Strength Without Show: What Lifting Has Taught Me That Running Never Could

How running revealed my potential and lifting revealed my character

Most people who know me think of me as a runner. That makes sense. I run six to seven times a week, race regularly, and train with structure and intention. I have completed a lot of 10Ks since turning 50, and I take real pride in the consistency and discipline it takes to perform well in my age group. But what most people do not know is that I have spent even more time lifting weights. I have been under a barbell or a dumbbell for most of my adult life. And while I have never been naturally strong, lifting has taught me lessons that running, despite all its rewards, never fully could.

I got into lifting for the same reason a lot of people do. I wanted to attract the opposite sex. But I realized pretty early on that it is not big muscles that matter in that department. It is low body fat and being lean. No woman cares about what a guy can bench press. What kept me coming back to the gym was not vanity. It was the feeling I got from it. Lifting centered me. It made me feel more in control, more capable. And over time I realized it actually complemented my running. The strength work gave me durability. It gave me structure.

There is also a social aspect to the gym that does not get talked about enough. Getting in the sauna and talking to your gym friends after a good workout is the healthy version of being at the bar. The lights are low, people’s endorphins are activated, and guys are honest about their lives. We have a lot of laughs. It is one of the few places where men can be real with each other without posturing. That is part of what has kept me coming back all these years.

Running, on the other hand, surprised me. I did not truly discover my talent for it until after I turned 50. I wish I had known sooner. In high school I ran the 100 and 200 meters. I worked really hard but did not have the talent to have the success I wanted. I started on varsity, so I believed I was one of the fastest three guys out of a high school of two thousand students. But the truth is, if I had run the 400 and 800 meters instead, I had the potential to be a college athlete. Maybe not Division I, but certainly Division III. What I did not know then, and only found out decades later, is that I am not built to sprint. I am built for middle distance. I have the ability to hold a strong pace for a long time. That is what my genetics favor. That is what my mind seems to crave. I discovered this by accident, training to stay fit in middle age, and suddenly realizing that I was not just average, I was actually good at this.

The contrast between my running and lifting lives is part of what has made both so meaningful. Running feels public and visible. Races, watches, leaderboards, conversations about pace and distance. There is validation baked in. Lifting is none of that. Lifting is invisible to the outside world. No one knows how much you lifted that day or how many times you showed up when it would have been easier not to. That is what makes it so powerful.

I think most people underestimate what their bodies are capable of. At 48 I was out of shape, weighed 200 pounds on a slim frame at six feet tall, and had little energy. I was sluggish and tired most of the time. I made a decision to focus on both running and lifting, and over the course of two years, I lost 35 pounds and got down to around 10 percent body fat. My resting heart rate dropped into the thirties. It was not magic. It was consistency. It was showing up day after day, even when it was hard, even when no one saw it. I have maintained that for five years now. The maintenance is actually easy compared to what it takes to get there. Once you have built the machine, it wants to run. Now I look forward to both sessions because my body is trained. My system expects movement. That is the reward.

Both lifting and running are coping mechanisms for me, and I am honest with myself about that. They get the job done, but in a healthy way. I have even overtrained in the past, pushing too hard without understanding recovery. But I learned. Now I take recovery seriously. That means rest, nutrition, good sleep, massage, sauna, cold exposure, and listening to my body. The older I get, the more I understand that progress depends just as much on how you recover as how you train.

Running gave me clarity and confidence, a sense of flow I never expected. But lifting gave me character. It taught me to be steady. To do hard things without applause. To trust process over outcome. I will never be the strongest guy in the gym, and I am fine with that. The reward was never in the numbers. It was in the act of choosing to keep going.

Now, with both practices in my life, I see how much they have shaped me. Running showed me who I am. Lifting helped make me that person. And I am grateful for both.

If there is one thing I would say to anyone stuck in a rut or wondering what they are capable of, it is this. Test yourself. Try something hard and stay with it long enough to see it through. You will not regret the effort. The discipline, the structure, the confidence, and the peace that come from pushing your limits are worth it. Whether it is running, lifting, or something else entirely, the process has the power to transform your life. But you have to start. And you have to keep going

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