Building a Life That Lifts Others
Robert Sparkman has been a reader of this site for a number of years. He first wrote to me to share what the training philosophy here had meant to his own lifting life — and what he wrote was so precise, so generous, and so accurately observed that I asked his permission to publish it. That piece appears on his reader story page.
He has now written a second piece. It is not a fitness article. It is something rarer — a genuine account of what a life shaped by the barbell looks like when it extends beyond the gym and into the people around us. I read it, and I wanted it on this site. I hope you will understand why.
I have published it exactly as Robert wrote it. The voice is his. The essay is his. I am grateful he trusted me with it.
Life has a way of teaching lessons that no gym ever can. There was a time when I believed strength was measured by the amount of weight I could lift. Over the years, however, I have discovered that the greatest strength is not found in the gym alone. It is revealed in how I respond to life's burdens, how I care for the people I love, and how I choose to treat every person who crosses my path.
My commitment to the barbell has become an outward expression of an inward commitment to discipline. Every workout, every carefully planned meal, every protein target I reach, and every training session I complete is about far more than physical progress. These daily choices remind me that discipline is built in quiet moments, long before anyone notices the results.
As I continue my journey as an athlete of aging, I refuse to become passive in the face of time. I've come to realize that my retirement isn't about slowing down — it's about finally having the time to grow in the directions that matter most. Growing older is inevitable, but surrendering my purpose is not. Every workout is a declaration that I intend to live with strength, resilience, and gratitude for as many years as I am blessed to have.
That renewed sense of purpose has found expression in ways I never anticipated. Retirement has given me the freedom to serve others in small, everyday moments — and in the process, it has brought me some unexpected new job titles.
Around our condominium building, I've somehow become known as the community Ambassador. Throughout the day, I deliver everyone's UPS, FedEx, Amazon, and other packages that are left in the lobby right to their front doors. What started as a simple way to help out has become one of the best parts of living here. Along the way, I've met just about everyone in the building and formed some wonderful friendships. Plus, I get a little exercise in the process.
Somewhere along the way, I also became the neighborhood handyman. Nothing fancy — I know my limits. But if someone needs an HVAC filter changed, a picture hung, a light bulb replaced, furniture moved, groceries carried in, or the trash taken out, I'm usually the one they call. Since many of our neighbors are older, and several wonderful ladies live alone, it feels good to be able to lend a hand. Funny enough, I think I've received far more in friendship than I've ever given through helping.
Those simple acts of service have reminded me that strength isn't measured only by what I can lift in the gym. It's also measured by a willingness to carry someone else's burden whenever I can. In many ways, those everyday opportunities to serve have reinforced the very lessons I've learned under the barbell.
The lessons I learn under the barbell have become lessons for life itself. Before attempting a heavy lift, I plant my feet, brace my core, take a deep breath, and commit fully to the movement. I have learned to approach life's difficulties the same way.
Over time, I discovered that every difficult season carried a weight of its own. Some burdens arrived quietly — a disappointing phone call, concern for someone I loved, uncertainty about the future, or responsibilities that seemed heavier than I wanted to carry. Others appeared without warning and demanded everything I had.
When unexpected health concerns arise within my family, when responsibilities become overwhelming, or when uncertainty clouds the future, I remind myself to find my footing, steady my breathing, and face the challenge one step at a time. Instead of asking, "Why is this happening?" I ask, "What is this moment teaching me?" Every hardship becomes another repetition in the lifelong training of my character.
Those moments taught me something remarkable. The same discipline I practiced beneath a loaded barbell could prepare me for almost anything life placed in my hands. Most importantly, it taught me that strength exists for a purpose greater than ourselves. I don't train simply to lift heavier — I train so I'll be stronger for life. And stronger for the people who depend on me.
I've also come to appreciate that discipline extends well beyond physical fitness. It shapes my thoughts, my actions, my words, and ultimately the person I become. Just as I faithfully follow a training routine and nutritional plan, I strive to apply that same consistency to my values.
Each day I revisit the wisdom I've collected over the years — quotes, Scriptures, and lessons from thoughtful people who have inspired me. Rather than simply admiring these words, I try to live them. True character is revealed not when life is easy but during the few seconds between frustration and response. In those moments, I hope my principles speak louder than my emotions.
Life has also taught me that relationships resemble a beautiful tapestry. Every person represents a unique thread. Some bring comfort and joy. Others challenge my patience or stretch my understanding. Yet each thread contributes something valuable to the fabric of my life. Instead of focusing on imperfections, I try to find the blessing hidden within the struggle. Every difficult relationship presents another opportunity to grow in compassion, humility, patience, and forgiveness. Even the rough threads have their purpose.
Perhaps one of the greatest lessons I've learned is the power of words.
I've come to believe that every conversation, every letter, every email, every text message, and every page I write carries a small piece of me — because my words are an extension of who I am as a person.
Once those words leave me, they begin a life of their own. That realization has encouraged me to become more intentional with everything I say and write.
If my words can encourage someone during a difficult season...
If they can brighten someone's day...
If they can make someone smile or remind them they matter...
Then those words have accomplished something meaningful.
Our voices may fade, but our words can echo long after we're gone. If they lift even one person, they've served a beautiful purpose.
"What we do in life, echoes in eternity."
— Maximus Decimus Meridius (Gladiator)As I've grown older, I've realized people rarely remember our possessions or accomplishments as clearly as they remember how we made them feel. Kindness leaves a lasting imprint that success alone never can.
"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
— Maya AngelouThat is the legacy I hope to leave behind.
Not one measured by trophies or titles.
Not one measured by possessions.
But one remembered for compassion, encouragement, gratitude, and genuine kindness.
Whether I'm speaking with family, friends, neighbors, or someone I've just met, I hope each interaction leaves that person feeling a little more valued than before. We never fully know what burdens another person is carrying. A thoughtful word, a listening ear, or a sincere smile may become exactly what they needed that day.
My physical discipline has given me another unexpected gift: the ability to remain steady when those I love face difficult health challenges. Strength is not only about lifting heavy weights — it is about becoming someone others can lean on when life feels heavy for them.
To care well for others, I have learned that I must also care faithfully for myself. Maintaining my routines — my training, my nutrition, my spiritual life, and my quiet moments of reflection — is not selfish. It prepares me to remain calm, patient, and fully present when others need encouragement the most.
Gratitude has become one of the cornerstones of my life. The older I become, the more I recognize that every ordinary day is an extraordinary gift. Every sunrise offers another opportunity to improve myself, to encourage another person, to strengthen my faith, and to serve with love.
If there is one lesson I hope others take from my journey, it is this:
True strength is measured less by what we can carry for ourselves and more by what we can carry for others.
Every workout builds my body.
Every challenge strengthens my character.
Every act of kindness shapes my legacy.
Every word I write is another opportunity to leave the very best of myself behind.
That is the life I strive to live — a life rooted in discipline, guided by faith, strengthened by gratitude, and dedicated to serving others.
If, in some small way, my words, my actions, or my example help even one person breathe a little easier, stand a little taller, or hope a little longer, then I will consider my life well lived.
Life's greatest victories aren't always the ones we set out to achieve. More often, they're found along the unexpected paths that shape our character, deepen our faith, and teach us to serve others with compassion. True strength is found not only in perseverance, but in embracing a purpose greater than ourselves.
When we choose gratitude over disappointment and use our lives to encourage those around us, the journey itself becomes a gift — and the life we build has the power to lift and encourage others long after we're gone.
Because in the end, the greatest strength we possess is not found in the weights we lift, but in the lives we lift along the way.