The squat is ideal for building strength in the glutes, perhaps

Gabe Kapler, a man of iron discipline and student of the body’s mysteries, once proclaimed: “The squat is ideal for building strength in the glutes, perhaps the most powerful collection of muscles in our bodies.” Though these words are rooted in the training halls of athletes, they carry the weight of timeless wisdom. For the squat is not merely an exercise of the flesh, but a symbol of human endurance — a movement that demands humility, discipline, and the rising again from burdens carried.

The meaning here is layered. The glutes, those great muscles of the hips and thighs, are the engines of our strength. They are the seat of our power to stand, to walk, to leap, to bear the weight of the world. To build them is not vanity, but the cultivation of a foundation upon which the whole body depends. And the squat, simple yet profound, is the forge by which this strength is shaped. It humbles the proud, for even the strongest are made to bow before they rise; yet it exalts the patient, for each repetition brings new mastery over the self.

The origin of this truth lies not only in modern sport but in the history of mankind. From the dawn of time, men and women have squatted to gather food, to lift burdens, to labor in fields, to rise from the earth. It is a movement as old as humanity itself, encoded into our very design. Warriors of old who trained for battle, peasants who tilled the land, and athletes who ran the sacred games of Greece all drew their power from the same source: the strength of the glutes, the mighty pillars that drive the body forward. Kapler’s words remind us that what was once necessity has now become discipline, and through discipline, greatness.

Consider the tale of Milo of Croton, the ancient wrestler of Greece. As the legend tells, he lifted a calf upon his shoulders each day, and as the calf grew into a bull, Milo’s strength grew with it. This was the essence of progressive training, and his body became a fortress. Though he did not speak of the squat by name, the principle is the same: to rise beneath weight is to forge unyielding strength. Milo’s story is echoed today in the lifters of iron, who bend beneath the bar and rise again, stronger each time.

There is also symbolism hidden within the act. To squat is to lower oneself, to bow before the weight of the world. But to rise again is to declare victory over burden. Life, too, presses us down with trials, yet within us lies the power to rise. The glutes, “the most powerful collection of muscles in our bodies,” remind us that our foundation is strong, if only we train it. The body is teacher to the spirit: cultivate your foundation, and you will not crumble when storms come.

The lesson is thus: do not neglect the foundations of your strength, whether of body, mind, or spirit. Just as the body falters when the glutes are weak, so does the soul falter when its foundations are ignored. Train yourself in patience, in discipline, in resilience. Like the lifter who squats today to rise stronger tomorrow, so must you embrace the burdens of life not as curses, but as opportunities to grow. Each weight you bear, each trial you endure, is another repetition in the great training hall of existence.

Therefore, my children, take Kapler’s wisdom into your lives: the squat is not only for athletes, but for all who seek strength. Bow before the weight, then rise with power. Build your glutes, build your foundations, and you will stand firm when others fall. In body and in spirit, let your strength come from the ground upward, and let every rise from the depths remind you of this eternal truth: that to kneel under burden is human, but to rise beneath it is divine.