Let’s say you’ve just purchased a cookbook by your favorite celebrity chef, the one and only Emeril Legasse. You crack open the pages and find a recipe you recall him making on a live TV episode -- a recipe that looked incredible, and which his live audience/tasters confirmed was one of the best they’ve ever had. You get the proper ingredients, follow the directions, and prepare the meal. But when the moment arrives to taste the masterpiece, you’re a bit let down. It’s good, sure, but it’s nothing like what Emeril plated on his show. It doesn’t taste nearly so rich or complex as his live studio audience claimed it did. What gives? You followed the instructions, got good quality ingredients, you even said “Bam!” when you threw the spices in the pan.

Is Emeril hiding his trade secrets and doling out subpar recipes in his cookbook? Is the audience full of paid shills? Is Emeril not worthy of all the praise after all?

No. The problem is that you’re not a professional chef. It should come as no surprise that a meal prepared by your hands in your kitchen doesn’t stack up to the same recipe made by a lifetime professional chef and restaurateur. Don’t take this is a blow to your ego or a slight on your character, take it as a worthy reminder that equity exists in this world. It would be a very troubling world indeed if anyone with a cookbook could put a master chef out of business.

Let’s apply this same allegory to our practice of choice: physical training. There are plenty of high caliber athletes out there whose “recipes” you can find and follow; but rest assured, the same logic of Emeril’s cookbook applies here.

Mastery is earned, not given. The magic, if you will, isn’t in the recipe, but in the execution, the deliberate practice, and the time under tension. There are no shortcuts.