Pav’s Journey: How Failure Forged Progress

When Pav first walked into the gym, I saw it instantly—he could be a solid Olympic weightlifter. The raw potential was there. But here’s the thing: I see that in a lot of people.

What really matters? Who’s willing to do the work.

So we started. First day on the snatch, 30kg on the bar. He pulled, dropped under… and wiped out completely.

No surprise. Everyone eats the floor at some point in weightlifting. But I looked at him, completely certain of what was coming.

“Very soon, you’ll be hitting 70kg.”

He laughed. Scoffed. “Yeah, whatever mate.”

Little did he know, he was in for one hell of a journey.

Confidence vs. Control

Pav wasn’t the type to hesitate. Some lifters get timid as the bar gets heavier—he didn’t. He attacked his lifts, moved fast, and trusted himself.

But confidence without control? That’s a dangerous thing.

I told him to slow down on the weight increases. To build his foundation. To trust the process.

But like so many lifters eager to prove themselves, he pushed forward. And because his technique wasn’t bad, I let it slide.

Big mistake.

One session, 55kg was on the bar. He pulled, but his feet weren’t quite right. He caught it awkwardly, lost control, and before he even realised—

CRACK.

The weight slammed down onto his knee. Hard.

But here’s the thing—he got up like nothing had happened. Shook it off. Brushed it aside. Said he was fine.

And to be fair, he seemed fine at the time.

Until the next morning.

The Reality of Injury

The next day, he couldn’t walk.

That’s how these things go. You think you’re alright in the moment, adrenaline masking the damage. Then the pain hits later, and you realise just how bad it was.

When I went to check the barbell, I had to scrape his skin off the knurling. That’s how deep the impact had been.

This wasn’t just another missed lift. This was real.

And in weightlifting, reality checks like this can make or break a lifter.

The Turning Point

Most people, when they get injured, spiral. They lose motivation, lose confidence, and never come back the same.

Pav could’ve been one of them.

But something changed in him.

When he returned, it wasn’t just about healing his knee. He came back with a different mindset—more patient, more focused, more willing to listen.

He respected the weight. And more importantly, he respected the process.

We didn’t rush back in. We rebuilt from the ground up.

30kg, clean reps.
Then 35kg. Then 40kg.

Every lift was methodical. We weren’t chasing weight. We were chasing mastery.

It was slow, frustrating at times. But he stuck with it.

And then, after weeks of hard work, we reached 55kg again—the weight that had crushed him.

He pulled. Caught it. Stood it up. No hesitation.

He looked at me. I nodded. We were back.

But this time, we were doing it right.

Chasing 70kg: The Battle Against Himself

As the weights climbed, 60kg came fast. Then 65kg.

But 70kg? That was his mountain.

He’d tried it multiple times. Some attempts were close, but close isn’t a lift. Each failure chipped away at him.

And every time, he’d say, “Yeah, I did it in another gym.”

But to me? That didn’t count.

If I didn’t see it, if there was no proof, it wasn’t real. Lifting is about undeniable results—not stories.

So we kept working. And then, on one seemingly ordinary session, the breakthrough came.

The Moment of Truth

We were drilling power snatches. His catch was off—we weren’t even thinking about heavy weights. I slowly started adding plates, bit by bit, without saying a word.

He wasn’t paying attention to the numbers. Just moving.

And then, suddenly, the bar was at 70kg.

I looked at him.

“Just yam it and catch it.”

No hesitation. No overthinking. He pulled. He caught. He stood it up.

70kg.

I erupted with exclamations of another language. Just me, him, and one other person in the gym.

We were both grinning.

“Now it counts.”

He looked at the bar, processing what had just happened. And then he said something that stuck with me:

“Dropping 55kg on myself was the best thing that could have possibly happened.”

He meant it. And he was right.

Why Failure Is Your Greatest Teacher

Pav’s journey wasn’t just about hitting a number on the bar. It was about how he got there.

He didn’t climb straight to 70kg. He fell. He got injured. He rebuilt from 30kg. He struggled. He failed again.

But he kept going.

That’s the reality of success. Everyone wants the win, but not everyone is willing to take the setbacks that come first.

Failure isn’t the end. It’s the lesson. It’s the opportunity to adapt, learn, and come back better.

And now? He sees it everywhere.

When a new lifter starts pushing weight too fast, ignoring my advice, he watches.

I’ll say something like, “That’s going to catch up with them when they go heavier.”

Sure enough, they struggle. They get stuck. They fail.

And they always come back with the same line: “You were right.”

And without fail, Pav turns to them, shakes his head, and says:

“He always is.”

Because some lessons...You don’t believe them until you live them.