What Training with a World Arm Wrestling Champion Taught Me about Failure

Over the past sixteen weeks, I’ve been spending a few evenings each week in a place I never quite expected: the gym of Monster Michael Todd, a former world heavyweight champion in arm wrestling. Now, if you know me, you know I’m not exactly an athlete. I exercise regularly, sure, but I’ve never played sports competitively, never done formal strength training, never lived in that world. My wife trained with Michael and his wife a few years back, and she loved it. So when the summer rolled around and I was thinking about what challenge I could take on next—something grounding, something to push me in this season of change—I decided this was the right time.

And here I am, four months later, in my forties, realizing that while my spirit may be young, my body has fully arrived at midlife. My social media algorithms now think I’m a protein-obsessed gym rat. But along the way, I’ve stumbled onto a phrase that I can’t shake: going until failure.

In the gym, going until failure means you keep lifting, you keep pushing, until your muscles literally cannot do another rep. Failure isn’t something to be avoided. It’s the destination. Because once you reach that point, your body begins the real work—it heals, it adapts, and it grows stronger.

Now think about how different that framing is from what we teach in schools. Failure in the classroom is often treated like the worst possible outcome. We spend so much energy telling students how to avoid it. Don’t miss assignments. Don’t make mistakes. Don’t fall behind. But what if, like in the gym, failure wasn’t to be avoided but the point? What if it was the very place where growth begins?

That’s where the parallels with growth mindset come in. Carol Dweck’s often-cited research on growth mindset is clear: abilities aren’t fixed. Students aren’t locked into who they are today. With effort, strategy, and persistence, they can grow. They can fail, learn from it, and come back stronger. And just like strength training, it’s the little moments of progress that matter most.

Over the past few months, I’ve noticed changes—small ones. A set of lifts feels easier than it did last week. I can push through a few more minutes of cardio. An exercise that felt awkward at first now makes sense. When Michael asks if I’m feeling stronger, I probably downplay it more than I should. Because the truth is, you don’t see change all at once. It sneaks up on you. You notice it when a pair of pants fits differently. You notice it in one more rep you didn’t think you had in you. Progress is rarely sweeping and dramatic. More often, it’s subtle, almost hidden, until you stop and look back at how far you’ve come.

That’s not just true in the gym. It’s true in classrooms, too. Students sometimes expect giant leaps—an “aha” moment that suddenly makes math easy or writing effortless. But real growth doesn’t usually look like that. It’s built in small, almost invisible increments. The essay draft that reads a little cleaner than the last one. The test where a student makes a mistake but knows exactly why. The confidence to raise a hand in class when before they would’ve stayed silent.

And yet, so often we don’t celebrate those little steps. We push toward big milestones—final grades, test scores, college admissions—and overlook the daily wins that actually show us that growth is happening.

The gym has also reminded me that failure isn’t personal—it’s communal. When you train, you don’t do it alone. Someone is spotting you, encouraging you, making sure you can stretch beyond what you think your limits are. The same is true for students. A growth mindset doesn’t develop in isolation. It’s nurtured by teachers who challenge kids just enough, who give them the feedback and encouragement they need, who remind them that falling short isn’t a dead end.

There’s a humility in training that I think is powerful for educators, too. Every week, I’ve had to admit what I can’t do—yet. And I’ve also had to trust that what feels impossible today won’t always feel that way. For students, that’s an invaluable lesson. Struggling with a subject doesn’t mean you’re “bad” at it. It just means you’re not there yet.

The longer I’ve been in this program, the more I’ve come to realize that “going until failure” isn’t about weakness. It’s about possibility. It’s about exploring your edge so that the next time, that edge has moved further. And isn’t that exactly what we want for our students? To know their limits not so they can stay inside them, but so they can move them outward?

Here’s the takeaway I keep circling back to: whether in the gym or the classroom, growth isn’t measured by perfection. It’s measured by persistence. It’s not the weight you lift or the grade you earn. It’s the fact that you keep showing up, keep trying, and keep reaching for just a little more.

So maybe failure isn’t something we should shield our students from. Maybe it’s something we should help them reach for—because on the other side of failure is where real growth begins.