Is that what we need?
We all recognize the archetypal drill sergeant from countless movies, the one who pushes the recruits past their limits in the name of "breaking them down" so he can "build them up" again as mighty soldiers. So, too, we are familiar with the athletic coaches--in film and real life--who push their athletes to excel at any cost.
One who comes to mind is the famous Russian American Olympic gymnastics coach, Bela Karolyi, who doled out verbal punishment to tiny teenage girls that would make television viewers wince, but generated many gold medal performances.
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| Former US Olympic gymnastics coach Bela Karolyi. |
I took some time to research that question this past week. Here's what I found: Coaches who get top performances from their athletes do so by engaging internal motivation rather than supplying it externally through fear of punishment or shame. Of course these coaches get less screen time than the other kind because they aren't as exciting to watch. They are methodical, not volatile.
"Have you been swimming? If you haven't been swimming, you have a problem...As of right now, some of you haven’t done the work. I think that’s scary and I think it’s a problem. And if you haven’t done the work, you need to seriously consider what you are doing. The fact that you paid for this event and didn’t do the training is a little troubling...You got 30 days. You can get something in, but I have a feeling, if you haven’t gotten it in by now, chances are, you’re not going to get it in. I’m telling you: if you’re not ready, you need to make a big boy and girl decision here."
He doesn't actually say what the decision is that you need to make, but presumably it is dropping out. He assumes the worst of the 1700+ race participants who might view the video, even though probably only a small portion are not preparing, and those are the ones least likely to be watching his videos. He uses sarcastic terms like "big boys and girls" to suggest, in fact, that we are little children to be scolded, not grown ups working hard to prepare for a race.
At the end he anticipates failure: "chances are, you're not going to" do it. Can you think of any situation where someone saying "I'm sure you won't bother, but..." and that made you feel like getting out and giving your all? I kept thinking any minute he was going to call everyone maggots and tell us to drop and give him forty.
At no point did he explain that training for an open ocean swim was a matter of safety. He says his name twice, mentions "work" four times, but the word "safety" doesn't get mentioned at all. He ignored the fact that even people who are doing plenty of pool swimming might not feel confident in open water and that they might benefit from attending one of the many open water swim clinics in the area. He didn't post a link (here's one) to such events in order get people motivated to "do the work."
Maybe it is no surprise that the tag line for the race on his website reads: "One boat. 1750 athletes. Unlimited smack talk."
Smack talk meaning: "insulting speech, especially when intended to irritate or annoy someone." The term has its origin in massive online gaming platforms, which may explain why it comes across as so male and so juvenile.
Can you imagine any other event being billed this way?
The Boston Marathon: A great chance to insult other runners!
The Kentucky Derby: Come see whose horse's dick is biggest!
The Philadelphia Flower Show: Where everyone else can eat your dirt!
Last year this same race director posted a video reminding people to read the athlete guide before the race, and then posted another video to say that a woman had emailed him to criticize his tone in the first video. His response: "I don't care if you don't like my tone!" He made clear that his approach was a matter of maintaining safety. But he also came across as thin skinned, able to dish it out but not to accept feedback himself. And this year he's back and the issue of safety disappears from the conversation once more. You can argue it is implied, but it isn't there; the emphasis is entirely on people's lack of dedication and their laziness, which he takes pride in calling out and condemning.
I am not the sort of person to be cowed out of a race am looking forward to, but that video did cause me to stop and think. I was interested to see that a few people posted comments to thank him for his tough love, men, mostly. A certain kind of man seems to think being yelled at is good stuff. When I commented to say it might be useful to offer more context for the video, these same men rushed to his defense, telling me I was lucky to have such a great race director, that we all need more people willing to tell it like it is.
There is no research evidence to suggest that calling people lazy increases safety, promotes consistency in training or makes anyone try their best.
In fact, the articles I found in the Journal of Sports Psychology present a vast body of evidence showing bullying coaches inspire feelings of "isolation, worthlessness, fear, anger and depression" as one article put it.
In another article I found out why I may have had such a strong reaction to the race director's video in the first place. The researcher Katelin Lee writes: "As horrible as it is to be the person receiving the degrading comments, it’s just as hard for the rest of the team that witnesses the abuse. As an athlete watches their teammate be demeaned by the same coach that they are playing for, it begins to ruin the morale of the team as a whole."
We don't need tough love, it turns out, at least not if we are trying to achieve top athletic performance. What we need, and what we come to sport to find, is inspiration.
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So what kind of tools actually work to inspire and motivate us? That was what I decided to research next.
I found that two coaches I have had in my own life demonstrated the exact traits that are known to be most effective in motivating athletes of all skill levels. Externally, the two couldn't have been more different, but in temperament and coaching ability, they had a lot in common.
First, both exuded genuine hope for the success of their athletes, regardless of overall talent or skill level. They seemed to have an investment in each person's improvement and were flexible in taking into account the athlete's goals and innate abilities.
Second, both were personally enthusiastic about their sport; you could tell they loved it. Every day they showed up to practice with a spring in their step, even on days when they had the flu or had been through some personal misfortune. In doing so, they showed us how to set our own difficulties aside and use physical activity to transcend--even for a short time--the troubles we faced elsewhere.
Third, they cared as much for the strongest as the weakest among us. As a teacher myself, I know how hard it can be to prevent the strong students from getting bored while keeping the weak ones from giving up. It takes finesse and creativity. These coaches had both.
Fourth, they celebrated progress. If we won a race, great, but the real praise was given out on days when we hit a goal in practice, put in an extra set, didn't give in to pain. The focus was on the process more than outcome.
Finally, they designed challenging workouts and believed we could complete them even when we weren't so sure of ourselves.
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| Ted Hersey teacher and coach for 49 years at St. George's School, Newport, RI 1929-2016 |
Over the decades of his career, Ted Hersey coached dozens of students who went on to become decorated amateur and pro runners. But I arrived on his team in 1991, after being thrown off of girls' junior varsity soccer for insubordination, and I showed little promise. I was slow and knock-kneed, but we were required to do a sport, so he was stuck with me. He never made me feel that way.
On training days he'd have me, and one other girl--whose leg had been mangled in a motorcycle accident--run with him for three mile "warm ups" while the other groups did five or seven in the same amount of time. For us, three was a challenge. He was in his late 60's and had had a hip replacement that summer, so he was still a bit lame. It was hard to picture him running the Boston Marathon as he had in his youth, but his enthusiasm for running was still there. As we huffed and puffed along, he'd tell us amusing stories like the one about how, when he first became a teacher at our school, he endured a hazing ritual where he had to wear a dress made out of bagels for three days.
Slogging through the mid September sun, I wasn't thinking about the discomfort or my panting breath; I was thinking about the fun of it all, the afternoon stories, the sun and fresh air. Yes, he still made us do wind sprints, sit-ups galore, fartleks and whatnot, but he never criticized me for being last.
When our school hosted 5k races, he'd set aside a bottle of Gatorade for me at the finish line with a post-it note on top saying "save for Holly" so it would be there when I loped in, even if everyone else had already gone inside to shower. When I hit a 5k personal best, he seemed as happy for me as he was for the kid who set a new course record of sub 15 minutes in the same race.
I was not born to be a runner, but Mr. Hersey, in his generous way, helped me become one.
Mr. Hersey died four months ago, at the age of 86. He taught and coached at my school for 49 years.
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| Peter Park Coach of Peddie Masters swim team in 2014 |
As a teenager, Peter had been a record setting swimmer at Peddie School, a prep school in central New Jersey, and then he went on to swim competitively in college. I met him back at Peddie, where he had been asked to coach the team of local adult swimmers. Our training sessions were 5:30-7:30am, twice a week, and 9:30am on Saturdays.
Hauling out of bed to get to practice by 5:30am was hard for all of us, but Peter made it easier. Every morning he'd greet us with a smile, bouncing around on the pool deck in his sneakers as he wrote out the day's sets on the large rolling whiteboard.
There were about 18 of us on the team at the time, some super fasties, a few of us who had been swimmers in our youth but had no experience on a masters team, and a couple of people who hadn't learned to swim until adulthood. Every day he'd have three different level sets planned out, but he didn't emphasize the differences. Instead, he worked to ensure the groups interacted and were cohesive as a team. He'd bring us all out onto the pool deck to do core strength exercises together, or he'd set up drills where we were mixed and given challenges like swimming against bungee cords or with giant sized hand paddles. He emphasized team building, technique, and stamina.
After a few months, Peter invited the team to participate in a masters swim meet. About half of us were able to go. We each signed up for one or two events. I was the only woman from our team who signed up for the 500 meter freestyle, a ten lap swim. I chose the longer distance because I was looking ahead to triathlon season and thinking about building endurance. I had been working hard in practice.
Unfortunately, as I shot off the blocks at the starting gun, one side of my goggles peeled off and my right eye was flooded with chlorinated water. I tried to keep it closed and yet swim straight and hard for all ten laps. I finished with a time that was slower than what I'd been doing in practice.
When I got out, Peter was there. I hadn't heard him but I knew he'd been at the edge of the pool cheering me on. He did that for everyone. My head was low. I felt like I'd let the whole team down. But when I voiced my frustrations Peter responded: "You pushed through the setback. I saw you give it 100%, and that was our goal."
Our goal. That's how he put it. Whatever motivation I supplied he multiplied it by fusing his to mine to form something stronger. I had to do the work, but his faith in me made me try harder.
Peter was only able to coach the Peddie masters team for one year before he took a different job, and many of us weren't able to keep up the 5:30am sessions, but sometimes when I am in the pool, training on my own now and really trying to push my hardest, I picture him at the end of the lane cheering for me. I see that smile and I push for the wall.
Inspiration, not humiliation.
Race directors take note.
*****
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| St. George's School Cross Country Team - 1993 - Mr. Hersey is in the back on the right. I'm standing next to him. |
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| Peddie Masters Swim Team - Ocean County YMCA - 2014 |
Keep your eyes out for future posts on people who inspire, and ways to find joy and motivation as an average athlete.
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