Ice skating? Isn't this blog about dogs?

I can ice skate.  I'm never as good as I want to be, so how well I skate at any given moment just doesn't really occur to me.  I do it purely for the feel-good chemicals.  For me, ice skating is the thing that just feels so right.  Even when it's really painful, it makes me feel fantastic.  I have been mistaken for a pro, which makes me giggle.  I'm far from being a pro.  I think it's that my passion that shows when I skate. 

So, last night on the ice, I watched a skater work on alternating forwards and backwards 3-turns.  I never criticize or give advice when it looks like someone is having fun, since FUN is the point, but she looked frustrated and worried, and I knew what she was doing wrong.  I skated by (ludicrously wobbly, as I was wearing hockey skates that are too painful to lace up. Long story.), gave some non-intimidating eye contact (yup, just like with a dog), and she said, "You're a figure skater, aren't you?" (Uh, yes, though you can hardly tell today.)

"Yup," I said, realizing after I skated off that I had failed to actually wait for the question.  "Lead with the shoulder.  Your rotation should be head, then shoulders, then hips, and let your foot follow.  You are starting from the feet, which is why it looks and feels forced.  Have fun!"  I smiled and skated off.

I surreptitiously watched her.  She caught me a few times, and I smiled, continuing to work on my own stuff.  She was getting it, though it was certainly not yet perfect.  Learning starts with theory first; it takes a bit of time to get everything you know in your head to find its way out of the body to practice.  I know she's got enough material to work with, she understood what I said, and she's not afraid to approach me again if she has more questions.  

And, it didn't occur to me that I did anything so far out of the ordinary until I watched a mother with her 5-yr-old daughter.  The mother is clearly an accomplished skater.  She is attempting to teach the girl a spin.  (In my opinion, this is not only a waste of time, but instills bad habits, as young children are physically incapable of holding correct body positions, and so are forced to compensate.  Physical compensation becomes cognitive bad habit to break later.  Another long story.)  What struck me, though, besides my issue with pushing young children beyond the limits of their bodies and coordination, is that the woman criticized EVERY repetition.  Not once did she smile at the girl, not once did she highlight what the daughter had done correctly.  It appeared that neither the daughter nor the mother were having fun.  How tragic!

It suddenly became very, VERY clear why figure skating clubs are not popular.  It's hard enough to deal with the intellectual complexity (timing, coordination), the physical demands, and, well, the pain (Things that look pretty are often painful.).  Add constant external reminders underlining every imperfection.  Who wouldn't deliberately choose to participate in a soup of pain, criticism, insecurity, competition, and thinly-veiled frustration -- even emotional aggression?  Ooh, yay!  Let's get kids in an environment like that!

Success at something difficult is its own reward.  Teach a kid, a dog, a human to do something that they know is difficult.  Help them to actually experience success?  You've got interest.  My grandmother taught 5th grade for something like 60 years, and she always claimed that, "Where there's interest, there's capacity."  (She noted that kids who "couldn't" memorize a multiplication table could recite stats for every player of their favorite ball team.)  When frustration, confusion, and exhaustion set in, interest provides an allure, a drive to continue, with focus, that NO force of will can match. 

People really think that telling someone what they are doing wrong is "teaching".  Any idiot can say, "That's not right."  Someone who knows what they are talking about can tell you what you SHOULD do instead, and identify what you DID do correctly, without getting hung up on the mistakes.   It started to remind me of dog training. Teaching is not about attacking errors, retroactively, but leading the exercise, proactively.

A bit later, my young friend was attempting some jumps.  She did a beautiful jump-- straight, plenty of height, plenty of rotation, very well centered.  "Good!" I shouted before I could stop myself.  Yeah, she two-footed the landing.  Who cares?  Work on that later.

And there I was, training dogs again.  I knew:  She should stop now.  The probability that she will do TWO jumps in a row that are that good?  Very low.  After a very successful trial on a difficult task (low probability of success) is always time to stop.  Stop while the brain can review the successful event.  Reflect back on what WORKS.  She had found what works.  It's difficult, because success makes you want to continue to work at something that causes you that good-feeling rush of success, whether you are the skater, the coach, the handler, or the dog.  But you should. 

She continues to skate around for a while.  She attempts the same jump again, and it's massively inferior.  She looks disappointed.  "It's ok," I say, smiling, "You should have stopped after the one before. That one was so good," doing my best to keep her brain focused on what DOES work, interrupting an emotional circuit of self-criticism and frustration.

Toward the end of the session, she asks if I am a coach.  She seems disappointed to find out I am not. 
"You're a really good teacher, " she says, "You should be.  Thanks for your help."  Color me warm and fuzzy.  I'm not immune to the feeling of success!