The Apparent Confusion About Progressive Overload

Apparently, there is a growing disagreement online about progressive overload. Most of it comes from confusing cause and effect, while different people use the same term to mean slightly different things.

Brosef’s explanation from the bench next to you usually goes like this: you get stronger by continually adding more weight to the bar. Since strength and load rise together, it must be the added weight that produced the improvement.

This explanation makes intuitive sense and works reasonably well for beginners, who often improve fast enough to add weight almost every workout. However, it puts the plates before the muscle by mistaking the visible result of progress for the process that made it possible.

The process of building strength starts when you expose the body to a challenging training stimulus. In response, the body may improve neural coordination, become more efficient at the movement, and increase its ability to produce force. Once those adaptations occur, the same weight becomes easier relative to your new capacity. At that point, you can adjust the training demand by adding weight, reps, or changing another variable to keep the stimulus productive.

This creates a repeating cycle:

Training stimulus → Adaptation → Improved performance → Adjusted stimulus

Or, more simply:

You perform a set of five reps → You get stronger → That same set becomes easier → You add some weight to keep it challenging.

Increasing the load can help drive further adaptation, but the increase works best when supported by the capacity you have already developed. When someone forces more weight before their performance has improved, range of motion often shortens, technique breaks down, and control suffers. The number on the bar went up, but the ability being trained likely did not.

Another point of disagreement is how broadly progressive overload should be defined. Some people use it almost exclusively to mean adding weight. Others include more reps, better execution, increased range of motion, or more total work. These can all change the training demand, but they do not demonstrate the same kind of progress.

Adding a rep with the same load, range of motion, and technique provides clear evidence of improved performance. Adding another set increases total training volume, which may be useful for hypertrophy, but it represents a programming adjustment rather than direct evidence that performance on a given exercise has improved. Better execution or greater range of motion may also represent meaningful improvement, although changing the conditions of the movement makes comparison less direct.

Progression works best when it responds to meaningful improvements in capacity rather than forcing the numbers upward at all costs. You apply an appropriate stimulus, recover, monitor performance, and increase the demand when your performance supports the adjustment.

This brings us back to the original confusion between cause and effect. Because the weight on the bar usually increases as you become stronger, it's easy to assume that adding weight is what created the strength. The process works as a cycle: the existing training stimulus produces adaptation, that adaptation improves performance, and improved performance allows you to increase the demand. The heavier load then becomes part of the next stimulus and may contribute to further adaptation.

Progressive overload is therefore the ongoing adjustment of training demands as the body adapts. The controversy becomes much easier to understand once you recognize that progression can be both the result of the adaptation that came before it and part of the stimulus that produces what comes next.

From Fit to Antifragile: Redefining Your Physical Potential

Fitness is a term that has become almost synonymous with health, strength, and physical prowess. When people hear the word, they think of sculpted bodies, grueling workouts, and athletic achievements. But the reality is far more nuanced. Fitness, in its true sense, is not a universal standard; it is entirely contextual. It reflects how well-suited someone is to their current environment and lifestyle. A couch potato is "fit" for their sedentary life, just as a marathon runner is "fit" to endure long distances. A powerlifter is "fit" to hoist enormous weights, but that same fitness may not translate into running a mile or climbing stairs.

This context-specific nature of fitness highlights its limitations. What happens when life demands something outside of your specific realm of fitness? Can you adapt—or even thrive? The answer to this question lies in a concept that transcends fitness altogether: antifragility.

The term "antifragility" was popularized by Nassim Taleb in his book Antifragile: Things That Gain from Disorder. It describes systems that don't just withstand stress—they grow stronger because of it. Taleb illustrates this concept with a striking analogy. Imagine a wine glass in a box. If the box is shaken, the fragile wine glass shatters under stress. A robust object, like a plastic cup, survives the shaking unscathed, but it doesn’t benefit from the experience. Antifragile systems, however, thrive under stress. Picture a box of firewood. When shaken, the logs settle more tightly together, creating a stronger, more efficient structure. The more they are shaken, the better they perform.

Fitness, as we commonly define it, is often robust but rarely antifragile. It reflects where you currently stand on the spectrum of physical capability but doesn’t necessarily mean you’re prepared to grow beyond that point. Antifragility, on the other hand, is about transformation—using challenges and stressors to push past your current limits and develop greater capacity, strength, and resilience.

To understand how fitness and antifragility differ, it’s important to consider the idea of specialization. Fitness is often seen through the lens of specific achievements: the marathoner who can run for hours, the powerlifter who can bench press twice their body weight, or the office worker who can sit comfortably at a desk for eight hours. Each of these individuals is fit for their unique context, but specialization has its drawbacks. The marathoner might struggle with basic upper-body strength. The powerlifter might lack cardiovascular endurance. Even the office worker, while fit for their sedentary life, may be one flight of stairs away from gasping for air.

This narrow focus on contextual fitness leaves people vulnerable. True growth—both physical and mental—requires the ability to adapt to challenges outside of one’s comfort zone. This is the essence of antifragility. It’s not about being the best at one thing; it’s about becoming stronger, more capable, and more adaptable across a range of challenges.

Achieving antifragility requires a mindset shift. It means embracing the discomfort and uncertainty that come with growth. It’s about understanding that failure is not the opposite of success but a necessary step toward it. Unfortunately, this concept often gets lost in modern fitness culture. Commercial gyms cater to convenience and accessibility, and many trainers focus on delivering quick fixes rather than lasting change. The result is a diluted version of what training should be—one that emphasizes short-term goals over long-term development.

Antifragile training stands in stark contrast to this approach. It is rooted in intentionality. Every rep, every set, every exercise has a purpose: to push you beyond your current limits and help you ascend to the next level of capability. This approach incorporates principles like progressive overload, purposeful execution, and training to failure. It’s about doing more than just going through the motions. It’s about training with intention and understanding the "why" behind every movement.

In practice, antifragile training focuses on progressive overload—gradually increasing the weight, reps, or intensity of your workouts to stimulate growth. It emphasizes purposeful execution, ensuring that every movement is controlled and deliberate. It includes moments of pushing to failure, where you reach the point of complete muscle fatigue, and it encourages adaptability by incorporating variety in exercises, tempos, and ranges of motion. This approach isn’t easy, but nothing worth having ever is.

The mental toughness required to embrace antifragile training is as important as the physical effort. It’s not for the faint of heart or the weak-minded. It demands commitment, resilience, and a willingness to endure discomfort in pursuit of growth. But for those who are ready to take on the challenge, the rewards are transformative. Antifragile training doesn’t just prepare you for the demands of today; it equips you to handle the unexpected challenges of tomorrow.

This concept has profound implications for the fitness industry. Most people who say they want to "get fit" don’t realize they’re actually seeking antifragility. They want to climb higher on the spectrum of fitness, but they also want the ability to adapt and grow stronger in the face of adversity. By reframing fitness as a dynamic process rather than a static state, we can help people achieve more than they thought possible.

The shift from fitness to antifragility isn’t just about redefining physical capability; it’s about rethinking the journey itself. Fitness is a snapshot of where you are right now. Antifragility is the process of becoming something more. It’s about recognizing that the journey is as important as the destination. Each challenge, each setback, and each victory contributes to your growth, making you not just fit for your environment but capable of thriving in any situation.

So the next time you step into the gym, ask yourself: Are you simply maintaining your current level of fitness, or are you pushing toward something greater? The choice is yours. Let’s redefine what it means to be strong. Let’s embrace the discomfort. Let’s train with intention. Let’s become antifragile.