That's something I threw out while teaching yesterday, "Muscle over momentum!"
Maybe I heard it, but more likely it came from that blacked-out fugue state I go to when I'm instructing, where I pull things out from the depths of my sass. Like a whale breaching, something dormant and necessary will spout out, usually something more unpredictable than salt water and air. This cue, however, I find quickly corrects a pace and place to move from in very few words. Visually, what happens is the movement slows down, and the flailing is edited down to a controlled, smaller range. Mentally, what essentially happens is the process becomes a priority, not the end result.
This is an important queue to remember even outside of working out or outside of movement. Don't get caught up on how the end results are looking, how the movement sticks at the end, or how the posted posed picture looks. Because we usually skip steps to get there, we tend to rush. Essentially flail or fake it.
I think about the importance of a process a lot. Not just seeing it as a means to an end but as an inspiring experience that is satisfying in itself. I hear it over and over from my favorite neurologists and professors on a podcast, or amazing coaches I follow, how this is what separates an average skill level to really excelling.
Definitely true from where I stand as a Pilates instructor. Teaching for almost 20 years, I've seen it all. The folks that come in consistently right up until their Achilles' heel, and instead of digging in and working through it, they run—it's not for them. Then there are the ones that keep coming until the event they wanted to train for/get in shape for, and then decide they are done. Pilates black belt, can't go any higher.
Then there's the one that comes regularly, but they do just enough to keep themselves in a zone of working hard without actually reaching a level where they can really excel and find out their potential. There are also the clients, and I can be guilty of this, who come regularly and challenge themselves, do the hard moves, but they challenge themselves in the same way, with the same amount of reps, and the same ranges and versions as before. They basically stay within the comfort of their strength and don't realize they are not offering enough variety. As an instructor, don't worry, I know who you are, and I'm always giving you my sneaky nudges to push you into the unknown. Sometimes I'm not subtle, and I blow salty water at you.
However, it's no coincidence that the ones who have that special sauce of curiosity and real commitment are the ones who truly master it. They exceed their goals because they were so intrigued with the training that they forgot their goals. They aren't just there to get in shape for a certain event or season. They aren't only there for the end result. They are there because they find mastering and struggling in the workout to be fulfilling. Beyond mastering, because mastering is fun, but even the struggling. Just a mess in the process! Then they come up for air, giggle, and try it again and again.
I see the most beautiful display of learning and a real gutsy commitment to a process when I watch my daughter's skate camp. The ultimate fall and get back up. It's an arena with the full spectrum of learning responses, similar to what I see in the studio. Noemie lived them all. She was slow to get going; she would obsess over the way her shoelaces were tied and stall in the most delusional, creative way she could. I chalked it up to maybe she's not ready for this circus yet. Except the regulars, some the same age as her, the young Pup-Town and Z Girl crew, ran out the gate. Climbing over the walls to get to their favorite ramp.
Once she started pushing off and going she liked it - but as long as nothing went wrong. She was like the client who only made sure they did the exercises and versions of the exercise that would guarantee to go well. She kind of hid behind that for a while. The same teeny drop in over and over again. The good news is she is kind of crazy. So her curiousity is stronger than her need to be comfortable.
She finally did push through some fear and got to level 2. Wasn't without some tears and a call in the middle of skateboarding camp though. Asking us to pick her up. Not because she was tired or didn't like it. Because she did a "really really hard trick" and doesn't think she'll ever be able to do it again. It was a backwards 180, finishing with a switch stance. So she was basically trying to retire. She's the client that loves it but then once they reached one goal - they call it a day. Noemie felt she could go home now, left her jersey behind to hang from the rafters.
The other good news is not only is she crazy and curious, but she hates missing out. So she was back the next day. She did a full day, and this is when I saw that light turn on, the focus and flushed cheeks under that kitty helmet. She stopped thinking about her shoelaces; in fact, her outfits got really weird and eccentric—officially part of the circus. She started to embrace falling. She knew it was the only way she would get better. Then, when she learned how to steer and turn, she found muscle, not momentum. She becomes the client that starts to master.
What skaters calls steez/steezy: a combination of the words "style" and "ease."
Josh Waitzkin is former master chess player from the age of 6. Now a martial arts world champion, a trainer and mentor to professional sports teams. He wrote a book about The Art of Learning. He says even though he was labeled as a child prodigy (the inspiration for the film Searching for Bobby Fischer ) he is real careful about the term "prodigy." He does not identify with that label because he feels a child prodigy typically only knows how to be the best. They stay in situations where they can maintain that because it is ingrained in their identity. Young Josh, however, wanted to make sure he was always competing in situations where he was more likely to lose, with people who were better than him. He loved knowing he was probably going to get his ass kicked because it meant he would leave with more material to study. Better techniques he was exposed to to learn from. He noticed the kids who never lost would avoid the better contenders because they weren't prepared to lose. In his words, "they weren't taking their shit on." He calls this a "brittleness." They associate their level of mastery with innate talent. When you walk around knowing you have something special that already exists in you, you can stop taking risks and lose the skills of hard work to achieve something. Resilience is never practiced, so the thought of reinventing is just crippling.
This isn't just seen in prodigies, but in big egos and narcissists. When they can become so obsessed with instant progress, or the portrayal of it, they cheat and lie to themselves. I'm not naming names, but you see this in a certain public political problem in the news every day. The skate world has a word for this type of person - "poser."
This week, let's keep pivoting, kick-pushing, and dropping in outside our comfort zones to become authentically stronger. Be like young Josh Waitzkin, who looked forward to getting his ass kicked; seeing his weaknesses slapped in front of him was the best gift and honest feedback to become better. Be like our little thrasher, where your craziness and curiosity override comfort. Instead of gliding downhill on autopilot, you start tic-tacking, using muscle instead of momentum.
Excited to make your bodies sweat, smile, and steer from muscle, maybe a hint of crazy, under our kitty helmets.
XO,
Celeste
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