Project lessons from powerlifting

I have learned many lessons through powerlifting – a competitive strength sport – that have had a positive impact on my working life. It has taught me so much about resilience, hard work, the importance of testing oneself and the need to rest – to name a few. But I want to focus on a very important lesson that I’ve taken away from my powerlifting journey – the power of purposeful practice.

I first read about the concept in Matthew Syed’s Bounce: Mozart, Federer, Picasso, Beckham, and the Science of Success. He describes purposeful practice as goal-oriented, focused on weaknesses, mindful and feedback-driven, which ultimately leads to physical changes in the speed and efficiency of neural signals in the brain. Until I read his book, I hadn’t realised that this was the approach I took with my training.

Greasing the groove

Powerlifting is not just about brute strength. Like all sports, there is a technical aspect that must be mastered in order to go from the divisional rankings to become world-class. Of all the powerlifting disciplines (squat, bench-press, deadlift), my discipline of bench-pressing is the lift where technique makes the greatest difference.

There is an optimal line which you want the bar to follow to ensure maximum lift, which enables you to utilise as many muscles as possible. There is a way to position yourself on the bench that increases the ability to use your back muscles to help with the lift. There is a way of using the legs to help drive the bar up. You can even use your breath to enhance your lifting.

To ensure that I have the best set-up, optimal breathing, perfect arch and leg bracing, I have to practise these elements. The purpose of my weekly training is not only to build strength, but also to teach myself how to combine these elements and to repeat them so often that the neural pathways in my brain physically change. We even have a phrase for this in powerlifting – it’s called ‘greasing the groove’.

I don’t just reserve this type of training for maximal lifts. I practise these aspects of my lifting even when I am lifting small weights in my warm-up. Because I need every single repetition to move properly so that, on competition day, it is automatic. This is why I try to ensure that every single repetition is as close to perfect as I can make it – and why I video-record every lift, share it with my coach, review it back and plan how to make tiny improvements next time. This is purposeful practice, and it is the difference between a casual gym-goer and a world champion.

Clarity and precision

Purposeful practice makes a difference to my working life as well. Seeking the work equivalent of ‘good form’ in every task is a way of ensuring that I deliver my best when I’m under pressure. Much of my work is about developing and strengthening relationships with people through the power of communication – meetings, conversations, emails and written reports. I endeavour to be as accurate as possible in all these things, because this is my work equivalent of purposeful practice.

In the words of George Orwell, the great predictor of modern times:

“A man may take to drink because he feels himself to be a failure, and then fail all the more completely because he drinks. It is rather the same thing that is happening to the English language. It becomes ugly and inaccurate because our thoughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts.”

I believe that the disciplined, regular exercise of my linguistic skills makes me a more effective communicator. I cultivate this deliberately by having the same standards of clarity and precision for in-team correspondence that I would apply to a substantive report written for an external audience. For that reason, perhaps controversially, I also choose not to rely on AI to compose my LinkedIn posts; that restraint is itself part of the practice.

In powerlifting, the way one breathes can materially affect performance. Written communication is no different: how sentences are constructed, punctuated and paced has a direct impact on readability and, at times, on meaning itself. Like any skill, communicative competence improves through sustained and attentive practice. This principle, of course, applies broadly to all capabilities that matter in the workplace.

Practice, by its nature, cannot be delegated, whether to a colleague or to an algorithm, any more than I could ask someone else to help me lift the bar in a competition.

My experience in the gym and on the platform has reinforced a simple but demanding truth: if something is worth doing, it is worth doing properly. That entails identifying and working on one’s weaknesses, resisting shortcuts and remaining mindful not only in the enjoyable moments, but also in the routine and exacting ones. It requires reflection on performance and, above all, practice – repeated, deliberate practice.