#5. What Failure Taught that Success Never Did

At some point in my 40s, my experience of failing to lift a weight began to change. I remember that the squat bar felt heavier one day. The strange thing was that the weight hadn’t changed. I missed the lift; I got down to the bottom position but couldn’t lift the bar back up. Twenty-five years ago, that would have ruined my workout. These days, I understand that failure is simply part of the program.

My injuries, pain and limitations had become turning points. When my efforts didn’t produce the expected outcome, I experienced frustration and denial as I tried to “work around” rather than listen.

The same became true in my career, relationships and personal expectations. My second marriage became rocky, my relationship with my daughter became strained. Instead of going through what I needed to face, I tried to go around it. And, as you probably know, that never works.

Failure not only changed my approach in the weight room; it forced me to look more deeply at myself and my relationships. Following the breakdown of my second marriage, I recognized that the consistent factor in my unsuccessful relationships was myself. I began counseling to look at my issues. I tried to be more present for my adult daughter and nurtured friendships that I had taken for granted. I became a better son and brother. I tried to be more compassionate to my students and athletes.

Failure helped me clarify what matters vs. what impresses. It spurred me to focus on discipline vs. my ego, and I began to look at consistency vs. intensity. I came to understand that while success builds confidence, failure builds discernment. And, at this stage of life, discernment outperforms bravado.

Where Faith Entered the Conversation

Faith didn’t arrive as certainty. It emerged through limits. My physical limits when training forced me to consider the wonderful way in which our bodies were designed. I became a better trainer/coach/teacher because of this.

Exploring my emotional limits forced me to understand others struggles. I still had conflicts, but I began to accept that not every interaction was about me. I tried to remind myself-and still do-that I never could know what people were going through unless I made the effort to find out. As I learned about God’s grace, I became more able to extend grace to others.

Faith also taught me to realize the limits of what I could control. In fitness, we often operate from the assumption that we are in control of what happens to our body and spirit. And don’t get me wrong: I absolutely believe that fitness is transformative. But my own experience with injuries and physical limitations, along with seeing my friends and clients’ struggles, helped me understand these things.

Faith is not a replacement for effort. It is a recalibration of responsibility. And because of this, training becomes stewardship, not conquest.

Redefining Strength/Failure

At 75, strength and failure look different but no less demanding. Strength is adaptability, patience and the willingness to regress. Failure is reframed not as punishment or proof of inadequacy. It is simply information. We don’t choose failure, but we do choose how to train with it.

Don’t waste your setbacks. Let them redefine you, not harden you. God never wastes a hurt, and neither should we. The most faithful training partners are often the ones we didn’t invite. Failure taught me what success never needed to.