Most people don't think about plyometrics when they think about

Hear the words of Allyson Felix, champion of the track and bearer of Olympic gold, who declares with quiet wisdom: “Most people don't think about plyometrics when they think about powerful strength. But I do lots of them to build mine.” At first glance, these are the words of an athlete speaking of her training. Yet beneath them lies a greater truth, one that extends beyond sport and touches the very heart of human effort: that true strength is not always built in the ways the world expects, and that hidden, humble labors often forge the power that astonishes nations.

The origin of this quote lies in Felix’s journey as one of the greatest sprinters of modern times. To the world, her brilliance seemed effortless—the smooth stride, the lightning speed, the grace that carried her to victory. But behind this beauty lay countless hours of unseen discipline. While many associated strength with the heavy barbell or the raw clang of iron, Felix turned to plyometrics—explosive movements, leaps, and bounds that trained her body to generate power swiftly, efficiently, and with precision. What others overlooked, she embraced, and in so doing, she carved out greatness.

This wisdom finds echoes in the annals of history. Recall the story of Miyamoto Musashi, the legendary samurai of Japan. His contemporaries believed strength was found in the sharpest blade, the strongest armor, or the most formidable physique. Yet Musashi trained in unexpected ways, practicing with wooden swords, perfecting rhythm, and mastering strategy as much as swordplay. What others ignored, he exalted. And thus he triumphed, not by following the path of common thought, but by finding hidden practices that forged unmatched mastery. Felix, in her devotion to plyometrics, follows this same ancient pattern: true power is often hidden in the disciplines others neglect.

The quote also speaks to the nature of strength itself. Many believe strength is merely bulk or force, but Felix reminds us that real power is explosive, adaptive, and precise. Plyometrics train not the static muscle, but the dynamic one—the ability to call forth energy in an instant, to summon speed and force when it is most needed. In life as in sport, it is not enough to be strong in stillness; one must be strong in motion. The oak that is rigid may break in the storm, but the willow that bends yet rebounds reveals the greater resilience.

There is also in her words a lesson about perspective and humility. Most people, she says, “don’t think about plyometrics” when they think of strength. She does not scorn them, but instead quietly reveals that her secret lies in the overlooked. This is a teaching for every generation: do not follow only the obvious paths. The treasures of mastery often lie in the small, the hidden, the humble exercises of daily discipline that others dismiss. Just as a sculptor shapes marble with a thousand subtle strikes, so too does greatness arise from the quiet work unseen by the crowd.

Consider also the story of Florence Nightingale, whose strength did not lie in military command or political authority, but in the unnoticed discipline of care, sanitation, and organization during the Crimean War. Others thought of strength as cannons and armies; she thought of strength as cleanliness, record-keeping, and tireless attention. What others dismissed, she exalted—and her hidden labors saved countless lives. Felix’s devotion to plyometrics belongs to this same lineage of wisdom: that strength is often built in ways the world does not imagine.

The lesson for us is clear. If you wish to build your strength—whether in body, mind, or spirit—do not follow only the grand gestures. Seek instead the practices that sharpen your explosiveness, resilience, and adaptability. In your work, this may mean honing overlooked skills; in your relationships, cultivating small acts of kindness; in your personal growth, pursuing disciplines that others deem unnecessary. Strength is not only measured by what is seen, but by the foundation that lies beneath, invisible yet unshakable.

Thus, O seeker, take Felix’s teaching to heart: power is not always where the world looks for it. It is born in the leap, the rebound, the hidden drill that prepares you for the moment of truth. Do not despise the small exercises, the overlooked practices, the disciplines that seem insignificant. For in them lies the secret of explosive strength—the kind that changes races, shapes destinies, and conquers storms. This is the way of the ancients, spoken anew in the voice of an athlete, and passed down now as wisdom for your own journey.