The Rep That Took a Year

Yesterday, I bench pressed 145kg for the first time in my life.

It doesn’t sound like much. It’s only 2.5kg more than my previous best. From the outside, it looks like a small, almost forgettable win.

But that single rep took me an entire year.

A year of injuries, doubt, and training sessions where nothing seemed to be working. A year where progress was invisible, and quitting would have made complete sense.

That’s why this rep mattered more than any lift I’ve done in a long time.

When Things Don’t Go To Plan

This year has been one of the hardest I’ve had as a powerlifter.

Around April, I picked up my first serious injury. I hurt my lower back deadlifting, and for months I couldn’t do much at all. Deadlifting was completely off the table, and squatting slowly became harder and harder until it too started to feel unsafe.

Two of the three lifts that I build my training around were suddenly unavailable to me.

When training is a big part of your identity, an injury like that doesn’t just test your patience. It tests who you think you are.

With deadlifts gone and squats limited, I decided to put my energy into the one lift I could still train properly, the bench press.

My best bench was 142.5kg, which I’d hit back in November 2024. I thought 150kg might be possible in 2025. Not guaranteed, but realistic if I trained well and stayed consistent.

So I committed.

I benched three times per week. I followed my program. I managed fatigue. I did everything that, on paper, should have worked.

And nothing happened.

The Doubts That Show Up When Progress Doesn’t

Week after week, there was no progression. No clear signal that I was getting stronger. Some sessions felt good. Many felt worse. If anything, it felt like I was slowly going backwards.

That’s when the quiet thoughts started to creep in.

I’m 37 now. Maybe I’ve already had my best years. Maybe this is what it looks like when you’re close to your limit. Maybe my body just isn’t going to respond the way it used to.

I hate those thoughts. Not because they show up, but because of how convincing they can sound.

So I did the only thing I know how to do in moments like that.

I didn’t argue with them. I just kept showing up.

The Work Nobody Applauds

Over the last twelve months, I’ve done more than 150 bench-focused sessions.

One hundred and fifty times, I warmed up, unracked the bar, and went through the work. For many of those sessions, it felt like I was just going through the motions.

Not because I didn’t care. But because there was no feedback.

No new numbers. No obvious progress. No reassurance that this was leading anywhere.

There were so many opportunities to quit. To scale it back. To decide this wasn’t worth the effort anymore.

I didn’t take them.

When Compounding Finally Reveals Itself

Then, almost out of nowhere, something shifted.

I’d just come back from a short trip to Vietnam and went into the gym expecting an average session. Instead, I felt stronger than I had all year. The weights moved differently. More smoothly. More easily.

It surprised me enough that I didn’t want to force anything. I skipped testing a one-rep max and focused on volume instead.

I left the gym with a new two-rep PB and a new six-rep PB.

I told myself, if I feel like this again next week, I’ll go for it.

The Rep That Was Worth The Wait

Yesterday was that day.

I didn’t feel quite as good as the week before, but I felt solid. I worked up to a 140kg single, the heaviest I’d lifted all year, and it moved fairly easily.

So I loaded 145kg.

The number I’d never touched before.

I found the biggest guy in the gym and asked him to spot me. This was going to be touch and go.

I unracked the bar and lowered it to my chest. As I pushed, the weight stopped.

Completely.

It felt like I was pressing against something immovable. Normally, this is the moment where a spotter steps in and saves you.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just kept shouting, “You’ve got this. Keep pushing.”

So I did.

For five seconds, which felt like minutes, I pushed into the bar with everything I had. And then, slowly, the weight started to move. I locked it out.

145kg accomplished.

Why This Mattered More Than the Number

I’ve been buzzing for the last 24 hours since that rep.

And yes, I know how it looks. Twelve months of training for an extra 2.5kg. Nothing particularly impressive. Plenty of people lift far more than that.

But the weight isn’t what made this meaningful.

What mattered was that I kept training toward this goal even when it looked like nothing was happening. When the feedback was missing. When the doubt was loud. When quitting would have been reasonable.

The reward wasn’t the rep.

It was knowing I didn’t walk away when the process went quiet.

What This Year Taught Me

Most of the work that changes us happens like this.

Slowly. Invisibly. Without reassurance.

Effort compounds long before rewards show up. Strength is built in the weeks where nothing moves. Character is built in the moments where you keep going without proof.

This rep didn’t really change anything.

But the year it took to earn it changed how much I trust myself.

I now know that when things get tough, I will keep going.

When most people quit and move onto other things, I will still be there.

Pushing myself, trying to squeeze out every drop of potential I have.

And that’s worth far more than 2.5kg.

Adam