In 2006 I did an interview with a guy that was pretty new to the powerlifting scene named AJ Roberts. You may have heard of him. AJ asked me, "Do you hope powerlifting goes mainstream or stays an underground sport?" Being in my mid 20’s, my mind drifted to pouring champagne on groupies and spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on sports cars and shoes. Around eight years ago my wish came true.

Well, sort of. CrossFit emerged as the king of fitness-related sports, as it appealed to a much wider audience than powerlifting, weightlifting, bodybuilding, or strongman ever could. The floodgates opened and no longer was powerlifting a sport of massive, crazy guys shoving themselves into tiny bench shirts and squat suits. A new era emerged, with cute t-shirts, parted hair, colorful shoes, and donut socks. Powerlifting became trendy. With the large number of powerlifting converts came a competitor unlike anything we had ever seen. The amount of outliers and freaks increased dramatically, with guys doing near world record geared numbers raw and beautiful women doing numbers that seem impossible.

With all of this happening, maybe we should forget the old days of powerlifting, right? I mean, it was a bunch of cheaters shoving themselves in those stupid squat suits to squat high, right? Maybe, but there are some things that I think have been lost and maybe need to return to the sport.

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A long time ago, before Instagram, we competed for one reason. We competed because we loved the sport. The future looked bleak for most of us in those days. At every competition you would meet three or four old-timers that were holding on, barely. They looked like they had been hit by a bus on the way there. Most had suffered heart attacks, could barely move from a dozen surgeries, ate painkillers like candy, and competed because that’s all they knew. I think there was a certain poetry to that.

Most lifters today seem to be in their early 20’s and compete in three or four fitness-related activities. I’m sad to see people competing because the sport is trendy rather than because they love it. I’m sad to see people that are scared to trade their comfortable lives for pain and dysfunction for another chance on the platform. To me, that’s beautiful. That’s love. That’s human will at its most primal. Now I hear men say, "I don’t want to get too big" and I find it nauseating. Be a fucking powerlifter, not a runner who powerlifts and does yoga. Where the fuck is Billy Mimnaugh?

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I remember walking into Westside Barbell for the first time and looking at that board. It was like 13 years of hard work had finally paid off. I walked over when nobody was looking and used my finger in the chalk remnants to write my name at the bottom of the 242 slot, because that had been my goal from day one. I trained for seven years before I ever competed. I trained and ate with one singular purpose: to be the best 242-pound lifter that ever lived. None of us ever thought this was going to be easy. None of us had any thought this would be a quick journey to the top. The young guys were thinking 10 to 15 years in the future.

Back then, we also had to learn gear, so we knew that would mean an extra five to 10 years of work. Now I hear kids obsessing over trivial state records. This isn’t high school wrestling. There probably aren’t 500 guys your age in your weight class. In fact, there are probably more federations than lifters in your state. Think of each competition as a building block to a much bigger thing. If you’re getting injured in year two, it's not because you're tough; it’s because you’re fucking up. How do you expect to ever reach your peak? If you blew your shoulder off with 315, how do you think you will ever see 500 pounds? I’m telling you that this is going to be a long process. You need to think long-term and stop worrying about short-term bullshit. If you’ve been doing this for three years, you don’t deserve a sponsor, so shut the fuck up!

The thing I miss most about the old days is the rivalries. For me, it was Brian Carroll. We would seek each other out at competitions and leave it all on the platform. We would cut and gain to make sure that we were going to go head-to-head. At least once a year at the Pro/Am Brian and I would meet up, and it was two lions circling each other. I would hear in the lobby, "Did you see how big Brian is this year?" All I could think about all night was beating him.

I did a big competition a couple years back and I heard two big lifters discussing which one of them was going to cut so they could both break records. Are you fucking kidding me? I would have cut a leg off to make weight to compete against Brian, and I know he would have done the same. This is a fucking competition, not a Salvation Army for trophies. If your primary goal isn’t to compete against other lifters then please get the fuck out. When did this get so diluted? When did losing become so scary?

I made a point to not call this article "Then vs. Now" because it’s not a competition. The top guys today are light years ahead of where we were. Lifters today are far better trained with methods that are backed with actual science. I chose to leave gear and go raw in 2012 because I wanted to be part of the new generation and not be stuck in the past. However, I feel like the sport is missing some personality. I hope my message translates to some of the younger readers. I hope you guys realize that you deserve nothing and it will all be decided on the platform. Time will either make you great or destroy you — both, if you do this right.

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Greg Panora resides in Portland, Maine. He is a powerlifting coach out of CrossFit CacoBay, provides online coaching, and lectures around the country. His best totals include 2630 multi-ply, 2335 single-ply,  2102 raw (no wraps), and a 580-pound (bench only) bench press.

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