Coaching in the River

Familiar with the quote or not, the version we are most likely to hear attributed to Greek philosopher Heraclitus is, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man”. With no surviving writing from Heraclitus himself, we are attributing this to him via records of his students and counterparts-in-thought. With much less appetite for an open-ended and subjectively vague philosophical diet, the gaps are filled in thusly. Of the accepted primary references to this concept, Heraclitus’s words left much more to the imagination: 

We both step and do not step into the same, we both are and are not

In a profession of planning and counter-planning, in a profession of scouting, predicting, gameplanning and then throwing it all out the window when the competition starts, in a profession of ego-meets-ego-meets-(hopefully)-egolessness, in a profession where individuality ideally gives way to solidarity, we must embrace that Heraclitus may have identified coaches as fish out of water…while in the water…drowning. Choose your sport. Take the number of athletes on your team and multiply that by the number of coaches on your staff and multiply that by the number of potential moment-to-moment perceptions of actions, words, and outcomes and multiply that by the number of outside influences on each individual at any given time and multiply that by the infinite combinations of thoughts, feelings, goals, dreams…you get the idea. The variables and dynamics involved make a daunting task seem impossible, and that’s just upon dipping a toe into the water. 

Not to add fuel to the fire, but the prefrontal cortex doesn’t reach full development or maturation until the age of 25. “This brain region has been implicated in planning complex cognitive behavior, personality expression, decision making, and moderating social behavior”. (Shoutout to rental car companies for identifying the minimum age to really trust a human’s decision making…in theory). This is a horrifying reality of the young athletes we choose to lead and to whom some trust their livelihood. What this means is that from neighborhood park district leagues to high-level professionals, we are engaging with humans who are still spending a lot of time and energy on learning how to human. Before they even reach the practice facility, they are spending an entire day trying to navigate creating an image that aligns with their beliefs while figuring out their beliefs. They are experimenting with social interactions with parents, friends, and teachers. They are balancing effort, performance, and expectations that are being defined by themselves and their people. At the same time, we are demanding they learn the ins-and-outs of a sport at increasingly advanced levels, how to be a good teammate, and how to manage a social media identity and brand. (A future post will address the dissonance created by social media for young athletes and how it can be used in a positive way). 

Let’s take a moment to embody the words of Heraclitus. Either visualize this or do this the next time you arrive for practice or training: 

Stand outside your facility and take a deep breath. (Close your eyes if it is safe to do so). 

Imagine you are standing on the bank of a river. 

Imagine the river waters swirling, cresting over rocks, a different pace wherever you watch. 

Imagine the sound of the river, constant yet ever-changing, mesmerizing, peaceful. 

Think of taking that first step. 

The moment your foot hits the waters freeze the entire scene. 

Mentally pull yourself back to the bank and look at this snapshot. 

If you were given the opportunity to coach within that singular moment, with the time and insight to evaluate and identify everything in stillness, you could eventually recall every detail and use it to your advantage. This is not our job. This is not what we prepare for. This is not what coaching is. And we are the ones with a fully developed prefrontal cortex. If we expect this from our athletes, the ability to freeze everything and operate objectively in regards to a snapshot of a river at one moment in time, we will find we are all up a creek without a paddle. 

So what do we do? 

Every moment we have with our players is special, unique. Who they are today is fleeting and fragile. They may return to practice the next day a completely changed person. YOU may return to practice the next day a completely changed person. This part of human nature is what makes coaching so dynamic, and eventually, so rewarding. 

As it relates to performance, it is our responsibility to remember the humanity of each person involved in our operations. Connections and understanding always have and always will support success defined in many ways. Relationships not only allow for coaches and athletes to build trust and garner commitment, but also allow these young people to explore what relationships in general can be. From the highest level of competition down, the fluidity of the river can manifest in performance. Be it an angry outburst on the professional stage or a five year-old sitting in the middle of the soccer field crying about a caterpillar, the river flows with or without our permission. Being a beacon of consistency and doing our part to teaching the tactics for creating consistency are gifts we can provide. 

For success attached to another nautical metaphor, see: PJ Fleck and “Row the Boat”. 

We are coaches. We don’t get into this profession for smooth sailing. Often we can get caught up in thinking we are more Captain Ahab than we are The Old Man and the Sea. Sometimes we end up being George Clooney in “The Perfect Storm”, sometimes Mark Wahlberg. But think back to the mental exercise, the visualization of stepping into the river. We don’t go into the water for its present state, for that one particular moment in time, we go into the water to be invigorated, to be given life. We go into the water knowing it flows, it changes. We go into the water considering depths, temperatures, gifts and dangers. We go into the water understanding it has been there for much longer than we have existed and will continue to be there for much longer than we will exist. But just as we can see ourselves being the ones stepping into the river, with our athletes as part of the water, we need to remember they are taking the same step into their river which includes us as part of the water. As a voice of philosophy himself, Bruce Lee encouraged those moments as well. 

Whether we are the explorer or the water, reflect upon your current state and the state of your current. Coach in the river.

Resources and Research

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/heraclitus/

https://www.thescienceofpsychotherapy.com/prefrontal-cortex/#:~:text=The%20prefrontal%20cortex%20(PFC)%20is,making%2C%20and%20moderating%20social%20behaviour.

PJ Fleck - “Row the Boat” 

Bruce Lee

"Zen in the Art of Archery" - Applied

Background

In this age of technological abundance, we are constantly inundated with information, opinions, and informative opinions…or…opinionated information. As a coach, as someone working in the field of education, whether it be my teaching career or personal/physical/sport training side-hustle, I am not only part of the flood, but guilty of frequently being one of the many fish in this new, murky sea, who thinks I may have some answers that someone needs to hear. I will never claim expertise, I am not sure that is a thing. Varying degrees of experience, insight, and synthesis are what establish the somewhat convoluted tiers of the Educators and the Educated.

In understanding and appreciating my own shortcomings and/or being realistic about my coaching marketability, from an early age I was determined to supplement my intellectual mind with the minds of intellects in order to provide a differentiated product for my athletes. My Master’s thesis involved incorporating ancient texts into modern day athletic coaching. Minds like Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, Sun-tzu, Wei Liao-tzu, and Miyamoto Musashi all offered knowledge into finding success whether the battlefield was literal or figurative. Why could we not expose our young athletes to these philosophies for the betterment of their performance on and off the court?

Zen in the Art of Archery

This summer, I revisited that literary stage of my life. I can’t remember from where the recommendation came - whether I stumbled upon it while searching for archery focus training literature or heard it mentioned in a podcast is neither here nor there. But I ended up ordering Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel.

Here’s the Wikipedia entry on the text:

Zen in the Art of Archery is a book by German philosophy professor Eugen Herrigel, published in 1948, about his experiences studying Kyūdō, a form of Japanese archery, when he lived in Japan in the 1920s. It is credited with introducing Zen to Western audiences in the late 1940s and 1950s.

My goal at the outset was to explore another avenue for athlete-connection, or in the tagline case of MCCWT, competitive wellness. The book provided more than I expected, both toward my goal to be better for my athletes and toward me being better myself. Herrigel recounts his thoughts along his way to mastery and the demeanor and tactics of his teacher. To have such a philosophical mind reflecting upon being a student added value.

As Herrigel continued to struggle with the particular aspect of the “release” of his bowstring, that is, the bowstring releasing itself from his hold naturally, his Master responded to his difficulty.

“You have described only too well where the difficulty lies. Do you know why you cannot wait for the shot and why you get out of breath before it has come? The right shot at the right moment does not come because you do not let go of yourself. You do not wait for fulfillment, but brace yourself for failure. So long as that is so, you have no choice but to call forth something yourself that out to happen independently of you, and so long as you call it forth your hand will not open in the right way - like the hand of a child. Your hand does not burst open like the skin of a ripe fruit.”

After Herrigel remarks his confusion, his Master continued.

The right art is purposeless, aimless! The more obstinately you try to learn how to shoot the arrow for the sake of hitting the goal, the less you will succeed in the one and the further the other will recede. What stands in your way is that you have a much too willful will. You think that what you do not do yourself does not happen.” (pg 30-31)

Part of the appeal of this book was sharing initial confusion with Herrigel as his Master seemingly spoke in cryptic codes of unobtainable realities. But with further time dedicated to thinking about the message, and ultimately the results, it becomes a viable option for performance in any arena, especially athletics.

Being basketball-minded, that was where my mind went. The application of this ancient archer’s zen to a jump shot seemed reasonable enough. Greater obstacle would exist in the training required to calm the mind with all the surrounding chaos in a game of basketball versus the individual act of archery, even with an audience.

Art Applied

Quick disclaimer: I am by no means a good golfer. I have the physical tools to someday get there. I have not committed the resource of time and money into a dedicated practice toward improvement. I enjoy the game because it is time with friends, and I love/loathe the game for its demands on me mentally and emotionally. When I discuss improvement, it is only marginally by metric. Yes, I shot the best round I ever have, but that is secondary or tertiary to the message coming.

So I went out to golf with a couple of old friends. I hadn’t swung a club with the exception of chipping whiffle balls in the backyard with my son a couple weeks prior. I hadn’t played a full round in a year. I was excited to see them, to play, to get out and enjoy summer in a more traditional way. I was also nervous. This is the mental/emotional side of golf that I have a very complex and conflicting relationship with. Its demands upon my ego, my confidence, and my expectations of performance in any field are taxing. I want to be good, I want to be in control, and I know that if I practiced I could be and, since I don’t, I shouldn’t expect much, but I still do.

Before we started the round, (ok, the night before, because I’m a bit of a head case sometimes), I decided to reflect upon Zen in the Art of Archery and test its application. This seemed reasonable and within reach philosophically seeing as it was an action that I alone was in control of in order to perform. But, alas, an action that I needed to realize I was in no way in control of in order to be successful.

If you have read older blog posts here, I did one on mantras. Again, making sure the non-expertise I’m sharing at least isn’t complete dogma, I decided to bring these concepts together.

Prior to each swing my routine included a loosening of the hands for a regripping with less tension, and reminding myself, “I am simply a vessel for the science of this sport”. Now there were multiple iterations, but you get the idea. A few years earlier, one of the friends I was golfing with on this occasion reassured me that the club was designed to do what it needed to do. So this new approach came out of understanding, accepting, and forfeiting myself to that theory.

I removed myself, as much as I could, from the equation of the success and, more importantly, the failure of each swing. I allowed all pressure to lift, so long as I did what I was needed for.

Now, granted, there were some awful shots, but far less frequently than in the past. There were a couple where I knew I was in trouble mid-backswing because my attention shifted, or my thoughts shifted, and I just had to play out the rest and hope I didn’t lose the ball.

An interesting note: This didn’t work for putting. My reasoning frames this as the amount of human involvement necessary. Prior to the greens, my presence was only needed to aim and allow everything to do what it was made to do. Putters are not made to read greens or judge speeds. Hence, my putting was still fairly atrocious.

Takeaway

Golf is cruel. It always will be. Likewise, one good shot the entire round could be enough to bring you back for more. Both statements are typically the norm for me. However, there were more of the latter this round and I am sure it is not a coincidence. Obviously the next time out could be another disaster, but the practice of removing the self and allowing the natural processes to take place is a starting point.

I cannot think of an athletic discipline nor athlete that would not benefit from adding this type of training to their regiment. Beginning with reading Zen in the Art of Archery and investigating the personal application and interpretation of both Herrigel and his Master.

Especially in a time where we are all so exposed. Looking back at that resource of reach and technology, every mistake and every triumph may be captured and shared with complete strangers. Young athletes are growing up in a time where personal pride is clouding the purpose of the game. If you’d like to try to convince me that an adolescent athlete isn’t facing even greater pressures today than previously in history you’d have to bring a strong case. Specialization at an early age, travel teams, national rankings through numerous media…that’s a lot of children and young adults, especially ones still navigating daily personal development, school, and LIFE at the same time.

I leave you with one last bit from Zen in the Art of Archery. In further confusion about the nature of practice, Herrigel asks his Master for further guidance:

“What must I do, then?” I asked thoughtfully.

“You must learn to wait properly.”

“And how does on learn that?”

“By letting go of yourself, leaving yourself and everything yours behind you so decisively that nothing more is left of you but a purposeless tension.”

“So I must become purposeless - on purpose?” I heard myself say.

“No pupil has ever asked me that, so I don’t know the right answer.”

“And when do we begin these new exercises?”

“Wait until it is time.” (pg 31-32)

Own Your I

Making it Personal vs. Taking it Personally

On the heels of “The Last Dance” documentary about Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls of the 90’s, we were all left with a very distinct sense of Jordan’s motivation and/or his ability to turn almost anything into motivation: it became personal.

Almost laughable at times, (and since made into numerous, hilarious memes), when Jordan was slighted, felt slighted, or decided that he could have possibly been or felt slighted, he went somewhere in his mind that few of us will ever experience. He was able to throw gas on the flames of a fire that was burning on imaginary wood…worst/best case scenario. His depth of competition went to the core of the very existence of himself and those who opposed him. His own personal Thunderdome.

This theme also arose while watching a show about Michigan State’s 2000 Men’s Basketball Championship team. After a Final Four loss in the previous season, there was rioting in East Lansing on the MSU campus. Mateen Cleaves, point guard of both of those teams, said that they felt responsible for the chaos, that, had they won, it never would have happened, and they used it as motivation leading into the following year.

Now, from the outside, this doesn’t seem healthy…at all. It is definitely not a strategy that I will be teaching to young students and athletes, nor do I condone teaching. However, many young, impressionable minds will begin to add this to their approach to competition. Since the docs-series didn’t come with a user’s manual, my goal is to help make a very clear, very necessary distinction:

There is a difference between making it personal and taking it personally.

(Just read that again and let it sink in).

The worst thing that we can do, or allow, for children is let them wander into the next level of development unprepared. Immature athletes, immature people, could easily READ this “making it personal” strategy but ACTIVATE this “taking it personally”.

Anger. Anger is the difference. Pain is the difference. Offense is the difference. All of these things are detractors from performance. How many “angry athletes” have you seen perform well-below their ability? Especially in the ranks of elementary through high school sports, an angry athlete is a useless athlete. Taking something personally taps directly into insecurities, self-doubt, and fear, none of which are a part of the recipe for success.

Making it personal, on the other hand, is a controlled management of emotional response, a catalyst for focused effort, and a contributor to high performance. Watch an action film! As soon as “it’s personal now”, the afflicted character goes into a hyper-focus montage before single-handedly dispatching numerous enemies against all odds, and then, ONLY then, do we really see an emotional outpouring after the job is done.

Whether making it personal or taking it personally, it will reach our emotions, whether we acknowledge that or not. Exhaustion is the constant outcome.

Like anything else, this takes practice, this takes training, and this takes commitment. From a competition or motivational standpoint, it can be an asset. This isn’t the only way to motivate yourself. It won’t work for everyone. Michael Jordan was one of the greatest competitors of all-time, in any arena, and he found what worked for him.

What will work for you is personal, so take it that way and make the most of it.