Tag: lessons

Cool, Daily Life

It Seems Obvious

I’ve determined that the answer to all self-improvement is to video yourself. You’d think I’d be smart enough to remember this, but yet again, I had to have it illustrated to me by the power of video. Let me explain. Way back when dinosaurs roamed the earth I thought I was a pretty good skier. I skied on a long pair of race skis a buddy sold to me. 213’s with zero sidecut and extremely stiff. I’m sure I bought them to look cool vs being actual decent skis. Since the damn things didn’t turn worth crap, my only choice was long swooping turns at ludicrous speed. I got pretty good on those rockets. Ankles locked together, flow and balance were the ticket to looking fly and graceful. Throw in a mullet haircut and I thought I was the bomb.

Over the years the amount of skiing I did ebbed and flowed. I didn’t get serious about it again until about four years ago. Last year I made some big improvements in confidence as I spent more time in the trees and ‘off-piste’ as the fancy Europeans say. This year I finally splurged on actual decent ski pants so I wouldn’t look like a garage sale reject. All-in-all for most of this season I’ve been convinced that, not only am I stylish, but I’m approaching expert status on the slopes.

A week ago I decided to make a short ski video to practice filming in the snow. Mostly I wanted to see what camera angles worked and what didn’t. As I reviewed the footage, a flicker of doubt crept into my head. My skiing didn’t seem quite as graceful as I would have expected. It was hard to tell since I was filming myself, but it planted an uneasy feeling that maybe I wasn’t as good as I thought.

And then a few days ago, a friend filmed me skiing down a long run. When he showed it to me I was horrified. That person I saw skiing bore no resemblance to what I thought I was doing. I was convinced I was making beautiful, high speed carving turns. What I saw was a bunch of short, ugly, skidding turns with chattering skis. My balance was horrible and I looked distinctly uncomfortable. How could this be?

It drove home something I discovered with golf. What you think you’re doing has nothing to do with what you’re really doing. Video is the truth teller.

The reality is that what I saw was a mediocre (at best) intermediate skier working way too hard to get down the hill. I’m not sure how or when that happened. Have I always skied that way and just didn’t realize it, or have my skills simply declined with age? I’m not sure, but at least now I know the cold hard truth. I’ve spent much of the day watching lessons on YouTube and comparing my footage. I now at least understand what I’m doing wrong. The question is can I fix it myself or will it require lessons? The answer is probably lessons, but it’s so late in the season is it worth it? That’s a question for another blog I suspect.

What’s important is that with golf, skiing, and even some speaking mannerisms – I wouldn’t have known what I was doing without seeing myself on video. It’s hard because I cringe when I see myself, which is why I tend to avoid the camera as much as possible. But I’m now realizing how valuable that feedback is.

I am now convinced that we should all see ourselves frequently on film. How we dress, walk, talk, and do sports will benefit from a reality check. I guarantee that what you think is happening is not real. If you want to improve at anything, you need to see visual proof.

Find a decent coach. Take lessons. Get video feedback.

It seems obvious, but most of us don’t do it. And then we wonder why it takes us so long to get better at something. Or maybe that’s just me…

Cool, Health

Just Take A Lesson

Proprioception is something that we rarely think about (bada boom, no pun intended). It’s the sense we have of where our bodies are in space. It’s why you can drive a car without looking at your feet on the pedals. You can walk in a completely dark room without losing your balance. You can type without looking at the keys. And why NFL receivers can make those amazing stretched out end zone catches with their feet staying in-bounds. Your brain keeps track of what all the appendages are doing at all times without you thinking about it. Some of us just do it better than others.

My first real awareness of this was an experimentation period with barefoot running. I’d just finished Christopher McDougall’s book “Born to Run” and decided to go all-in on barefoot running. I went with the Vibram Five Fingers shoes and hit the trail. If you’re not familiar with them, there’s no sole or cushion – just a thin layer of rubber to protect your feet from scratches and cuts. Needless to say, landing on a rock while running hurts. A lot. I spent much of those early runs with massively bruised feet. Eventually, someone pointed out what I was doing wrong. I was watching my feet when I was running. I was so busy trying to avoid rocks and “direct” where I stepped, my running was awkward, clumsy, and I constantly stepped on the rocks I was trying to avoid.

The secret is to not look where you’re going. Instead, look way ahead down the trail. Your brain sees all the terrain and creates a map of where to step without you being aware of it. If you stop thinking about it and let the brain and proprioception do it’s thing, you become smoother, faster, and avoid the rocks. It seems very counter-intuitive. You’ve done it yourself many times without realizing it. Walk across a room carrying a very full coffee cup. If you stare at the cup as you walk and try not to spill, most likely you’ll start spilling. Look ahead and stop thinking about it and your brain, arm, and hand will take care of the balance just fine.

What’s my point with this? Our conscious thoughts often get in the way of learning new skills properly. Take the golf swing. The average downswing takes about a quarter of a second. Your proprioception WILL get the clubhead to the ball. The problem is you may unknowingly have to do all sorts of weird contortions to get the clubhead back to the ball depending upon what you did in the backswing, setup, etc… Here’s where conscious thought gets in the way. I’m someone who was traditionally too cheap and stubborn to take lessons. Instead, I’d spend hundreds of dollars on the driving range pounding away at balls thinking I can “fix” my swing by myself. I was sure I knew what I was doing wrong. It was just a matter of enough practice. When it finally became clear that wasn’t working, I broke down and took a lesson.

That first time I saw my golf swing on video I was blown away. Everything I thought I was doing, had nothing to do with what I was really doing. My conscious brain would lie to me and it would “feel” like my hands or hips were doing one thing, but in reality they were doing the opposite. It was an ah-ha moment for me. My stubborn insistence (and cheapness) that I can teach myself has probably cost me significantly over the years. If I’d been willing and open years ago to taking lessons for many of my sports, I suspect I’d be much more skilled than I am today. I’m a reasonably coordinated and athletic person, so I’ve been able to make things work. But I could have been so much better.

I’m now at a point that I have the time, resources, and willingness to take lessons. I’m embracing it. I’ve been going to a personal trainer and have been making gains far quicker than I ever did by myself in my garage gym. He’s correcting horrible form that I “felt” was correct. I took my first ever ski lesson this season. A few simple changes have made things more effortless and really dialed in my carving turns. I never would have figured that out on my own. I’m doing a big block of golf lessons because I want to stop fighting the game and enjoy playing. It’s very obvious now that I can’t do that on my own watching YouTube instructional videos.

Our bodies and proprioception are an amazing thing. But unless you’re one of those .001% of gifted natural athletes, most likely your conscious brain will get in the way of correct movement. But as Mrs Troutdog has told me for years (and I didn’t listen), even the top pros have coaches for a reason.

Whatever your sport is, go take a damn lesson.