When I moved to Perth, people were fascinated by what I would pick out as the defining features of the city. I couldn't get past the way people drive. I'm not sure what it's like in other countries but in Australia, there's definitely a social convention that is deeply ingrained around the speed you drive, and where you should do it. If you are going to drive slowly, you must do so in the left-hand lane so that people can drive faster in the right lane. I'm not just talking about people who are below the speed limit. This has evolved into an acceptance that people will drive over the speed limit intentionally, and they expect the right lane to be clear so they can explicitly break the law.
This has always fascinated me because there is so much risk in going just a few kilometres over the speed limit. There were entire campaigns when I was growing up about how many people die on the roads each year in connection to speeding, and just one kilometre over the limit is enough to do deadly damage. That's why some roads are slower than others, more pedestrians means slower road speeds so that if someone does get hit, hopefully they survive. I often overhear people complaining about school zones (40km/h)... they forget why we go slower (to not, you know, kill a child) until they see a handwritten sign designed by a child. How ridiculous.
I know, you're probably wondering what on earth this has to do with any of the topics I usually write about but to me, I see this as deeply connected to the questions I find myself asking. Why do coaches behave the way that they do? What makes a good training session? What needs to be real? Is near enough good enough? I think it comes down to our why, and intentionality more broadly. But don't worry, I'll come back to speeding in a moment.
People don't by what you do, but why you do it.
Simon Sinek
I was recently reminded that I have more power than I think. That's a confronting thing to hear for me, because not only do I spend most of my time trying to renounce any power that I might have, I've always thoroughly underestimated how much I can influence a room. That means, in my naivety, I've probably missed a series of opportunities I could have taken if I had been paying closer attention, so I could respond appropriately. One of the biggest shifts I've made on this front is that I no longer consider anyone to be an idiot. That sounds ridiculous when it's written down, but I find people throw that word around far too easily.
Instead, I've made a conscious effort to follow the breadcrumb trail that have led people to where they are today: the early learning experiences that have shaped them, their relationship with sport and physical activity, their beliefs about learning, information, knowledge and growth. I find that I can weave a tapestry of a coach in just a few conversations, not to categorise them and then proceed to ignore them, but to know them better so I can pay better attention to the moments that matter.
As such, I often remind myself of two things when working with sports coaches: “behaviour is a function of the environment”, and “I would believe that too if I followed the same breadcrumb trail”. The difference here depends on whether or not that coach is ready to seek a different trail themselves, or extend beyond what they currently know. I do my best to make this an open invitation, and I know they've taken it when they start to ask me questions.
I really tested this approach recently, where I had the pleasure of working with a team of coaches over a short period of time. I knew nothing about them going into the sessions, I had arrived a mere 5 minutes before hosting my first class, and I was probably a little too giddy that I was to host them in a PE classroom, scribbling on a whiteboard as they threw out ideas (I always wanted to be a PE teacher). So where do you start when you have no idea who is sitting in front of you?
What are you trying to achieve?
I have this written at the top of my whiteboard, and I loved starting our correspondence with a thread that could lead anywhere. The variety of responses I received were fascinating, from professional to personal development, on and off the court. It was in this moment that I realised we have come so far in coaching to really emphasise that we are human first, before we are performers in a sports coaching sense.
It sounds ridiculous that such a concept would need reinforcement but I am certainly not the first (or last) to write about it. I think our "why" is deeply embedded in this question, because we all coach for so many different reasons. Until we know what that is, there's no point trying to throw every technique or framework or tool at someone, because they've still got their walls up. Instead, I like to use this question to disarm them a little, to destabilise them, like finding the loose block in a Jenga Tower and gently trying to remove it.
Now, back to the speeding. I think this question slows down time a little, because we don't often give ourselves time to ponder it. We are sooo busy trying to live in the fast lane, speeding that little bit more each time, because where's the harm in just a few kilometres per hour over the limit, or yelling at a half time talk, or benching someone with no explanation, or running laps as a punishment, or deselecting someone from a talent squad with no feedback.
The harm is there, we know it's there. The drop out numbers are steadily rising, and our relationship with health and physical activity is strained at best. We are trying to take shortcuts to improve performance at the cost of learning, but I don't think we've ever realised that because we consider “performing well” in training the same as learning.
I think it comes down to the fact that we have limited time, and that time needs to be spent wisely. Our definition of "wisely" can be vastly different, depending on the contexts we come from, historical experiences and so on. Seeing somebody perform a skill for the first time after two or three training sessions, or getting frustrated by their inability to do so, is judged quite harshly in sporting contexts. We forget that there is absolutely no guarantee that what we do at training will transfer to a performance environment. We fall into the trap of testing our ability to perform a skill instead of our ability to learn it because that's easier to measure.
But what if in trying to learn, or measure when learning occurs, we are interrupting the learning process? If we don't have clear intentions for how learning might occur and the environment in which it might emerge, then it's very easy to get lost in the woods and not see the forest for the trees. I'm okay with being lost in the woods because I often seek that level of uncertainty, but I still needed to be guided by something.
The only intention I needed with this camp of coaches was to provide as much support as possible, however they needed it, in the best ways I could give it. If I only had 60 minutes to do so, I would then make sure that those minutes were spent wisely: interacting with others, receiving feedback, asking curious questions, exploring new domains or re-searching in familiar ones. To me, the real coach development comes from these moments, and I don’t need to be there to make them happen. I’m not magic 🧙🏼♀️
In doing so, we found rabbit holes that I didn't know existed and connected concepts that at first glance looked wildly unrelated. The more we spent time thinking out loud with each other and sharing our questions, the more we found the red raw skin that coaches hide behind their cues and comments and clipboards and cones. Together, we were able to create a space that valued the loudest voices and the quiet thinkers equally. We pulled at threads that felt glued into place, even though nobody really wanted to be the first one to test it.
We mapped our notes so that we can continue on in our own direction, charting our way as we went along, veering off into unique directions that suited each individual coach best. Most importantly, I hope those ideas live on in their daily training environments, built on a system that grows knowledge instead of just transmitting it.
That is my hope for the new year. I would love to see, and help build, more systems for knowledge growth. For me, this newsletter is a profound one because I like to write them with my heart on my sleeve. You are not reading a pre-planned monologue, but an emergent one. I write the words just as they appear when I speak into my own mind, and I hope you have enjoyed these ones. I cannot wait to see where the next one will take us.