Learning to Coach - Lesson 3
Alta ski resort was shawled in about two feet of new snow and High Rustler, a steep run visible to everyone in the lodge, was untracked. In one amazing run, I was about to carve my signature, ever so briefly, onto the fresh canvas of the mountain. I saw my line up the ridge where a pine tree jutted out at a 45 degree angle. I would ski up the ridge and down toward the base of the tree and then launch off it, landing gracefully in the middle of the run. Spectators would talk about the maneuver for years: “Do you remember that ripper in the green jacket and floppy red and white hat who launched of the pine tree? Dude, that was some serious shreddin’.” I attacked the run, headed up the ridge, and smack, I hit a rock underneath the snow and, well, that ended the ski trip. Nowadays at Alta, you might hear someone say: “Do you remember when that douche in the stupid red and white hat and ugly green jacket skied into the minefield of rocks? What a dumbass.”
I returned home to coach my teams. My knee felt odd at times. For example, I was demoing jumping back and forth over a ball, my knee gave out, and I fell over. It was odd, but I was certain it was temporary. One day, I was playing with my U17 boys’ team when I slipped on a gym floor and heard and felt, or felt and heard, a snap – the remaining shreds of my ACL calling it quits.
My first season as Girl’s head coach of the defending ’94 high school State Champions had begun a week before. I now had to coach on crutches.
I crutched over to my first practice without a working knee. I was terrible. Practice lacked rhythm and pace. Everything took too long. The second and third practice were marginally better. The dilemma: my best coaching tool was obsolete – demonstrating. I was 25, coaching 2-3 practices a day, and playing men’s amateur soccer. In my free time, I played soccer golf, soccer tennis and skied into rocks. Point being, I was good at demoing. Sure, I described the technique or activity, but always accompanied it with a demo.
There’s an old adage: those that can’t do teach and those that can’t teach, teach gym. It’s funny but misses a crucial point. Those who’ve mastered a skill can’t remember how they learned it. Consequently, they suck at teaching.
“Do it like this,” the instructor says while performing the technique.
“Huh?” the student says.
“Like this,” the instructor performs the task again.
The student imitates and performs like a marionette whose puppeteer has broken thumbs.
“No that’s not it, Like this,” the impatient instructor mesmerizes with his or her adept control, balance and magician-like mastery.
The student makes one last convoluted and defeated effort before giving up.
The instructor wonders what’s wrong with the kid. After all, the demo was perfect.
For the remainder of the spring of ’95 season I hobbled around on crutches and coached from a chair. I’d call a player over, “Jenny, demo The Matthews.” “Great, notice she changes speed and direction in the same touch.” “Becky, start your run before the ball is played. Look at her body language and look at that space. Run to where you want the ball.” I rediscovered the game. I barked, instructed, and paid close attention to every word. Excess words muddle the brain. Excess words equal a slow, boring practice.
In ’92 Craig Peltonen assigned me to coaching goalies and offered me a crash course in the science of teaching skills I didn’t possess.
In ’95 I crashed into a rock and received a course on the art of teaching skills I didn’t remember learning. It was another gift early in my coaching career, and if I had to do it all over again – I would’ve avoided the rocks, launched off that pine tree and become an Alta ski legend. C’mon. I coach for a living. Eventually I would’ve figured out how to teach without demoing.
