October 5th: When “More” Stops Making You Better

Years ago I watched Collingwood: From the Inside Out, a documentary following Collingwood through the 2018 AFL season. Or maybe it was 2017? I can't actually remember but that isn't the point of the story!! There was a moment with Brodie Grundy that has stuck with me ever since. I'm paraphrasing because I can't remember his exact words, but the message was basically this: If we're already doing everything we can, and you tell me the way we're going to get better is simply by working harder...well, I couldn't disagree with you more.

I loved that.

Because “work harder” sounds great. It's motivational. It's simple. It looks good written across the front of a t-shirt. And sometimes it's exactly what you need to hear.

If you're barely training, training more will probably help. If you're cruising through every session, working harder will probably help. If you're doing one strength session every couple of weeks and wondering why you're not getting stronger, I probably don't have a particularly sophisticated answer for you.

You need to do more.

But what happens when you're already doing the work?

What happens when you're training four or five times every week? When you're following the program. When you're getting your runs done. When you're lifting consistently.

Is the answer still more?

Another session? Another set? Another kilometre? Another finisher? Another 20 minutes after class?

At some point, “more” stops being progression.

It just becomes more.

And I learned that one the hard way.

For four years in a row, from 2016 to 2019, I ran a marathon. And for the first three years, I steadily got better.

The first year my training was pretty straightforward. I'd run twice during the week — usually somewhere between five and eight kilometres — and then do a long run every Sunday. The Sunday run gradually built until I reached 32 kilometres a couple of weeks before race day.

It worked pretty well.

The following year I changed ONE thing. I replaced one of those shorter weekday runs with an interval session. Same basic structure, but now I had some faster running in there as well.

Big improvement.

So the next year I pushed that idea a little further. One normal five-to-eight kilometre run, two interval sessions and the Sunday long run.

Another big improvement.

And apparently this was all the evidence I needed.

Because in 2019 I decided that if intervals had helped me improve, clearly what I needed was MORE intervals.

I ran intervals three times per week. I got rid of the normal five-to-eight kilometre pacing run. And even my Sunday long run became an interval session. Instead of 400-metre efforts, I'd push them out to 1.2 or 1.5 kilometres at a hard pace, recover for two or three minutes, then go again.

Those sessions were absolutely brutal.

I was training harder than I ever had for a marathon. I was fitter. I was faster. And because those extended Sunday interval sessions were so difficult, I wasn't particularly concerned that my total distance never really got beyond about 20 kilometres.

I wasn't doing less work.

If anything, it felt like I was doing MORE.

Race day arrived and for 32 kilometres I was absolutely flying. I was on track for my best marathon time by a LONG way.

And then I hit the wall.

Hard.

My hip flexors cramped. My calves locked up. Everything that had felt fantastic for the first 32 kilometres suddenly didn't.

Looking back, the mistake seems ridiculously obvious.

I'd done the work.

I'd certainly trained hard enough.

But I hadn't prepared for the event.

I'd taken the thing that had helped me improve — harder, faster interval running — and assumed that if some was good, more must be better. In doing that, I'd removed the boring long-distance work that had been quietly preparing my body to keep going when the race moved beyond 30 kilometres.

I'd trained harder than ever and somehow prepared less.

And I think that's an important distinction.

Because when we talk about doing “better” training, it's very easy to assume we mean HARDER training.

We don't.

Better isn't automatically harder. Just like harder isn't automatically more productive.

Better means doing the work that actually helps you get better at the thing you're trying to do.

You see this everywhere in the gym.

Adding another exercise is easy. Adding another set is easy. Doing another finisher because you don't feel sufficiently destroyed at the end of the workout is REALLY easy.

But none of those things automatically make the session better.

Maybe getting stronger doesn't mean doing six sets instead of five. Maybe it means doing five better sets. Maybe it means improving your setup, learning to brace properly, controlling the eccentric or actually following the progression that's been programmed rather than adding more work because you feel like you should.

Boxing is another great example.

When you first start, doing more helps enormously. You need rounds. You need repetitions. You need time on the bag.

But eventually, simply throwing another thousand punches isn't necessarily going to make you a better boxer.

Can you maintain your stance? Can you move your feet? Can you bring your hands back properly? Can you throw combinations without losing your shape? Can you hit the bag harder without simply trying harder?

Skill changes things.

Technique changes things.

Intent changes things.

And you can become better without necessarily doing more.

I think we've become very good at measuring how much work we've done. Sessions completed. Kilometres run. Calories burned. Sets. Reps. Minutes. Steps.

They're all useful numbers.

But none of them automatically tell us how well we trained.

And that's the trap. Quantity is wonderfully easy to measure. Quality isn't.

There isn't a little number on your watch telling you that today's easy run was better because you finally stopped racing it. There isn't a Strava badge for leaving the gym after four excellent sets instead of adding three unnecessary ones. Nobody rings a bell because your squat looked better today.

But those things count.

Sometimes they count more.

And none of this means effort doesn't matter. Of course it matters.

There are absolutely days when the answer is to work harder. There are times when the answer IS another session, another set, another kilometre or another rep.

Sometimes you genuinely aren't doing enough.

But “MORE” can't be the answer forever.

And neither can “HARDER”.

Eventually, if you're already doing the work, the question has to become a little more sophisticated.

What am I actually trying to improve?

What does that require?

And is the training I'm doing preparing me for it?

Maybe that's why that Brodie Grundy comment has stayed with me all these years.

He wasn't arguing against hard work.

He was questioning the idea that harder was the only place left to go.

I think that's exactly right.

Because eventually the question needs to change.

Not:

“How can I do more?”

Not even:

“How can I work harder?”

But:

“How can I do this better?”

Because sometimes the next step forward isn't another session, another set or another kilometre.

Sometimes it's making the work you're already doing actually count.