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Never Too Late to Explore Masters Weightlifting: Laurie Armstrong's Incredible Journey

Laurie Armstrong is a remarkable newcomer to the masters weightlifting community, and his story is truly unique. Unlike many athletes in the older age categories who have spent decades competing, Laurie embarked on his weightlifting journey much later in life. His dedication and passion intrigued me, and I had the pleasure of meeting him at several Canadian Masters Championships.

 

I asked Laurie to share his experiences, from his humble beginnings to his remarkable entry into the world of Canadian Masters weightlifters. Get ready to be inspired by his heartwarming tale and humorous anecdotes as he transformed from a retired solicitor to a competitive masters weightlifter.

"POWER" by Laurie Armstrong

August 2025

I retired from a stressful white-collar job at 68. Two years later, I stepped into a gym for the very first time. For years prior, I’d commuted by bicycle and enjoyed long bike tours through Western Canada, Europe, and South America, so my legs were reasonably strong. My upper body, however, was a different story.

 

I hired a personal trainer, France, and got to work on strength and mobility. I was faithful in my attendance and workout routines; having a trainer kept me accountable. We mostly did circuit training with some free weights: dumbbell presses, barbell squats, and occasionally deadlifts – nothing too heavy.

 

For squats and deadlifts, we’d move to the weightlifting platforms where the serious, intimidating gym-bros hung out. One day, a young woman, all 5’0” of her, was on the adjacent platform performing Olympic lifts: the Snatch and the Clean and Jerk. I’d never seen anything like it and was awed by her power and lightning speed as she whipped the bar up and, incredibly, dove under it into a deep squat, her shoes slapping the platform like rifle shots. Old men shouldn't stare at young women in the gym, but there I was, mesmerized.

 

I turned to France, my trainer, and said, “You need to teach me how to do that!” She guffawed, no doubt envisioning a crumpled 73-year-old body mangled under a barbell. But I was serious.

 

France was a competitive CrossFit athlete and knowledgeable about Olympic Lifting, even if it wasn’t her specialty. She knew enough to get me started. We progressed from a plastic pipe to a wooden dowel, then a 10 kg training bar, a 15 kg bar, and eventually, the standard 20 kg bar. Forget weight plates – even empty bars were a huge challenge!

 

My cleans that first year were, at best, shaky power cleans followed by very shaky partial front squats. I could usually jerk what I could clean, especially after finally figuring out I’m a left-leg-forward guy in the split. My snatch was a power snatch. I couldn’t begin to squat under an overhead bar, and if I tried, I couldn’t get back up. Overhead squats were impossible.

 

But I kept at it, until I couldn't. A bad bike crash injured my left knee and right wrist, putting me out for months. Then a farm accident mangled the left knee even worse. More months. Then a hernia set me back again, followed by surgery and a long recovery. Then prostate surgery and more recovery. Oh, the joys of old age and taking forever to heal! Meanwhile, France joined the military and was no longer available, not that I could do much anyway.

 

By then, I’d dropped my gym membership but had bought a cheap barbell and a few weights. After getting reluctant permission from my wife to set up a squat rack in a small corner of the hayloft in her barn, I slowly started back. Olympic lifts were well beyond me, but I broke down the components and did what I could, depending on my recovery. Still, I felt like I was going backward.

 

When I was finally healthy enough to start lifting again, France was through her basic training and awaiting assignment, and we were able to start meeting up again. We began more or less back at the beginning, but slowly, erratically, I began to notice some minor gains and started to feel better, stronger.

 

Then France was assigned to a base in Ontario, and our sessions were done. She gave me the name and number of an Olympic lifting coach to contact: Rachel Siemens. I Googled her. She was the real deal, having competed for Canada in events all over the world. I doubted she’d have any interest in me, but I contacted her, and she skeptically agreed to meet, but just for an initial assessment. Little did I know what I was getting into!

 

Three months later, I was sprawled flat on my back on the platform of the Vancouver Classic Weightlifting Competition, feet up in the air, my bum pointed at the center judge, the bar rolling away behind me. Polite applause as I struggled to my feet. “Um, no lift,” I heard over the loudspeaker, as if anyone was in doubt. But I made my second snatch, to relieved applause, and after making one or two of my clean and jerks, I survived my first competition. And was hooked.

 

I was 75. The next oldest contestant was 43. To no one’s surprise, I didn’t podium. I can’t in general competitions, of course; I’m competing against 20-year-olds in my weight class. They’re lifting in kilograms what I’m struggling with in pounds! But in Masters events, where classification is by age, I’ve won gold at the Canadian and BC championships (with little or no competition), and came in 4th in the World Masters held in Finland (out of 4). I now hold the BC record for the 75-80 age group. There’s not much competition; hardly anyone my age performs Olympic lifts. Why not?

The Benefits of a Challenging New Skill

Back when I retired, a well-meaning friend circulated an article stressing the benefits of learning a new, challenging skill in retirement – a skill so difficult it takes a coach to master it. The author (whose name I forget and regrettably can’t credit) took up tennis to a competitive level. But according to the author, it could just as well be piano playing or portrait painting – anything so difficult it requires serious focus, dedication, and a coach. Obviously, concert violin ticks the difficulty box, but choosing a physical activity has the added advantage of health benefits.

 

Olympic weightlifting, I can attest, is incredibly difficult. It’s not just about strength; it requires practiced technique to lift a bar far heavier than strength alone could manage. The difference between success and failure in a heavy lift is a matter of mere millimeters in bar path. It’s complicated. When I start a lift focused on the 27 things I have to do correctly in the next half-second, failure is assured. But each of those things is important to achieve success. Like golf and many other activities, it’s one of those sports where you can learn 75% of the necessary skill in short order, and then you spend the rest of your life trying to get to 90%.

 

I train three times a week, one time with Rachel. Recently, I’ve started a fourth day back at the gym, working on general fitness. Rachel designs my weekly program, and all I have to do is follow it. Her programs alternate heavy lift weeks and all-out test days, with taper periods for recovery. She sets me up to peak right on time for the next competition. I compete at every opportunity. Not wanting to make a fool of myself on the platform in front of the crowd keeps me well-motivated and continuing to try to improve.

 

So, in 2 ½ years of serious training, I now lift about double what I started with, while, of course, I’ve continued to age. Some of that gain is technique, but a lot of it is added strength. It’s absolute B.S. that you can’t gain muscle mass as you get older. I look better and am much stronger now at almost 78 than I was when I retired at 68, and about 10 kg lighter.

More Than Just Strength: The Power of Olympic Lifting

Olympic lifting requires so much more than just strength. It takes explosive power to make a lift. The bar wants to stay on the floor and fights to return to the floor all the way up. That’s Newton’s 3rd law: the action the lifter forces onto the bar is equaled by the force the bar applies back on the lifter. Applying and in turn countering those forces builds muscle strength, and that in turn builds bone density. But lifting requires more than strength; it requires power. Power is the transfer of energy, force, per unit of time, speed. Just lifting the bar is not enough; it takes applied acceleration to get it up over your head. Heavy deadlifts and bench presses also require strength and technique, but snatches and clean and jerks require explosive power, speed, and balance.

 

Perfect balance is required to stabilize the bar overhead. The explosiveness and speed, importantly, train our fast-twitch muscles.

 

It all takes endless practice. Initially, when learning technique, the weight doesn’t matter so much. As long as it challenges the lifter, a broomstick may do nicely when first learning technique.

 

The strength, speed, power, and balance it takes to make a lift are exactly what we all desperately need as we age. Without those, we risk becoming enfeebled and losing what we all fear: our mobility, and quickly following that, our independence.

 

Sarcopenia is the ‘inevitable’ loss of muscle as we age. Worse, the first muscles we tend to lose are our fast-twitch (Type II) muscles. They are essential in helping us recover our balance when we trip over the curb at Starbucks. Without them, especially if also lacking general strength and balance, more than likely we will suffer a fall. And lacking in bone density, falling puts us at much higher risk of breaking something, often a hip. And with a broken hip, we end up in the hospital, and there we catch pneumonia. And then...

 

I’d so much rather lift weights!!!