Training at the Edge: When Dedication Becomes Dangerous: The Slippery Slope

How seriously should we take, ‘The Gym’

Training at the Edge: When Dedication Becomes Dangerous: The Slippery Slope

As a coach of over ten years, with a toe in the elite worlds of powerlifting and bodybuilding, I’ve always maintained a conscious distance from going “all in”. Not from a lack of respect — but from an awareness of the psychological cost that can quietly accumulate when training shifts from being a tool for growth to a substitute for unmet needs. I thus speak not from a place of, superiority, nor that I know better- more from a place of reverence and gratitude from a gut instinct that spoke clear of my innate knowing that my personal tendencies would render me far too vulnerable to the vicious vice of an industry whose jaw rarely releases once clenched.

This is a topic I’ve been on the precipice of writing about for some time. It deserves attention- it deserves more people to acknowledge. I duly preface that this is not the case nor certainty for all, but by negating the minority we belittle its severity.

When training lacks intention and consistency

At one end of the spectrum lies a casual, inconsistent approach to training — sessions skipped without thought, goals vaguely held, and effort applied sporadically. From an anecdotal and evidence-based standpoint, this approach rarely produces meaningful physical or psychological benefit and is underpinned by lies to oneself and those around them.

Research consistently shows that adherence is the primary determinant of long-term health and performance outcomes. Without structure, progression, or intentional effort, training becomes frustrating rather than empowering. People disengage not because “the gym doesn’t work”, but because it was never given the conditions in which it could work.

Ironically, this lack of seriousness can also feed dissatisfaction with body image and self-trust. When individuals repeatedly abandon commitments to themselves, it reinforces a quiet internal narrative of failure — one that often sets the stage for a clashing revolt to the opposite extreme.

When seriousness becomes compulsion

The more dangerous end of the spectrum is not casualness, but compulsion… obsession, preoccupation, domination, all consumption, mania… you’ll find the list of sentiments endless to those within it’s clutch.

Elite training environments, particularly in aesthetic and strength-based sports, reward traits that look virtuous on the surface: discipline, sacrifice, pain tolerance, and relentless consistency. But psychologically, these traits often have deeper roots; those often shaped by experiences that predate sport itself.

Many athletes who appear to take training “too seriously” are rarely motivated by ambition alone, (when posed the question, the conditioned response of ambition may too to them even seem to be sincere truth, the more sinister murmurings of their own subconscious evade even their own illumination). More often, one’s drive is shaped by earlier developmental experiences in which approval, safety, or belonging felt conditional on achievement. For one who learned early on that worth was earned rather than inherent, the structure of training can feel profoundly reassuring and adopt the metaphorical role of that which lacked. Progress is measurable, effort is rewarded, and identity becomes anchored in something tangible...and thus, the futile chase begins. In this context, insecurity around self-worth or belonging is not a weakness, but a powerful motivator — one that pushes athletes to seek certainty, control, and validation through their bodies and performance. Sincerely but naively fed by all their surrounding milieu, (the modern day, ‘bonus’ of social media serving as nothing other than an extension of this and a confusing discombobulation whose damage spans further than one can even fathom). When training offers relief from chaos, trauma, or unpredictability elsewhere in life, intensity can quietly shift into compulsion, especially when peer environments reward extremes, (ticket sales, social media clicks, gold medals and dollar signs) and frame balance as a lack of commitment… if you’re not taking the PEDs then your commitment is to be average.

From this lens, overtraining, restrictive eating, loss of relationships and rigid routines are not flaws of character — they are coping strategies. The gym becomes a place where rules are clear, progress is measurable, and identity feels earned rather than assumed.

The role of social reinforcement and modern coaching culture

In recent years, this dynamic has been intensified. Peer comparison is constant, performance is publicly visible, and bodies are scrutinised in ways that previous generations of athletes never experienced. Extremes are normalised because they are rewarded with attention.

Compounding this is a coaching culture that does not always recognise its psychological influence. ‘Coaches’, (a stature coined too easily and one whose real implication is, in my opinion not nearly held with enough reverence to those of whom wear its badge so frequently) hold significant power: over training load, food intake, recovery expectations, and — crucially — narratives around worth and success.

When this dynamic meets coaching environments that prioritise outcomes without sufficient psychological literacy, the risks intensify. Coaches hold significant influence over how athletes interpret effort, pain, and success, often without fully realising the weight of their words or expectations. Athletes may continue to train through injury not out of recklessness, but from a deep-seated fear of disappointing authority figures or losing approval. Restrictive or disordered eating patterns can be reframed internally — and sometimes externally — as dedication or professionalism, reinforcing harm under the guise of commitment. Burnout, emotional withdrawal, and chronic fatigue are then dismissed as mindset issues rather than recognised as the body and nervous system signalling distress. In these moments, athletes are not failing to cope — they are coping in the only way they know how, within systems that have not taught them how to listen to themselves safely.

Many coaches do not intend harm — but intent does not negate impact. Without proper education, care, curiosity, and boundaries: pressure replaces support, and athletes lose the ability to self-regulate.

Evidence from the horse’s mouth

It is telling that many competitors who reach the highest levels later speak openly about the personal cost: fractured identities, disrupted relationships with food and rest, and difficulty transitioning out of sport. Research supports this, showing elevated rates of anxiety, depression, and disordered eating among elite athletes, particularly when identity is narrowly defined by performance.

These outcomes are not anomalies. They are predictable in systems that reward extremes while neglecting psychological sustainability.

Can there be a middle ground?

Taking training seriously is not the problem. Taking it seriously for the wrong reasons, is. The harm arises when seriousness is driven by self-rejection rather than self-respect, or when it exists without the safeguards of care, reflection, and psychological support.

A truly sustainable relationship with training is grounded not just in commitment, but in compassion — a quiet, steady respect for the body and mind as they are, not as projects to be fixed. It is guided by goals that expand life rather than consume it, by flexibility rooted in self-trust instead of guilt or fear, and by a form of discipline that listens, adapts, and responds rather than rigidly controls. In this space, training becomes an act of self-connection rather than self-correction. Coaching relationships, too, shift from extracting results to cultivating resilience, nervous system safety, and personal growth, honouring the truth that long-term wellbeing is not a detour from performance, but its deepest foundation.

This middle ground asks more of the industry. It requires coaches to see the whole person, not just the performer, and athletes to relate to their bodies with respect rather than punishment. Self-love, emotional safety, and mental health are not soft additions to performance — they are the foundations upon which sustainable excellence is built.

This approach is quieter, harder to market, and less dramatic to observe. It does not glorify extremes or promise rapid transformation. But it is in this space — where training becomes an act of care rather than correction — that healing occurs, identities broaden, and people not only perform, but genuinely thrive.

A Final Responsibility

As coaches — particularly those operating close to elite performance — we have a duty to confront uncomfortable truths, not only in our clients but in ourselves. Delivering results while ignoring psychological harm is not coaching excellence; it is professional negligence with consequences that simply arrive later. Results achieved through emotional harm, disordered behaviour, or burnout are not success stories; they are delayed damage.

The gym can be a powerful space for growth. But when seriousness turns into self-erasure, it stops being training — and starts being something else entirely.

With strength,

Camille

Founder, CGCoaching

— CGC; Camille Certified Exercise Specialist | Human First, Coach Second