Be your own coach

Pretty well-oiled

In many facets of life we can be our own worst critic. We independently will ourselves to do better, be better. This concept carries water in swimming as well.

Even though high school season is over, I've also been doing some coaching with a local club team that practices every day, all year. A number of the swimmers participate in other sports and activities, but for many, swimming is their primary extracurricular endeavor. And hopefully one they continue for years to come.

At a recent practice, I had the opportunity to shadow one of the older,  much more established coaches on the team. 

He's known as a firm, yet fair coach, who makes drills a major part of his swimming pedagogy. Observing his practice of 11-12-year-old boys and girls is like looking into a well-oiled machine. Once he starts them on a set (one with multiple intervals, distances, strokes and speeds), they simply run themselves. Their strokes look good.

The coach reminded me the group didn't start like this. They spent much more time in the beginning of the season learning drills from videos and becoming familiar with them in the water. Get the technique, then add the yardage. It's a basic, yet crucial code.

Watching his swimmers as they conducted their own practice, I could see each of them has something technical they can work on. Nobody's perfect. So I asked the coach how often he nitpicks with them. He responded with a pearl of his philosophy I wasn't expecting at this juncture. 

"If they leave this group having learned anything, my goal is for each of them to become their own coach."

Wait, so he wanted to make himself and any future coaches these kids have obsolete? Not exactly.

The only one who can make corrections to a stroke/speed/strategy in real time is the swimmer his or herself. This wise coach meant that he wants his swimmers to develop a sense of constant mental-physical awareness: what are they doing, why are they doing it and if something is going wrong, what is it and how can they correct it?

The higher these swimmers (or any swimmer) progress, their instruction will be more centered around the timing, type and distance of their workouts, strategically preparing them for the most important meets and the rest of their swimming career. The swimmers need to be able to monitor themselves and their bodies, as the increased yardage and intensity can cause serious injury when coupled with poor, or even just sub par technique.

Learning to self-coach is a life-long skill, and if we as coaches can successfully develop it in young swimmers, then we're doing some real good. Maybe not saving lives, but pretty good.

high school is over

And no one on my team knows this show. Tough.

Actually, high school is not over. Not by a long shot. And I couldn't be happier to be not in high school any longer. But the high school swim season is definitely over. We've seen the state championship meet come and go. We've even had the end-of-season banquet.

That's how you know it's over.

For the majority of swimmers on our team, the season was actually over back in January. That's when the regular season wrapped up and the series of district, regional and state championship meets began. From a roughly 50-person team, less than half swam at districts, less at regions and states.

I like to think all the swimmers enjoyed themselves during the season, and the generally impressive results of the championship meets reflect the good, well-coached time had by those particular swimmers down the stretch. We had a number of strong finishes at the state meet, including a champion and runner-up. Not too shabby.

Based on my experience and coaching competence, it was really a tale of two seasons: the regular season and the post season. During the regular season, I spent most of my coaching time working with swimmers who don't swim year-round for a club team. With them, I had more opportunities to work on fundamental stroke technique, basic race strategy, standard competition preparation. I've been where they've been.

But our more elite swimmers, the ones putting in many practices elsewhere and only showing up to the obligatory one high school practice per week, the ones competing at the state and even national age group level -- these young people who continued into the post season became our focus as coaches. I can't speak for our entire staff, but talent and achievements of these swimmers have already eclipsed my own. 

To be honest, it was a little intimidating. If this swimmer spends most of his or her training time with another, most likely more elite coach, then what is there to do in the comparatively brief time they're with us? Babysit? Just make sure they get to their events on time and remove all exterior jewelry?

Don't start imagining sad face balloons -- this isn't a pity party. I can coach, and I've done so with various age groups for collectively close to a decade. Just not at "elite" levels.

So rather than try to compensate by over-coaching these high-achieving swimmers to impose what competence I do have and being laughed off, I decided to simply ask these young people what they needed from me.

And, it appeared, they were more than happy to do so. I got asked for input on starting technique, breakouts, turns, pacing splits -- nothing outside my wheelhouse. And being asked a few more detailed questions than I'm used to motivated me to elevate my performance as a coach: I went to coaching blogs, instructional forums, Michael Phelps instructional videos. I trained. 

These kids were content to ask me for help, and I wanted to give them the best help I could, with all the resources available to me. And, it appeared, they were genuinely thankful. Regardless of who coaches who when and for how long, at the end of the day hearing someone truly appreciates your effort and help -- that you both understand the common goal is making them a better athlete and person -- then that's all that matters.  

Maybe this is all a bit too rosy a reminiscence, but it's the end of high school, and we all get a license to be a little emotional.