Through the Looking Glass

When I agreed to coach at the Lido back in November, I had no idea that the experience would impact me so deeply. I figured I would go there, teach someone a few new tricks and earn some extra cash on the side. Don't get me wrong, I took the job seriously, but having coached in the past, I didn't expect this experience to be all that different from my previous coaching experiences.

What I wasn't prepared for was having waves of insight knock me over. You see, more than any other time in my life, I could really see myself in another person.

I've been in my student's place. A new coach arrives, works you harder than your regular coach normally does, changes your technique, throws new skills at you... you want to learn, there's no question, but your body screams out in pain from the new and sudden bruises, the bumps, and the general ache of overwork. I remember going over figures, constantly smacking that metal bar into my already bruised abdomen. My hands raw and red. And still, no matter how badly I wanted it, not being able to get the move. I remember that after forty hours of one particular workshop, I just started bawling and couldn’t stop. I couldn’t take it anymore and I broke.

And my student got frustrated too. Moves she had been doing fine the day before, the week before, the month before suddenly eluded her. I explained that it was normal. Her bad habits were fighting the new technique and the mixed signals were messing everything up. It would pass and would all work out in the long run.

But she was angry with me. Suddenly, I doubted myself and the corrections I was giving. I was lucky enough that this girl uses the same size wheel that I do. However, hers is far from a traditional wheel and I couldn’t do a damn thing on it. I would return to the theatre after class and try the moves myself, confirming that, yes, you do in fact need to pull with the left arm and not the right, and yes, your arm is fully extended, and yes, it sure as hell does work better my way.

I can’t help but wonder, when I was in her shoes back in Montreal, did I give my guest coaches so much attitude? When they told me that I wasn’t pushing hard enough, did I contradict them and tell them that I was pushing as hard as I could? Or that my legs were indeed straight? My core solid? It’s all a little hazy in memory, and while I know that to a certain degree, I did whine about this and that, I think the submissive 12-year-old gymnast in me basically took everything that was said to me and considered it an absolute truth.

Which may explain why, after explaining to my student that it was important to keep her wheel tightened as it would affect and potentially hinder her ability to execute her movements, her neglecting to so irked me so much. I remember going out and buying new shoes because my World Champion trainer suggested they would be better for me. This kid couldn’t even be bothered to tighten her wheel once a day? She tightened it after our first class and never again because it took her 15 minutes and used a bunch of duct tape.

Sigh…

Suddenly, I realize that I’ve switched to seeing myself through the eyes of my coach. I can totally relate to what my student is going through, but now I also understand what I must have put my own coaches through. Whatever coaching experience I may have, I’ve never reached that place. I’ve never had that dual understanding. And to be perfectly honest, it freaks me out. I’m still trying to make heads or tails of what it all means and how it will influence me as a coach and as a student in the future.

In the end, the only thing I am certain of is that this all feels right. I think a new door may have just opened.