THE TOUGHEST LIFTS
After a recent deload week, I had some time to reflect on the question I'm asked more than almost any other:
"What's the hardest thing you've ever lifted?"
The answer is never straightforward.
I've carried an 80kg railway sleeper over three days during the Commando Temple Dreadnought. I've walked 100 metres with 100kg in each hand. I've picked up awkward natural stones that once felt impossible, zerchered a car, and lifted over 380kg on Dinnie handles.
They're all brutally hard in different ways.
But if you're reading this as someone who's new to training, or someone who's looked at videos like these and thought, "There's absolutely no way I could ever do that," then here's the important bit:
None of those lifts are where the real work happened.
Nobody Starts With the Impossible
When people see a heavy lift, they often assume the person doing it is naturally gifted, fearless, or simply stronger than everyone else.
The reality is much less glamorous.
Every one of those lifts was built on years of learning how my body moves, what it's good at, where it's weak, and how to improve those weaknesses without losing my strengths.
My physicality isn't particularly special. There are countless people who are naturally bigger, stronger, faster and more athletic than I am.
What I've become reasonably good at is understanding my own body.
I know what type of training I respond well to.
I know when to push and when to back off.
I know how to make small improvements over a long period of time.
That's what allows me to do things that once felt completely out of reach.
Fundamentals Beat Fancy Every Time
People often want the exciting stuff.
Atlas stones.
Farmer's walks.
Natural stones.
Odd objects.
The truth is, those are simply expressions of strength.
The strength itself comes from far less exciting things.
Moving well.
Building resilience.
Learning to brace.
Getting stronger through full ranges of motion.
Improving work capacity.
Being patient enough to let those things accumulate.
Without those foundations, the impressive lifts simply don't happen.
Every "Impossible" Lift Started as a Failure
One of my favourite examples is Delilah—a 183kg natural stone.
The first time I tried to lift it, it didn't move.
Not even slightly.
The 180kg Husafell bag was much the same.
At the time, they genuinely felt impossible.
Now they're lifts I've repeated multiple times.
The difference wasn't magic.
It wasn't genetics suddenly kicking in.
It was simply spending enough time building the qualities those lifts demanded.
That's true whether you're aiming to deadlift 300kg or simply pick your child up without your back hurting.
Your Challenge Doesn't Have to Look Like Mine
One of the biggest mistakes people make is comparing their beginning to somebody else's middle.
Your hardest lift might not be an 80kg railway sleeper.
It might be your first press-up.
Your first pull-up.
Walking into the gym after ten years away.
Getting out of pain.
All of those deserve exactly the same respect.
Difficulty is relative.
The feeling of overcoming something you once couldn't do is universal.
My Job Isn't to Make You Lift Cars
People often assume coaching is about programming bigger numbers.
For me, it's about helping people achieve things they currently don't believe are possible.
Sometimes that's someone's first bodyweight squat without pain.
Sometimes it's their first deadlift.
Sometimes it's qualifying for Strongman competitions or carrying awkward objects they've dreamt of lifting for years.
The principle is always the same.
Build solid foundations.
Understand what your body responds to.
Create a challenge that's just beyond your current ability.
Then work methodically until it isn't beyond your grasp anymore.
Because that's where confidence comes from—not motivation, but evidence.
If you're looking for someone to help you bridge that gap between what you can do today and what you never thought you'd be capable of, that's exactly what I love doing.
You don't need to start where I am.
You just need to start where you are.