When the Lights Turn On

One of my favourite things in the world is watching people's eyes light up when I adjust their position, make a correction, or fine tune a movement. There's an instant moment of realization that crosses their faces when those sleeping muscles wake up and people realize that they were capable of way more than they had thought.

During my days of being a coach at Blended Athletics, my classes were famous (or maybe infamous?) for being unusually hard, even when the movements themselves were quite simple. People would walk in, expecting to do the same movements they'd done for months, years even. "Oh this looks easy," they'd say.

Door opens 45 minutes later and the entire room exits looking slightly traumatized from how challenging I made something as simple as a plank for them.

I loved mixing things up, getting them to do programs out of order, or by varying up how they did certain movements, or by giving them specific mental focuses for each round. I loved finding the ones who needed just a bit more, and whispering something in their ear to try for the next round.

I never received so much love and so much hate at the same time from a single setting in my entire life than there.

Many thought I was doing it because I was a sociopath (I must admit that in the beginning, I thought so too), enjoying the 'pain' they themselves (never me!) were creating in their bodies. But that's not it at all.

I did it, because I wanted people to be able to squeeze as much 'juice' out of the proverbial 'lemons' (exercises) as humanly possible. That has never changed.

Some People Just Move Different

I've been in gyms watching, training, learning, and experimenting, since I was 16. At the ripe, young age of 40, a few patterns have become abundantly clear. Too many people are wasting precious time and resources in the gym by not consciously activating the muscle groups they are trying to train.

They are showing up. They have the programs in hand. They're doing the movements. They're counting the reps, but something huge is still missing.

When I would teach a class, I would often walk to a corner of the room, put my back against the wall (bouncer and Marine Corps habits die hard), clasp my hands behind my back, and watch. I'd un-focus my gaze in the way that my old Muay Thai coach Rad instructed me to when I apprenticed under him. I would watch everyone at once, look for the dimmest light, then walk right over to that person:

"What are you focusing on when you're doing this exercise?" I would often ask.

"Counting reps," they would say. Or, "Thinking about all the different steps in this movement," or "the pain in my legs," or "what I'm going to be doing after this class."

That's when it began to make sense. This explained why, after watching countless people come in and out of gyms over the years, some, so many actually seemed to stay the same, while others progressed quite quickly. As I watched the movement patterns of people who seemed to progress more rapidly, or had an inherent level of strength; then compare that with what I knew about my own strength, I noticed something huge.

There was a stark difference in the way their movements looked when they did them. Something IN their bodies looked powerful and strong, even when moving slowly or holding still.

Others looked empty inside, hollow, even though externally, they were doing everything 'correctly'. It's as if these people are thinking about the movement, instead of experiencing fully the movement. If you've ever seen a cable under extreme strain versus when it's slack, this analogy might make more sense. This is something everyone can see.

The common thing I have realized over the years, is that people expect movements to get easier, they want them to get easier, and thus, move in such a way that the movement itself IS easier. But when the movement is easy, it's only so because we are activating the least number of muscle fibers necessary to complete the movement. This ease of movement or relaxation trait is the hallmark of both a master and an amateur. The difference being, the master is effortless due to such an in-depth innerstanding of the movement that they consciously deactivate what's not needed to get the job done.

The amateur lacks this engagement due to not knowing how to activate them in the first place; or over-engages, thus draining or locking up all of their energy and exhausting themselves.

Take something as simple as a fore-arm plank. Many people would get here, find a comfortable position that feels about right. relax, watch the clock, and then try not to focus on the growing sensations.

If you were in my class, I'd walk up to you, roll your pelvis forward at the same time I lift them slightly. I'd make you protract your shoulders so that you look more like a overturned question mark (?) than a straight line. Maybe I'd take your feet wider, or shift your weight forward an inch.

Then.....LIGHTS ON!

Their eyes always get wide, surprise flooding their face as they realize for the first time that "Oh shit, THIS is what a plank should FEEL like." From emptiness to fullness. Alas.

A sinister smile crosses my face as I move onto my next victim.

"Stay there," I'd say over my shoulder as their body began to vibrate.

Soliciting Feedback From Students

About a year before the lockdowns, I remember attending a small gathering that was put on by 4 students from my class. At one point later into the evening, with a number of drinks to loosen the tongue, I was asked by each of those students (who were also my friends), to tell them what I thought about their performance in my classes. I did so, honestly, allowing all of them to hear what I had to say about everyone else. Then I asked them what they thought about my performance as a coach. I'll never forget one of their comments:

"We want to work hard for you. Not because you push us, or yell at us; but because we know you're there. We know you see everything and we don't want to let you down."

That remark has stuck with me more so than any other piece of feedback I've received over the years. That comment showed me that while I was finding the lights turn on in people's eyes when the muscles and joints and ligaments all aligned; they too were aware of my gaze, seemingly feeling it from across the room.

After internalizing that remark, I began to make some observations. I noticed that as I slowly paced the room, hands clasped behind my back, head nodding to the beat; I would use my peripheral vision to watch everyone. I would catch people glancing up at me when my focal point got on or near them. As I would turn or walk in their direction, I would see them automatically adjust their positions, making them tighter, harder, faces now grimacing where before there was nonchalantless. Butt cheeks zipping up into stones where before they were like bread loafs.

So that's what my student meant.

Over the years I have really worked to develop this ability, to see where a person is active in their body and where they aren't. Now, I don't just apply this to strength movements, but also to stretches, martial arts, love making and conversations.

If there's one thing I know it's this: there's a lot more to being a human than this here skin and bones meat suit. There's a part of us that shines; and I hope that you'll let that little light of yours come through a bit more with each passing day.

Keep Shining.