I was laboring through a heavy bench set this morning, staring down three brutal supersets and a 10-minute finisher I was not looking forward to.
After two straight weeks of baseball and a vacation that was more go-go-go than rest, I was running on fumes. During the school year, I’ve got a crew — a group of guys and gals who show up in the morning, each on their own thing, but together. We motivate each other through all the old-body knicks and bruises. Accountability is built in simply by being in the same room.
Summer is different. I come later. It’s usually just me. Most days that’s enough.
Today was not most days.
I was at the end of that first bench set, grinding through the last rep, when Thomas pulled up a bench and jumped in without saying a word. He played for me, graduated in 2022. He was a pitcher with a heck of a sophomore year — filthy stuff, the kind of arm you build around. His junior and senior years were rockier, and I have to be honest about something: I didn’t handle that well. I didn’t do a good enough job of carving out the right role for him when things got difficult. That’s on me.
What I’m grateful for is that it didn’t end there. Thomas and I found our way to the other side of that, and what we have now is something I wouldn’t trade. This morning he was exactly who I needed him to be — not a former player, just a guy who showed up and jumped in.
We went through three supersets together. Talked baseball. Talked careers. Talked about everything in between. Then came the finisher — alternating 250-meter rows and 15 calories on the assault bike, ten minutes straight, back and forth until it was done. Would I have finished it alone? Probably. But I can tell you it would have looked different. Having someone there to struggle alongside — someone to talk to between rounds, to push against, to refuse to quit in front of — that changed the whole morning.
Here’s what nobody in the current masculinity conversation wants to say out loud: the lone wolf model is a lie.
Culture is telling men something confusing right now. On one hand, we’re supposed to be entirely self-sufficient — need nobody, require nothing, handle it all in silence. On the other hand, any display of traditional strength or competitive fire gets labeled as toxic. Men are caught between a rock and a hard place, being told the things that used to define us are wrong and that needing people makes us weak.
Scripture doesn’t agree with either version.
Proverbs 27:17 says it plainly: “Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.” Iron doesn’t sharpen itself. You need friction. You need another edge. Thomas showing up this morning wasn’t a crutch — it was iron doing exactly what iron is supposed to do.
Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 makes the practical case: “Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up.”
I was laboring through that bench set. Woe to the man who has no one to jump in.
And when you go all the way back to Genesis — before sin, before the fall, before anything went wrong — God looked at a man in a perfect garden and said something that should stop us in our tracks: “It is not good that the man should be alone.” That’s not a comment on weakness. That’s a design statement. Community isn’t a luxury for men who can’t figure out how to make it on their own. It’s what we were built for.
There are three concentric rings to this.
The first is your crew — the people who show up in the same room and push you by being there. You don’t even have to talk. Presence is enough. They raise your floor.
The second is your deep friends — the ones who know where you’ve been, who won’t let you get away with a half-effort, and who you can call when things go sideways. Thomas is one of mine. Find those people and hold onto them like the ropes they are.
The third is the right life partner. Genesis 2:18 wasn’t talking about a workout partner. God’s design runs all the way to the person you build your life with. The right person doesn’t complete you — your worth is already secured. But they sharpen you. They carry weight with you. They’re the third strand in the cord that doesn’t break.
A threefold cord is not quickly broken. You. Your people. God holding it together.
This week, name it. Who is in each ring? Who’s the person who shows up and jumps in when you’re grinding through something you didn’t expect to struggle with? Who’s the friend who knows you well enough to call the thing out?
And if the honest answer is nobody — that’s not strength. That’s a gap worth closing.
You weren’t designed for alone.
Let’s get to work.
— Coach O
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