People would say you need to do stretches and all of that. I

Hear the voice of Bryson DeChambeau, a man who has forged his path through science and strength upon the fairways, declaring: “People would say you need to do stretches and all of that. I would be very careful with doing that. I, if anything, go on a rotary weight machine and try and go as far as you can both ways, rotate as far as you can both ways so that you can create strength through motion.” In these words, he does not dismiss the traditions of training, but he reveals a deeper truth: that true mastery lies not merely in flexibility for its own sake, but in the building of strength through motion—power joined with purpose.

The origin of this saying lies in DeChambeau’s unusual approach to golf. While others followed the customary rituals of stretching and static preparation, he chose a path both experimental and ancient in spirit. He looked not for length of limb alone, but for strength married to movement, for rotation and resistance bound together. In golf, the swing is not a still posture but a spiral of energy, a coiling and uncoiling of the body like the winding of a bow. Thus, he sought to build strength not in stillness, but in motion itself.

This wisdom echoes through history. Consider the ancient archers of the East, who did not simply train their arms to be supple, but strengthened them through the constant drawing and loosing of the bow. Their power was not ornamental, but functional, gained in the very motion they would repeat in battle. Or think of the Roman legionary, who trained not by lifting idle weights but by marching with armor, digging trenches, hurling javelins—strength created in the very motions of war. So too does DeChambeau counsel: do not only stretch for looseness, but create strength in the movements you will use.

The heart of his teaching is this: motion is the crucible of strength. To be strong in stillness is one thing, but to be strong in the spiral, the twist, the thrust, the recoil—that is true mastery. Many athletes become fragile because their training separates strength from motion, but the wise learn to unite the two. For life itself does not test us in statuesque stillness, but in the whirlwind of action, in the twists and strains of reality. To endure, one must cultivate strength that moves.

There is also in his words a warning against carelessness with tradition. “Be careful,” he says, for not all stretching brings benefit. Some practices loosen without strengthening, open without protecting. Freedom without stability is weakness. Better to build resilience through motion itself, to let strength be the guardian of flexibility. This teaching reminds us that not all that is old is wise, and not all that is common is true. Each must discern what builds resilience, and cast aside what leaves one vulnerable.

Consider also the example of Miyamoto Musashi, the great samurai of Japan. He did not train with stiff forms alone, but practiced endlessly in combat motion—walking, cutting, pivoting, striking. His strength was not in isolated poses, but in the flow of continuous motion. This is the same principle that DeChambeau uncovers for modern sport: that strength is not separate from action, but born from it.

The lesson for us is clear: in whatever craft or trial we face, do not train only in abstraction, but train in the motions of life itself. If you wish to be strong, do not separate your preparation from your purpose. Create strength through motion—through the very actions, challenges, and rhythms you must endure. In this way, your power will not be hollow but practical, not ornamental but enduring.

Thus, O seeker, take Bryson’s words to heart. Do not pursue flexibility without strength, nor strength without motion. Unite the two, as the archer unites bow and arrow, as the warrior unites blade and strike. For life will test you not in stillness but in movement, not in theory but in action. Build therefore a body, a mind, and a spirit that are strong through motion, and you shall not falter when the whirlwind comes. This is the wisdom of the ancients, reborn in modern form.