Why I stopped equating soreness with a proper training session
For years I treated post-training soreness as a trophy. If my legs couldn't handle the stairs the next morning after leg day, I'd quietly congratulate myself on the way down to the local café for my flat white. The harder the ache, the more I assumed I'd earned it. Friends at my gym in Surry Hills would swap notes about who was sorer, and I was always keen to win that unofficial competition, even on a Tuesday arvo session.
What shifted my thinking wasn't a single article or a podcast. It was a run of poor results, an annoying shoulder niggle, and a chat with a coach who asked me, in classic Aussie deadpan, "What are you actually trying to achieve here?" That question made me realise soreness had become a goal in itself rather than a side effect of useful work.
The soreness-as-success mindset is everywhere in Australian gyms, from the converted warehouse spaces in Collingwood to the F45 studios that have spread outwards from Adelaide. It's easy to feel like you haven't trained unless you can barely wipe down the bench afterwards.
Below I unpack the science, the cultural pull, and the practical swaps that helped me train with more intent and less accumulated damage.
The biology behind post-training muscle aches
Muscle soreness, often called DOMS, typically peaks between 24 and 72 hours after a hard session. It happens because of micro-damage to muscle fibres and the inflammatory response that follows. That's it. It isn't a direct measure of effort, adaptation, or strength gain, even though it feels like one.
Soreness tends to fade as your body adapts to a given stimulus. The first time someone does heavy goblet squats after a long break, they often can't sit properly for two days. Repeat the same workout a few weeks later and the ache is barely there, even though the weights have gone up. The work didn't get easier; the body got more efficient.
Why chasing soreness backfired for me
When I built sessions around feeling wrecked, I started overloading volume on movements that weren't the weak links. Squats got piled on top of squats. Rows on top of rows. The actual goal of getting stronger at compound lifts drifted in favour of collecting tender spots.
I also kept getting sick. Two winters in a row I copped a cold right after a heavy block, and I'd blame it on the weather in Melbourne doing its usual four-seasons-in-a-day thing. Looking honestly at my training diary, the constant deep fatigue was probably suppressing my immune response far more than the cold snap was.
Recovery took longer between sessions too. What I thought was progressive overload was actually accumulated fatigue wearing the same muscle group down before it had rebuilt. Strength stalled, mood flattened, and the bench I'd been chasing felt further away every week.
Better markers than next-day stiffness
I now track a handful of things that actually correlate with progress. Performance on key lifts week to week, measured in kilos or reps. Heart rate variability first thing in the morning, which I log in a free app. Sleep quality, because nothing recovers a body like eight hours in a dark room. And how a session feels during, not after, since technique under load tells me more than any ache.
RPE, or rate of perceived effort, has become my compass. If a working set of Romanian deadlifts sits at a 7 out of 10 and I'm grinding through technique, that's far more useful than whether my hamstrings feel cooked on the drive to Bunnings the next day.
| Signal | What it actually suggests | Action to take |
|---|---|---|
| Joint or tendon pain | Poor loading or technique issue | Reduce load, check form, see a physio |
| Muscle soreness (DOMS) | Normal adaptation if mild | Train through if mild, adjust if severe |
| Drop in lift performance | Fatigue or under-recovery | Add rest, deload, check sleep |
| Elevated resting heart rate | Accumulated stress or illness brewing | Take an easier day or rest completely |
| Loss of motivation | Overtraining or monotony | Change stimulus, swap exercises, take time off |
How my week actually looks now
I train four days, not five or six, and I rotate intensity rather than chasing a pump every session. Day one is heavy and low-rep on the main lift. Day two is moderate and slightly higher volume. Day three is technique-focused and lighter. Day four returns to heavy but on a different movement pattern. Soreness is allowed to show up, but it's no longer the brief.
I also keep one full rest day, usually the one where I head down to the local footy oval to walk the dog or kick the Sherrin around with the kids. That used to feel lazy. Now it feels like part of the program, not a break from it.
How local gym culture shapes this
Australian gyms lean heavily into community and high-energy group sessions. F45, BFT, and the countless boutique studios thrive because mates turn up together and push hard in 45-minute blocks. That environment rewards the sweatiest, most wrecked version of yourself, and it can quietly reinforce the soreness mindset without anyone meaning to.
There's also the social comparison factor. Walking into a gym in Parramatta or Fortitude Valley, you'd hear blokes comparing notes about who trained legs the hardest. The bragging rights can become a goal on their own. None of this is bad, but it's worth knowing it's nudging your decisions when you plan the next session.
Adjusting without ditching the community
I'm not suggesting you stop training hard or skip the group atmosphere. I've kept a couple of high-intensity classes each week for the social side and the structure. What I've changed is how I treat the days around them. Easier sessions, more walking, an extra protein-rich meal at brekkie, and an honest check-in about whether I'm actually recovering or just running on adrenaline and cold-rippled coffees.
Next time you finish a session, ignore the stairs test for a moment and instead check your logbook, your sleep score, or your readiness for the next planned workout. That single shift in what you measure will tell you far more about your training than any soreness scale ever could.