Coaching • Culture • Character

The Standards Before the Sets

The Principles That Matter More Than Any Program

By Ashley Jones

Programs are tools. Standards determine what athletes do with them.

Inside This Article

Integrity  •   Maximum Effort  •   Never Become Comfortable  •   Standards and Culture  •   Trust the Process  •   Mastery  •   Recovery

Every coach wants the perfect program.

They spend hours debating exercises, arguing over percentages, and discussing velocity zones, cluster sets, French contrasts, and periodization models. Those things matter—I’ve devoted my career to studying and improving them.

But after more than three decades coaching professional rugby players around the world, I’ve come to one conclusion: programs don’t build champions. Standards do.

I’ve seen beautifully designed training plans fail because the athletes lacked discipline. I’ve also seen relatively simple programs produce extraordinary results because the people executing them possessed exceptional standards.

The longer I coach, the less interested I become in finding the next revolutionary training method, and the more interested I become in developing professional habits—because before an athlete can maximize a program, they must first become the kind of person who deserves one.

Character isn’t built on match day. It’s revealed there.

Character is built on Tuesday morning, when nobody is applauding. It’s built when you complete the final set with the same concentration as the first. It’s built when you return the weights after training, rather than leaving them for someone else. It’s built when you stretch, recover, eat properly, and go to bed early—despite nobody checking up on you.

Integrity isn’t something you switch on when coaches are present. It’s a habit. The best players I’ve coached have almost always been the best professionals. That’s rarely a coincidence.

One question I’ve often asked players after training is remarkably simple:

Only they know the answer. As coaches, we can monitor heart rate, GPS data, force plates, and bar speed—but none of those technologies can accurately measure intent. Intent is still the athlete’s responsibility. If you consistently leave the gym knowing you could have given more, you’re developing the habit of underperforming. Eventually, that habit appears on the field.

Success can be dangerous. The moment an athlete believes they’re strong enough, fast enough, or fit enough, improvement stops.

I’ve coached World Cup players who never lost the desire to improve. They were already among the best players on the planet, yet they still wanted better technique, greater speed, more strength, and higher work capacity. That’s why they stayed there.

Culture isn’t created by speeches. It’s created by behaviors that are repeated every day. One phrase I’ve used for years is simple:

If players consistently arrive late and nobody challenges them, lateness becomes acceptable. If poor technique is ignored, poor technique becomes the standard. If recovery is neglected, eventually everyone begins neglecting recovery.

Standards drift downward unless somebody deliberately raises them. Every player has a responsibility to contribute to that environment. Leadership isn’t a title—leadership is protecting the standard.

Athletes often ask why they’re doing a particular exercise. That’s a fair question, and as coaches, we should always be able to explain our reasoning. But once the rationale is understood, commitment becomes essential.

No program works if athletes continually modify it to suit their preferences. The exercises they enjoy are rarely the ones they need most. The squat isn’t always enjoyable. Repeated accelerations aren’t always enjoyable. Conditioning isn’t always enjoyable. They’re effective because they solve problems—not because they’re entertaining.

People occasionally tell me training is boring. Sometimes they’re right—more often, they’re simply not training with enough intent.

Heavy squats aren’t boring when every repetition demands total concentration. Olympic lifting isn’t boring when every movement requires precision. Sprint training isn’t boring when every effort is maximal. Intensity creates engagement. Half-hearted effort creates boredom.

Our profession has become obsessed with variation. Every month, there’s another exercise variation promising revolutionary results. The irony is that the athletes who become truly exceptional usually spend years mastering relatively ordinary movements:

Mastery has never been fashionable, because it isn’t exciting. It’s repetitive. It’s disciplined. It’s often boring. It’s also where excellence lives.

One of the easiest ways to identify future elite players is to observe how they behave before training begins:

Professionalism isn’t defined by your contract. It’s defined by your habits. The best professionals I’ve coached acted professionally long before anyone called them professionals.

High-performance environments demand honest conversations. If a player disagrees with something I’ve programmed, I want to hear it. We’ll discuss it. We’ll challenge each other.

What I don’t tolerate is complaining behind closed doors. Constructive disagreement improves performance; whispering criticism destroys culture. Strong teams communicate directly. Weak teams communicate indirectly.

One of the biggest misconceptions in sport is that training creates improvement. It doesn’t. Training creates fatigue. Recovery creates adaptation.

These aren’t optional extras. They’re the foundation that allows hard training to become meaningful. I’ve often used a simple analogy with players: if you want to perform like an Aston Martin, don’t treat your body like a Mitsubishi Mirage. Elite performance demands elite maintenance.

Over the years, I’ve become convinced that coaching has far less to do with sets and repetitions than most people imagine. Programs matter. Exercise selection matters. Loading matters. But they’re only tools.

The real work lies in creating an environment where high standards become normal and mediocrity becomes uncomfortable. That’s what separates good teams from great ones. The strongest athletes I’ve coached weren’t always the most talented—they were the most disciplined. The fastest weren’t always genetically gifted—they simply refused to lower their standards.

Long after athletes have forgotten the exact percentages they lifted or the conditioning sessions they completed, they’ll remember the standards that shaped them. And those standards—not the program—will continue to influence every part of their lives. Because strength and conditioning have never been just about building stronger athletes. At its best, it’s about building stronger people.

Recommended Equipment

Build the Environment. Protect the Standard.

The right equipment cannot replace intent, discipline, or coaching, but durable tools make it easier to build repeatable habits and hold athletes to a consistent standard.

About Ashley Jones

Ashley Jones is a strength and conditioning coach with more than 30 years in professional sport across seven countries. He is best known for his work in rugby at the club and international levels, including two Rugby World Cups with teams from both hemispheres. He was named NSCA Professional Coach of the Year in 2016 and received the NSCA Boyd Epley Lifetime Achievement Award in 2023. He is also a long-time Elitefts columnist.