Climbing the Unseen Ladder: How High-Skill Movements Changed My Approach to Training

 When I think about the movements that have left the biggest mark on my growth—not just as an athlete, but as a person—it’s not the heavy lifts or the fast metcons that come to mind first. It’s the movements I struggled with most. The ones that demanded more than just effort—they demanded humility, patience, and a stubborn kind of belief. Movements like Ring Muscle-Ups and Handstand Push-Ups.

These two aren’t just advanced skills that show up on a whiteboard. They’re milestones. Not because they look impressive (although, let’s be honest, they do)—but because they symbolize something deeper: the willingness to enter unfamiliar territory, fail in public, and come back anyway.

I still remember the first time I attempted a Ring Muscle-Up. I had built up the strength. I had practiced transitions. I thought I was ready. But as soon as I jumped up and tried to move through the rings, I hit that invisible wall so many of us hit. I didn’t get up. I barely got close. And for a moment, my ego was louder than my effort. I wanted to just go back to something I could do well—clean and jerks, pull-ups, double-under. Comfort zones. Places where I didn’t have to risk looking like a beginner again.

But something inside me wouldn’t let it go. I kept revisiting it—failing, tweaking, trying again. And somewhere in that frustrating repetition, I started to shift. I stopped training for perfection and started training for presence. Every rep, no matter how rough, became data. Every drill had purpose. Every bruise from a missed catch was a sign that I was still in it. Still showing up. Still learning. And I started to realize that this wasn’t just skill work. This was mindset work.

Handstand Push-Ups brought out a different kind of discomfort. The kind that messes with your spatial awareness and your fear of failure. There’s a vulnerability to being upside down—especially in a room full of other athletes. Your legs flail, your arms shake, and sometimes you come crashing down harder than expected. But that’s the thing about these movements—they strip you of the false confidence that comes from staying in your lane. They force you to earn your progress. And they give you something back that’s even more valuable than the rep itself: ownership.

When you finally press out of a handstand, or catch a clean transition on the rings, you’re not just stronger. You’re sharper. You’re more aware of your body, more focused in your movement, and more in tune with what it really means to progress. Because real progress doesn’t always look like a new PR. Sometimes, it looks like showing up for the skill portion of class even when you’re tired or staying after to practice your false grip. Sometimes, it’s choosing to scale with intention, not just to get through the workout, but to build the foundation you know you’re missing.

And that’s the perspective shift I wish more athletes understood: scaling is not a step backward. It’s a step inward. A decision to train with purpose, not pride. To stay curious about your weaknesses and excited about your potential. When I coach athletes through these movements, I always say the same thing: “You don’t have to be good at it to start. You just must care enough to try.” And honestly, that’s what separates those who truly grow from those who plateau.

I’ve seen firsthand how these movements reveal character. The athlete who stays after class to do transition drills. The one who asks questions about scapular strength or how to open their shoulders better in the kip. The one who fails, laughs, tries again, and cheers on the next person doing the same. These are the people who last. Not because they master the skills quickly—but because they respect the process. They learn to love the work.

Over time, what began as “just trying to get a ring muscle-up” evolved into something bigger. It taught me how to stay committed without knowing the outcome. It made me a better coach, because I understand what it feels like to chase something hard—and not get it right away. And it reminded me that there’s always another layer to uncover. Even now, when I can string reps together or complete strict handstand push-ups in workouts, I still make time for focused skill work. Not because I need to—but because I want to stay close to that place of learning. That edge where growth still lives.

So, if you’re in that phase where the movement feels out of reach, where every attempt feels clunky or awkward or miles away from clean—don’t stop. Don’t save it for “someday when I’m ready.” You’re ready now. Not to nail it. But to meet the version of yourself who’s willing to show up for the messy middle.

That’s where the magic happens. Not at the top of the rings or in the press-out. But in the quiet, unseen reps that happen when no one’s watching. The ones where you surprise yourself by trying again. That’s where real athletes are built. That’s where we find the edge of what’s possible—and decide to lean in.