Why do we insist on making things so hard and complicated? The lost art of simple.
When I was a kid, all I needed to amuse myself was my bike. I’d ride around pretending I was Knight Rider, talking to my bike as if it were KITT. “Turbo boost, KITT.” And then I’d pedal faster. “Oh no, we’re under fire—time to counter the missiles.” I’d weave between trees, dodging every heat-seeking shot.
Nowadays, if you ask a kid to go outside and play, they look at you like you’re crazy and wonder how that’s even possible without an iPhone. A frisbee? No way. A wiffle ball and bat? Not really. A tree? Ha. The simple games of yesterday feel like antiques. I know there are kids still playing hide-and-seek, kickball, and pick-up basketball, but they’re fewer and farther between. Pokemon Go seems to have taken the playground’s place.
I notice the same pattern in the fitness world. People—both pros and non-pros—sometimes think that fancy, complex methods are inherently better than simple ones. And sometimes that belief is true, but often it’s just noise.
I’ve spent time with other coaches who come to shadow me for a few hours. It’s always an honor. They could spend their Saturday watching someone deadlift or listening to 90s hip-hop, but many choose to observe in person. A theme I’m noticing more and more is how surprised some coaches are by how simple my programming is. There’s little glam or gimmicks. What I really want is for my clients and athletes to become unapologetically solid at the basics. People squat, hip hinge, and do rows, push-ups, and farmers carries. You may call them antique moves, I suppose.
And then there’s my assessment process. The idea of simple starts there. Unless someone has a long injury history or is training for something extremely specific, why make the assessment more complicated than it needs to be? A global approach works for most people. There’s no need to microscope everything. For many, the assessment is just a chance to flag red flags by quickly checking hip range of motion, shoulder mobility, and related movements.
In a sense, I’m asking: can you do the thing you want to do? If yes, great. If not, let’s fix it. The reality is that about 80% of my assessments happen on the gym floor. There’s only so much poking and prodding on a table before it feels odd or the client feels like a patient. The assessment should feel like a light training session. I want to see them squat. I want to see them hip hinge. I want to see them stand up from the floor. I want them to push against a wall or move in ways that reveal how they really move. You learn far more from watching them move, and they get a taste of what a typical session with me is like.
Some coaches look at this and think, “That’s it? Really?” Yes, that’s it. People want to train. They don’t care about tiny joints or fancy screens.
I even had a funny moment at a conference. I got a “bad” review because I didn’t show something “new and innovative” in a shoulder assessment. My reply: since when does a shoulder screen have to be new and innovative? Sometimes the boring screens done well are the point. Note to self for next talk: maybe bring a flame thrower for impact.
Back to programming. Simplicity has its advantages there too. The endless look-at-me, one-upmanship on social media is exhausting. The performative vibe some coaches chase can be ridiculous. I’ve watched videos and wanted to say, “Really?” My own feed is probably fairly boring to some people. And that’s fine. People will hype the next thing—“What’s next: Pallof presses?”—but I’d rather educate and explain why I’m posting certain moves, not chase fleeting social media credibility.
If you compare two back-to-back programs of the same client, you’ll often see a straightforward, linear approach. It’s about coaching well, using the right stances, grips, and bar placements for their goals and body, and making sure they accumulate more work over weeks and months. Simple and boring can work.
I believe your clients will prefer a simpler approach once you give it a fair try. People don’t need constant novelty. The idea of muscle confusion isn’t quite real—people need consistency to master movements. You don’t always have to push the load up. Sometimes you earn the right to add weight by staying within a steady range and building volume over time.
Try not to turn assessment into a big production. If someone has a long injury history, you may investigate what aggravates their symptoms, but most people appreciate not being under a microscope. If you treat assessment as a training session rather than a game to point out every tiny dysfunction, they’ll trust you more.
Funny enough, I still talk about “when I was a kid,” yet I ended up applying these simple ideas just last week.
