The Former Fat Kid, The Cricketer, and 93kg

Two lifters, one gym, two completely different reasons for ending up in the same weight class. Varun played cricket at the state level before he ever touched a barbell with intent. Prashanth spent high school as, in his own words, "a mustard seed — black, small, and round," before losing almost 60kg. Neither planned to end up chasing the same number in the same class. Both did, because 93kg is where the serious lifters end up.

In the pilot episode of The Third Attempt, Minimum Strength's own podcast, hosts Azeez and Suvojit Manna sit both of them down for an hour that covers how they actually got here — not the highlight-reel version.

Why 93kg Is India's Deepest Weight Class

93kg sits close to the average height and frame of a competitive lifter at peak muscularity, which is the same reason it's the deepest class internationally in the IPF and USAPL. India's field is following the same pattern: it's the class with the most realistic contenders for a podium, which means it's also the class where a good total stops being enough on its own.

Varun's numbers make the case. Under coach Kaushal, he went from a 500kg total to 630kg in two years — a 130kg jump that would move most lifters up a bracket, and here still leaves him fighting for position. Prashanth, coached by Pankaj, competes at 257.5kg squat, 142.5kg bench, and a 280kg deadlift — put up despite starting from zero strength training background just a few years ago.

"I was listening to brown noise, bro. Just some ocean sounds. Wind, rain. I don't know, I was just trying to calm myself completely." — Prashanth, on what was actually playing before his 257.5kg squat PR, not the "heavy techno" people assume

One Coach, One Program

Both lifters land on the same piece of advice, unprompted, when the conversation turns to what actually works. Prashanth, who also works as a physio, sees the failure mode constantly from the other side of the table:

"I've noticed a lot of lifters come in and they'll say, 'I tweaked my lower back,' 'I tweaked my shoulder benching' — and all of this even when they're supposedly 'on a program.' A quote-unquote program, made by ChatGPT, which isn't completely individualized even though it says it is. And they end up getting injured, and they'll say, 'I don't know, I messed up, I don't know what to do now.' Have a proper coach, and stick to that one coach."

Neither of them frames this as marketing. It's what actually changed their numbers — a real coach, watching real lifts, over a long enough stretch of time to matter. It's the same argument Minimum Strength makes about technique review generally: see why technique coaching never stops mattering, even once a lifter is well past "beginner."

The Gym That Stops for Every PR

The part of the conversation that says the most about Minimum Strength's culture isn't about either lifter's total. It's Prashanth describing what happens on the floor when a total stranger is about to hit a number that matters to them:

"I saw some dude trying to hit like a 120kg squat, and the entire gym stopped. Everyone waited for him to finish. He got the lift, everyone went for his bump, and then we all went back to our own workouts."

That's the same room Varun calls "more of a home" than any other gym he's trained at — not because of the equipment, but because a 120kg squat from someone nobody knows gets the same reaction as a national-level attempt.

Between Districts and States

The episode also gets into the calendar-level problem competitive Indian lifters actually deal with: district and state meets landing two weeks apart, with real fatigue-management consequences and no room to peak for both. Both lifters raise India's inconsistent NADA drug-testing coverage unprompted — not as an accusation aimed at anyone specific, but as something they'd both like to see tightened, for the sport's own credibility as it grows.

Read the TranscriptExpandCollapse

Lightly edited for readability from the recorded conversation.

On how Prashanth found powerlifting:

Prashanth: So I started off as a fat kid in high school. I was like a bullied kid and stuff. I used to look like a mustard seed — black, small, and round. And I had to change that. I started losing weight in 2018, and from there I lost around 50 to 60kg. Came down to like 54kg, got into endurance activity — long distance running, long distance cycling — and then switched sports around 2019.

On Varun's move from cricket to coaching:

Suvojit: How did you go from doing cricket at state level, to being a coach, to competing in powerlifting?

Varun: Beginning of my college days — first year — I realized cricket wasn't going anywhere as a career for me. I loved to train, I was good at the strength movements whenever we did a fitness test at the academy — push-ups, squats. So I just thought, okay, let's make a career out of this. Nothing more complicated than that. One guy guided me in, took me on as an intern helping him coach cricketers as a strength and conditioning coach. Right after college, I worked at the gym as a coach.

On what actually happens in the gym when someone hits a PR:

Prashanth: I feel Minimum has it more than other gyms — because it's a smaller-sized gym, it's like one big family. From one end of the gym you shout, and someone else can hear you and have a full conversation. People I didn't even know would hype me up when I was squatting. They'd stop their own workout, no matter what the weight is, even if it's a random rookie trying to hit a PR. I saw some dude trying to hit like a 120kg squat, and the entire gym stopped. Everyone waited for him to finish. He got the lift, everyone went for his bump, and then we all went back to our own workouts.

On sticking to one coach instead of program-hopping:

Prashanth: I feel injury mitigation is the most important thing. Being part physio, I've noticed a lot of lifters come in and they'll say, "I tweaked my lower back," "I tweaked my shoulder benching" — and all of this even when they're supposedly "on a program." A quote-unquote program, made by ChatGPT, which isn't completely individualized even though it says it is. And they end up getting injured, and they'll say, "I don't know, I messed up, I don't know what to do now." Have a proper coach, and stick to that one coach.

This is a lightly cleaned excerpt of the full conversation, not the complete transcript. The full episode is embedded above.