The Weight of Trust

When I think back on this year’s Poland camp, what lingers is not the hours of coaching or the kilos lifted. It is the weight of trust.

For three years now, Bartosz has carried the responsibility of organizing these camps. That kind of consistency is rare. Most events in sport are one-off: a weekend competition, a seminar, a gathering that burns bright but quickly fades. This camp is different. The continuity makes it stronger every year. Athletes return because they know the place exists. They know it is not improvised but built, tested, and repeated. That rhythm matters. It is how relationships deepen, how trust compounds. Trust cannot be manufactured in a single session; it is grown in cycles, in time, in return. Once it exists, it weighs more than iron.

The Shape of Trust

I saw that weight in the athletes. Some had already attended two or three times. They knew what to expect — and still chose to come back. That is trust expressed in action. Others were brand new. Their energy was different: curious, uncertain, but willing. The veterans carried history, the newcomers carried freshness. Together, they created balance — continuity and novelty woven into one camp.

Daniel’s presence carried special meaning. He was my first online athlete, long before I had a defined model for my online business. Back then, I was just experimenting. He took the risk of working with me anyway. This summer, he traveled all the way from Sweden to Poland. That decision embodied the arc of trust: from a vague start to a present reality, from uncertain beginnings to a concrete commitment. Small beginnings matter because, given time, they become lasting bonds.

OMG — this was the very first order, even before the Shanghai lockdown. Look, the order number is 001002 — and 001001 was just a test payment. (April–June 2022.) I only made the final decision to shift to online business after that, so this was really early. At the same time, it feels like decades have passed — but it’s only been three years. Lol.

Beyond the Schedule

On paper, the structure was simple: 9–11 in the morning, 3–5 in the afternoon. Morning for BAT alignment, afternoon for heavy lifting. But reality is never as neat as a timetable. I often extended the morning sessions, even if it meant paying extra for the venue. Why? Because structure is not about fixed hours. It is about right priorities. The key was never to finish at 11. The key was to teach what truly mattered.

Between sessions, I walked from room to room. One athlete needed help freeing a stiff shoulder. Another had ankles that refused to bend. Another couldn’t find balance through the hips. These adjustments weren’t written into the camp design, but they were the real work. Cass, my assistant, asked me if it made sense to give so much without charging more. But for me, the answer was clear: they had already invested in the camp. My role was not to ration knowledge, but to deliver change. Even when my own shoulder was so fatigued that by the fifth day I could barely raise it, I kept going. The cost was real. But the return was greater. To watch an athlete squat pain-free for the first time in years — that is worth the weight.

Paul’s young athletes drove three hours just to meet me. One came with a heel that would not move. He left with a squat. These are not dramatic transformations for the outside world, but for the athlete, they are life-changing. And for me, they are confirmation.

Stories That Stand Out

Over the week, many stories unfolded. Micheal broke his own snatch PR — and with it, the Slovakian junior record. Natalia pushed past her once-limited arm raise (lol) and discovered full lower-body extension. Andre committed himself to pursuing the squat jerk. Jonathan finally began to release his ‘racked’ shoulder. And Martin — always curious, always questioning every detail. In him, I recognized my younger self. Curiosity feels like progress, but without structure it drifts. With structure, it becomes growth.

And there were many more. Too many to list. Every athlete had a breakthrough: technical, physical, or mental. Each story mattered. Naming just a few is only to provide examples, never to exclude. The truth is that the camp was a collection of these breakthroughs, woven together. Each athlete took something home. Each athlete left something behind. Trust is not one-sided — it is an exchange. They trusted me to guide, I trusted them to commit. Together, we carried the weight.

The Structure of Care

I love them. But my love does not take the form of emotion. Emotions are unstable: they rise, they fall, they disappear. If care is based on emotion, then care disappears as quickly as feelings change. My care is pressure: the responsibility to stay sharp, to conserve energy for the right things, to give answers that endure. That is why my style may feel quiet, detached. But behind that restraint is structure. Structure is the deepest form of care.

Why They Return

So why do they keep coming back? Not for variety. Not for entertainment. They come back because they know I will still have something to give. That is trust. And the true measure of a coach is not whether an athlete improves once. Anyone can create a spark. The measure is whether athletes choose to return, again and again, because they believe the flame will still be there.

The Real Weight We Carry

The barbell is heavy. But trust is heavier. To carry both requires more than physical strength. It requires structural strength: the discipline to keep learning, the humility to keep refining, the endurance to keep showing up year after year.

Every now and then, the weight condenses into a single moment: an athlete moves pain-free after years of restriction; a lifter unlocks depth they thought was impossible; a body once stiff learns freedom. In those moments, the purpose becomes clear.

That is why I stand here. Not only to lift barbells. But to carry trust.

Human before athlete. Always.

⸻

Gaby