By Christian Thibaudeau
Strength First, Muscle After
It was one of those nights in the gym where the bars felt heavier than they looked and the radio was coughing out the latest techno hit that barely passed for music. The regulars were around—Big Charles monopolizing the squat rack, Skinny Pete hanging near the dumbbells like he was allergic to plates over twenty pounds, and Joe, my newest project, perched on the edge of a bench with a look on his face like he’d just caught me selling snake oil.
“Coach,” he said, “I don’t get it. I told you I wanted muscle. You know—bigger arms, bigger chest, something that makes people notice. But you’ve got me doing these low-rep sets. Threes and fives. That’s powerlifting stuff. Shouldn’t I be repping out with tens and twelves like the bodybuilders?”
He said “bodybuilders” the way a kid says, “ice cream.”
Big Charles let out a laugh from the squat rack. “Yeah, Coach,” he said between sets. “Why don’t you let the kid chase the pump? Get him a pink tank top and a camera, he’ll be set.”
Everyone chuckled. Joe flushed. Now, you need to know that Charles walked the walk. He came in as an out of shape, weak, 200lbs fat dude and built himself up to 240 solid pounds by increasing most of his lifts by 100lbs, or more.
I sat down beside him. “Joe,” I said, “you ever notice how Charles there can throw four hundred pounds on his back and still walk out of the rack, but Pete over there does curls with the 15s every week and looks the same as when he joined?”
Pete piped up. “Hey, I’m going for an aesthetic look!”
We all ignored him.
The Drugstore Advantage
“Here’s the deal,” I told Joe. “You look at those influencer guys on social media . Balloon arms, tiny waists, veins crawling everywhere. You know how they train?”
Joe perked up. “High reps. Tons of pump work.”
“Right. And you know what else they do?”
He hesitated. “...Steroids?”
I nodded. “Bingo. And steroids change the rules. They make those slow-twitch fibers—you know, the ones made for jogging—grow like the fast-twitch fibers, the ones meant for real power. So those drugstore boys can pump away with fifteens and twenties and still grow like weeds.
But you?” I poked him in the chest. “You’re natural. For you, those slow-twitch fibers are a dead end. You’ve got to hammer the heavy weights to wake up the fast ones, the ones with real growth potential.”
Charles racked the bar with a thunderclap. “That’s why I look like a bear and Pete looks like a broomstick.”
Pete muttered something about metabolism and getting abs and went back to his curls.
Size Rides on Strength
“Now listen,” I said. “The shortcut to muscle is strength. You add a hundred pounds to your bench, a buck-fifty to your squat and deadlift, fifty to your press and row—you won’t just be stronger. You’ll look like a new man.
Your shirts won’t fit, your traps will scrape your ears, and the mirror will start smiling back at you. The guy who makes the biggest strength jumps is the guy who grows the most muscle. Always has been.”
Joe’s eyebrows went up. He was starting to see it.
The Wiring Job
I leaned closer. “And it’s not just muscle. It’s your wiring.
Heavy lifting teaches your nervous system to fire more muscle fibers, faster, and in sync. That’s like teaching a crew of rookies to row like Olympians. Later, when you start to include more traditional hypertrophy work, your body will finally know how to use the muscle it’s got. Heavy strength training makes every ounce of bodybuilding training more effective.”
Charles grunted in agreement, chalk dust puffing around him like cigar smoke.
The Granite Look
“And don’t forget tone,” I said. “You want that hard look, don’t you? Not just bigger, but denser. Heavy lifting keeps your muscles tighter, more ‘on’ even when you’re resting. That’s why strongmen look like they’re carved from granite and could walk through a brick wall while the pump-only boys look deflated when they have not yet gotten their pump on and look small again a few hours after their workouts.”
Skinny Pete flexed in the mirror, trying to look granite. It didn’t work.
Numbers Don’t Lie
“And here’s the kicker,” I said. “Muscle growth is slow. You stare at yourself in the mirror every day, you don’t notice it. That’s why so many guys quit—they think nothing’s happening.
But strength? That’s as honest as it gets. Last month you benched 135. This month you benched 155. Next month it’ll be 175. Numbers don’t lie, Joe. Every time those plates go up, your motivation stays lit. And muscle follows strength like night follows day.”
Joe stared at the barbell, then back at me. The confusion was gone. There was something else in his eyes now—something hungry.
“So what you’re saying is,” he said slowly, “if I want the muscle, I’ve got to chase the strength first.”
I stood up, slapped him on the back, and grinned. “Now you’re talking. Grab the bar, Joe. Let’s make you strong.”
Charles roared from the squat rack. Pete dropped a dumbbell on his foot. The radio fizzled, the plates clanged, and in that chalk-dusted gym, Joe finally started down the road that actually goes somewhere.
