. Whether it’s a 405 deadlift or a 1,000-pound squat, the fear, focus, and will it takes are the same.
I’ve seen lifters from the ‘80s still grinding today, and I’ve seen kids in their twenties doing things we couldn’t even imagine. The lineage connects them. Every record broken doesn’t erase the past — it extends it. Every generation owes something to the one before it, whether they realize it or not.
That’s what I wish more people understood. When you strip away the gear, the hashtags, and the tribalism, we’re all chasing the same thing: our limit. And the people who genuinely love this — the ones who show up decade after decade — know that the objective standard of strength isn’t written in kilograms or pounds.
It’s written in consistency, in intent, and in the willingness to do what others won’t
.So the next time someone says “it’s not like it used to be,” remember — that’s what the last generation said too.
And someday, you’ll say it yourself.
