#gallwey

[storiedicoaching]

Da buongiorno a giorno buono.

“Una mente concentrata e rilassata è la più grande delle arti: senza di lei non si può raggiungere nessuna arte, con essa si può ottenere moltissimo.”

Timothy Gallwey

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[renzogiust]

Il Sé 2

"Il Sé 2 vuole divertirsi, imparare, capire, apprezzare, rischiare, riposare, stare bene, sopravvivere, essere libero di essere quello che è, esprimersi e dare il proprio contributo" - Timothy Gallwey, The Inner Game of Tennis

[lluismanuelg-blog]

Juego interior

«Siempre hay un juego interior en tu mente, no importa qué esté sucediendo en el juego exterior. Cuán consciente seas de este juego podrá marcar la diferencia entre el éxito y el fracaso en el juego exterior.». Timothy Gallwey

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[familylifeceo]

The Inner Game of Tennis and Real Life

The Inner Game of Tennis and Real Life

I have recently finished reading Timothy Gallwey’s “The Inner Game of Tennis”. As mentioned on Goodreads, it is: “a revolutionary program for overcoming the self-doubt, nervousness, and lapses of concentration that can keep a player from winning.” I am no tennis player. To be precise, I am no player at all, but a bit of golf now and then. Nevertheless, I found the book very relevant also for…

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[ultimate-inner-game]

Chapter 5, Part I: Discovering Technique

With the school term coming to a close (not to mention the fairly quick succession from UKU’s Open/Women’s Tours 2 and 3 followed by Open Regionals), it has been a very busy few weeks. I apologise for neglecting my writing, but I hope that the summer holiday will afford me ample opportunity to continue reading and writing about the mental game.  In this chapter, Gallwey focuses on the concept of natural learning, which he defines as, “the learning process you were born with” (2015, 50). He illustrates the process of natural learning by inviting the reader to consider observations of young children playing - perhaps with building blocks - or of wild animals teaching their young a new skill. When recounting a memory of watching a mother hippopotamus teaching her baby how to swim, he remarks that, “it seemed that the mother knew exactly how much it needed to ‘show,’ when to encourage and when encouragement was no longer needed” (2015, 51). Though this does not necessarily mean that sport-specific movements are instinctual and already imprinted within us, he believes that athletes (and others) would benefit from allowing their natural learning processes to be respected and acknowledged in order to truly aide our progression through a given sport or field.

Gallwey’s emphasis on discovery learning is not new. His writings bear much similarity to those of Jerome Bruner (October 1, 1915 – June 5, 2016) and Jean Piaget (9 August 1896 – 16 September 1980). Bruner developed the concept of the spiral curriculum, in which students revisit fundamental skills and concepts at specific intervals, gaining greater insight into their sophistication and nuance at each stage. As their knowledge progresses, so do the intellectual demands placed upon the learners. He claimed that, “any subject can be taught effectively in some intellectually honest form to any child at any stage of development” (Bruner, 1977).  Piaget was the one of the first researchers to assert that learning is a cognitive process, during which students construct and create knowledge from a variety of sources, rather than passively receiving knowledge from a teacher; rather, “he recognised that students constructed knowledge based on their experiences, and that how they do so is related to their biological, physical, and mental stage of development” (Hammond et. al. 2001, 7). Throughout his career, Piaget was able to distil learning into four stages of growth, illustrated below (Hilgard and Bower, 1975):

He also believed that there should be a balance between rote learning and experiential, discovery experiences of learning experienced by students:

Generally speaking, since every discipline must include a certain body of acquired facts as well as the possibility of giving rise to numerous research activities and activities of rediscovery, it is possible to envisage a balance being struck, varying from subject to subject, between different parts to be played by memorising and free activity. In which case, it is possible that the use of teaching machines will save time... (Piaget, quoted in Hilgard and Bower 1975). 

While Piaget and Bruner are simply two theorists within a wider body of academics who have devoted their lives to research, their work underlies and provides the basis for much of the contemporary learning theories that have subsequently developed. Certainly, many learning theories now recognise that both experience and reflection are fundamental within the development of skills and conceptual understanding of ideas. 

However, I think this is a key point to consider within ultimate. Gallwey references the significant history of tennis, its journey from Europe to America in the late 1800s, and the plethora of technical manuals that exist to help provide instruction for burgeoning tennis players. The relative youth of ultimate means that our body of technical instruction is small, as is the pool of experts to develop and inform the progression of the sport. In my mind, this drastically changes the role of the coach within the context of ultimate. Discovery learning is a luxury that can happen when mediated by experts with vast amounts of knowledge, experience, and deep levels of understanding; is ultimate truly at the stage where individual athletes can experience discovery learning as it has been explained by experts such as Bruner and Piaget? While proficiency is relative to some extent, the seemingly exponential leaps in skill, development, and tactical knowledge within the international ultimate community suggests that we are at a rather unique stage in the emergence of the sport.

This leads me to the role of the coach within ultimate. Teaching itself is a skill that cannot simply be undertaken without care and consideration. It is well-established by a variety of other disciplines that those who perform at the highest level in their given field are not necessarily therefore qualified to teach, coach, or offer instruction of any kind. Yet, given the current state of development of ultimate, I think it is fair to say that we as players often find ourselves turning to those who do have proven competitive experience as our experts, even if they are not necessarily the best teachers and coaches. Gallwey spends some time discussing how best to use technical instructions (2015, 54-57), and argues that, “a valid instruction derived from experience can help me if it guides me to my own experiential discovery...” (2015, 54). This has many implications, both within teaching more broadly and within coaching around sport or other athletic endeavours. The skill Gallwey mentions is incredibly difficult, and requires incredibly advanced knowledge of one’s subject, as well as technical skill within teaching itself; this is a level of teaching that I do not think is widespread amongst the ultimate community, mostly due to its relative youth (though the YouTube channel of Mike Lawler is one very notable exception). I have not yet had the opportunity to formulate some particular thoughts or observations about teaching and coaching within ultimate, but I do think that it will be an area to watch out for in the future. 

I

n my next entry, I will consider the rest of this chapter, in which Gallwey focuses on tennis-specific technical instructions in order to illustrate the role of the coach. It will be interesting to see the extent to which his philosophy can cross over into ultimate.

[ultimate-inner-game]

Chapter 4: Trusting Self 2

Who and what is Self 2?

Reflecting on earlier chapters, it is important to keep in mind the distinction between Self 1 and Self 2. If Self 1 is the conscious, thinking mind, then Self 2 refers to the natural capabilities of the human body. It is the “Doing Mind,” and one which is highly coordinated, a “fantastically complicated system of organs, glands, and muscles...” (Gallwey 2015: 34). When thinking about Self 2, we can approach it with a well-deserved sense of awe.

Gallwey suggests pausing for a moment to reflect on the capabilities of the body. Think of the action of reading these words, and how quickly the eyes and brain are able to transform the letters on the screen into coherent, meaningful phrases and sentences. This is a process that does not require the telling, conscious, and interfering voice of Self 1, but is simply a process that is entirely controlled by Self 2 (Gallwey 2015: 34). While this may seem simple and perhaps entirely obvious, being mindful of one’s body can help to point out the illogical role of Self 1 when trying to control the domain of the body, whether it is through tennis, ultimate, or a similar endeavour. In a later post, I hope to write more about mindfulness itself - which bears much similarity to Gallewy’s teaching - and how it can have a measurable impact on performance.

Trust Thyself and Let it Happen

Gallwey spoke much about the seeming paradox of trying and poor performance. In his mind, “trying too hard” will undoubtedly interfere with the natural movements, effort, and learning that takes place in the body, thus impeding progress and leading to athletes falling into the convenient trap of negative feedback and self-criticism that is so often heard from Self 1. Instead, he encourages athletes to let it happen; that is, rather than consciously trying to throw a disc with a particular shape, we - as athletes - should instead let that process happen naturally within our bodies and, without judgement, observe with a detached interest (2015: 38), which Gallwey believes is pivotal to the game:

This same kind of detached interest is what is necessary to let your tennis game develop naturally. Remember that you are not your tennis game. You are not your body. Trust the body to learn and to play, as you would trust another person to do a job, and in a short time it will perform beyond your expectations. Let the flower grow (2015: 38).

While his assertion that, “you are not your body,” is fascinating with regard to anthropological theories of personhood, his point is clear: the judgement of Self 1 is often counterproductive and we should instead allow the body adjust to the expectations of the sport naturally.

To illustrate this point, Gallwey uses the example of a dance instructor who explains in minute detail exactly where the dancer must place their feet. It is an agonising process that often takes weeks of practice to be able to transform these verbal instructions into physical movements and, even when the steps have been understood, the dancer may have to repeat the steps to themselves in order to begin. In this example, the natural feel of the movement has been lost, and Self 1 has been granted too much of a role in the physical learning process. To overcome this, the athlete should watch high-level athletes perform, trying simply to absorb the image before them. Then, the athlete should try to feel these movements when practicing on their own. Without the distraction of over-analysis, words, and conscious thoughts, the athlete should be able to simply concentrate on the visual images and develop an awareness of their body when feeling those movements.

Communicating with Self 2

Gallwey asserts that many people need to revisit the relationship between Self 1 and Self 2. In order to facilitate a stronger relationship between the two selves, he proposes three methods of communication based in images and feelmages to assist athletes with the development of Self 2:

Asking for Results

Asking for Form

Asking for Qualities

Asking for Results - some athletes are too focused on how they are performing specific movements (such as a throw, for instace) and are less concerned with the means. To correct this, the athlete should develop a clear mental image of the desired results, and then simply allow the body to perform the necessary movements to achieve this.

Asking for Form - some athletes will, however, try to make adjustments in their movement patterns. To correct this, the athlete must spend some time developing a clear mental image of how they desire to move, perhaps even holding the disc and simply staring at it to imagine how the movement will unfold. Then, the athlete can deliberately practice a movement without completion (i.e. pretending to throw a disc without releasing it), all while strongly visualising the desired image. Finally, the athlete can also close their eyes and imagine the entire process as clearly and in as much detail as possible. Gallwey goes into some depth describing experiments that the athlete can perform, which I will not detail here; however, they reflect deliberate practice that is focused on awareness of the body and nonjudgemental observations of results.

Asking for Qualities - this particular form of communication sounds least familiar to me, but after a few conversations, has begun to make more sense within the context of ultimate. With this form of communication, the athlete almost assumes the form of a role play. Gallwey provides the example of informing a tennis player that they have been selected to play a professional tennis player in a film, and to therefore adopt their style, mannerisms, supreme self-confidence, and qualities as a player. This, he clarifies, is not the same as assuming that one has reached the level of a professional tennis player and is not the same as positive thinking; it is an exercise in being able to adopt what one of my ultimate friends (pun fully intended) as “swagger” on the pitch; being able to walk up to a disc with confidence, right in coffin corner after the fourth turn in a point when your teammates are tired without showing self-doubt, or perhaps defending a tough, downfield match-up when tiredness is beginning to creep into your conscious mind and anxiety about properly defending your opponent is threatening to overcome your confidence. Practicing different qualities as a player can greatly enhance your ability to tackle different aspects of the game, and can help to bring more depth to your game.

This was an incredibly informative chapter, and one that helped to more clearly solidify in my mind the teachings of Gallwey and his solutions for nonjudgemental observations as well as how to deliberately practice and, therefore, progress without relying heavily on the use of language. While I only recently began my own foray back into ultimate, I have found that adjusting the balance between Gallwey’s Self 1 and Self 2 has already helped me to frame my own performance in more mindful, observant terms without the use of judgemental language to filter that experience. I hope that this emphasis on the mental game will help me to more consistently develop as a player, rather than allowing myself to fall into harmful patterns and spirals of negative criticisms.

[ultimate-inner-game]

Chapter 3: Quieting Self 1 (Part 1)

I can readily admit that this is a chapter that I struggled to fully accept and understand. Before exploring Gallwey’s ideas in more detail, I would like to explain

My background in sport is as an equestrian, specifically in dressage. When working with equine athletes, the performance is developed and mediated through continual negotiation and a mutual, co-constructed language that is tactile and based on the elusive skill of feel; a “successful” performance is, therefore, hardly a black-and-white matter. In order to evaluate the quality of a movement or a ride, riders can only depend upon feel and, if they are lucky, film that can be reviewed once the ride has been completed. Instructors are invaluable eyes on the ground who can then translate these images for the rider but, ultimately, only the rider can feel what is happening in the horse’s body, make adjustments, and then decide whether or not these adjustments had the desired outcome. 

Dressage is a sport that fits in very well with the concept of feel and the flow state. Good riding is often playful, leading to a harmonious dance between horse and rider. Given the remarkable sensitivity of horses, riders must be in excellent control of their emotions - especially strong, negative emotions like fear or frustration - in order for rides to be truly productive. My use of the word “playful” is deliberate, as it brings connotations of lightness, ease, and recalls the natural liveliness of the horse’s movements at liberty. The ultimate goal of dressage (if one can be so bold as to state that there is an ultimate goal for riders) is to recreate this ease and freedom of the horse’s natural movements, but with a rider in tow. While there is a significant amount of theory and literature surrounding riding, the aids, and horse-human partnerships, much of this can only be truly developed through endless hours of riding and feeling it through experience.

My (much beloved) instructor used to have me evaluate our performance - that is, mine and my horse’s - through the simple and clear system of assessment used at Intel: superior, exceeded expectations, met expectations, and did not meet expectations. For instance, if I applied my leg aids in order to tell my horse to move from walk to trot, I could instantly assess that movement by thinking, “did that response exceed, meet, or not meet my expectations?” Depending on the answer to that question, I could decide on my next course of action. If it met my expectations, I would need to be aware of my horse’s response to my aids and perhaps work to ensure that those aids were respected. If it did not meet my expectations, I would bring my horse back to a walk and repeat the exercise, applying escalating aids if necessary. If it exceeded my expectations or was a superior response, praise - both touch and verbal - was certainly in order.

Thought this was one way in which my instructor and I discussed assessment, this process was not one which was consciously undertaken; it simply was, for lack of further explanation. It was a process of continuous evaluation and assessment that was internally unspoken, developed through years of practice and hours or riding. So, when Gallwey mentioned the concept of nonjudgemental observation in the previous chapter, something did not quite make sense: how is it possible to be entirely nonjudgemental when viewing one’s performance and working towards specific goals?

My internal system of self-assessment - superior, exceeded expectations, met expectations, and did not meet expectations - was certainly one that was judgemental, but not in a manner that I deemed to be hyper-critical; rather, it was a simple and coherent system for making adjustments throughout the course of the ride (or practice) instead of saving all evaluation until the end of the ride. Given that riding is also simultaneously training of the horse and the rider, this constant feedback becomes clear, as making adjustments during the next ride are far too late to develop the horse’s (as well as rider’s) understanding of the correct feeling for a given movement, whether it is as a simple as a walk-trot transition or a shoulder-in through the corner to a half-pass. inherent within sport (including dressage) is a focus on elements of one’s performance that are desirable and consistently making the necessary corrections in order to work towards clear goals: goals which are primarily felt, but are also observable to the trained eye.  

Thus, while Gallwey insists on letting go of judgemental thinking, I am not sure that I entirely agree. From my experience, the nature of judgemental thinking can vary immensely. His focus on an internal, wordy monologue that is self-critical, generalisations about one’s skill level based on a few experiences (i.e. making a number of throws that turf into the ground and then thinking, “I am bad at throwing”), and adding our own interpretations to events is clearly important; this is where the overly active Self 1 (or the Word Mind) can interfere with bodily experiences and deliberately harm athletic performance. However, if an athlete is working towards specific goals, I wonder if it is unrealistic to demand that athletes refrain from evaluating their performance. With my examples from dressage in earlier paragraphs, these evaluations do not have to be consciously done, as it is possible to evaluate one’s performance when in flow. At the same time, when one is working to perform certain movements, there will be - at some fundamental, perhaps even unconscious level - an element of attention paid to whether an outcome was desirable or undesirable, and to what extent. His emphasis on avoiding conscious over-trying and a loud inner monologue from Self 1 is critical, but I wonder if his descriptions lack the nuance needed to fully account for the imperative self-evaluation (or external feedback) needed in order to make progress within a given sport. These were my struggles with this chapter. In Part 2, I will explain in more depth Gallwey’s ideas; hopefully after having delved into some of my confusion, I will be able to more clearly understand his aims for quieting Self 1 in athletic performance. Please feel free to submit questions or comments if you can provide any further perspective on this!

[ultimate-inner-game]

Chapter 2: The Discovery of the Two Selves

Following on from the previous chapter in which Gallwey contextualises the need to focus on the inner game to improve sporting performance, he presents here his first major principle for the improving one’s mental strength and resilience:

...within each player, the kind of relationship that exists between Self 1 and Self 2 is the prime factor in determining one’s ability to translate his knowledge of technique into effective action. In other words, the key to better tennis - or better anything - lies in improving the relationship between the conscious teller, Self 1, and the natural capabilities of Self 2 (2015: 10).

While this may seem a bit confusing, there are some examples that can be used to place Self 1 and Self 2 into context. Perhaps when practicing throwing, for instance, you have heard teammates muttering or talking to themselves, whether it is repeating cues or expressing frustration; it could be something as simple as, “keep the disc flat,” or something more self-critical, such as, “you shouldn’t have dropped that.” Regardless of what specifically is being uttered, many players can draw upon a range of personal anecdotes or experiences in which they have either talked to themselves about what they should be addressing within practice, or have heard others doing the same. Sometimes, this narrative is not oral, but rather internal; however, the nature of the comments often remains the same.

According to Gallwey, this is the essence of the dialogue between Self 1 and Self 2: Self 1 is the separate being that issues commands - “keep the wrist snappy,” or “step wider on that throw” - to Self 2, whom then attempts to enact the commands. However, when critically evaluating this narrative, it begins to become clear that such a dialogue is often one of criticism and barely suppressed frustration. This would suggest that Self 1, the conscious teller, has clear distrust in the ability of Self 2 to follow instructions and interpret cues, thereby leading to further tense, stress, and frustration within the athlete, as the conscious teller begins to try to control the natural movement of the body. It is easy to recall memories of players who - whether in game or in practice - have grown tense and tight, with clear tautness suggested in the lines around their mouth, lips pursed as their conscious, telling mind tries with greater and greater urgency to control the body’s movement, despite the fact that Self 2 is far more competent at this role. As a result, Self 1 actively creates errors in performance but blames Self 2, thereby feeding a vicious cycle of shifting responsibility and undermining oneself.

Upon reading Chapter 1, I was left with a number of questions, especially regarding the supposed dichotomy between the difficulty of over-trying and the presence of the active and conscious concentration of the athlete, while also being able to carefully evaluate one’s performance and thereby identify areas of improvement. Research into learning suggests that the role of reflexivity is critical, and that actively engaging with one’s learning experience is a fundamental aspect of the learner’s progress. However, Gallwey seems to believe that the cultural emphasis on effort and “trying hard” in order to be successful is poorly articulated and often seemingly paradoxical. His discussion of the disadvantages with conscious concentration brought to mind Kolb’s learning cycle, which might provide a clearer picture of the teaching and learning dialectic. It consists of four principle stages:

Concrete experience—first the learner must have a lived experience.

Reflective observation—the learner then reflects on the experience, comparing it to previously held knowledge.

Abstract conceptualisation—the learner then makes sense of the experience by relating the new information to existing structures of meaning.

Active experimentation—the learner finally tests out the new meaning that has been constructed in order to gain a deeper and more meaningful understanding (Dixon 1999: 40-41).

Though it may sound simple in principle, it represents a continuous cycle of development and experience, through which the co-construction of knowledge between the learner and the instructor (or coach, when considered in the context of sport) allows the learner a degree of agency over their own learning and understanding. It is important to note that this cycle can begin at any stage and the cycle can be repeated as many times as necessary in order to guarantee that learning can develop (Dunn 2002: 2). However, this is a journey that must be developed with the aid and guidance of an instructor or, using the language of Vygotsky, a more knowledgeable other or others. While Vygotsky’s work specifically addresses the learning of children, it is worth noting some of his ideas here, such as his notion that, “children learn with more knowledgeable others (teachers/peers/adults) within the zone of proximal development...which represents the range of a child’s ability characterised by the difference between a child’s current level and the level of ability she reaches in solving problems with assistance” (Ikpeze 2009: 31). 

With this blending of ideas—that is, the conscious competence model mentioned in previous entries, Kolb’s learning cycle, and Vygotsky’s notions of the more knowledgeable other and the zone of proximal development— we see a pattern emerging where the rate of learning of the individual may be mediated with the sensitive guidance of an instructor, while allowing the learner to be accountable for their own self-assessment. Through the use of assessment, the instructor or coach may help to guide the learner and understand more clearly where the learner lies in relation to the conscious competence model, as well as construct lessons around the principles of Kolb’s learning cycle in order to facilitate regular and guided progress. 

These models, however, do seem to suggest a conscious and active role on the part of the learner, which seems at odds with Gallwey’s ideas of being, “conscious, but not thinking” (2015: 7) when performing athletic endeavours. It is obvious that the role of Gallwey’s Self 1 and Self 2 is a readily observable phenomenon within many athletes, and its detrimental effect on performance is frequently self-evident. However, at the same time, it is seemingly difficult to reconcile deliberate, focused practice - the importance of which cannot be understated - with Gallwey’s distaste for over-trying and the interference of the conscious, telling mind when engaging in sport. For athletes seeking to address specific areas of weakness within their game, this does not yet present a clear and contextualised pattern of progression, and certainly does not seem to involve room for self-assessment.

However, while he only briefly addresses this paradox, he does seem to elucidate some of these questions towards the end of the chapter. He acknowledges that there is a specific type of concentration that is necessary for deliberate practice, but it is one that demands certain internal skills to be developed before mastering “the art of relaxed concentration” (2015: 13):

Learning how to specifically visualise one’s desired outcomes;

Developing trust for Self 2 and allowing it to perform uninterrupted in order to learn from successes and failures within practice and competition; and

Promoting nonjudgemental observation, in which one is able to deeply observe what is happening without “merely noticing how well or how badly it is happening” (2015: 13).

Thus, for Gallwey, athletes are certainly expected to exert themselves during practice and competition, but the nature of that concentration is deeply influential on one’s ability to reach their full potential. When Self 1 can trust and work in tandem with Self 2 by working towards specific, visually interpreted outcomes without judgement or a clearly articulated and wordy internal narrative, athletes will be in a better position to use mental engagement, evaluation, and self-assessment to their advantage. His clarification on this point has opened up a variety of other avenues for investigation, including the works of Sally Swift (one of the most famous equestrian teachers who pioneered the use of vivid imagery in place of mechanics and highly technical language for training eventers and other riders) and also the writings of Perker J. Palmer, who wrote the The Courage to Teach, both of which will hopefully add further insight into Gallwey’s ideas of relaxed concentration.