Inner skiing, p.1
Inner Skiing, page 1
ALSO BY W. TIMOTHY GALLWEY
The Inner Game of Tennis
Inner Tennis, Playing the Game
The Inner Game of Golf
The Inner Game of Music (with Barry Green)
ALSO BY ROBERT KRIEGEL
If It Ain’t Broke … Break It! (with Louis Patler)
Sacred Cows Make the Best Burgers (with David Brandt)
To Maharaji
with greatest respect
and gratitude
TG
With great love
to the memory of my
father, Arthur Kriegel
RK
Desire is like a force. One force is generated by our thoughts, and one is generated naturally within our hearts, and just where these forces are directed determines how useful or harmful they are.
Maharaji
FOREWORD: THE FIRE AND THE FORM
Since the publication of The Inner Game of Tennis in 1974, it has been most interesting to observe the radical changes in how skiing is taught. I was surprised to find that many professional ski instructors were eagerly exploring the ideas presented in that book, even more than were most tennis instructors. Well before I decided to coauthor Inner Skiing with Bob Kriegel, ski instructors at Vail and Aspen were actively applying the Inner Game principles and techniques to the teaching of skiing.
Although I did not know it at the time, this interest was due in no small measure to the groundwork and pedagogical leadership of Austrian-born Horst Abraham. Abraham was the director of education and development at the Vail Ski School and served in the same capacity for the national organization of ski instructors (PSIA) for thirteen years. Educated in Vienna, he had earned the highest certification status in Austria, France, and Germany as a ski instructor, but early in his career he began to openly question the validity of the authoritarian Austrian teaching style. He finally left the country, pressured by the Austrian ski gurus who felt challenged by his desire to innovate. Coming to America, he found a supportive reception in Aspen and later in Vail, where he combined broad knowledge of ski techniques with the ideas of psychologists Carl Rogers, Abraham Maslow, and other educational thinkers. Gradually, the ski world saw a refreshing shift away from rigid uniformity and toward teaching and learning methods designed to explore and facilitate the natural learning process.
So in the mid-seventies when Abraham invited me to address the assembled body of ski instructors at Vail Mountain about the Inner Game, I was surprised to find over two hundred instructors assembled. I started my talk by trying to explain how the principle of nonjudgmental awareness applied to the teaching of skiing. Within a few minutes, I noticed that although the instructors seemed to be listening, they were sitting in rather defensive positions in their chairs. Guessing the reason, I immediately changed directions. Dropping all references to skiing, I shifted the focus to an account of what I had learned about the natural learning process while teaching tennis. Immediately the defenses dropped. The instructors shifted forward in their chairs and hung on every word, laughing and clearly making connections with their own experience. When I finished, they expressed their appreciation with a standing ovation.
Afterward, instructor after instructor came up to talk with me and in effect said the same thing: “You know, Tim, it’s the same in skiing!” “Really?” I would say, feigning surprise. “In what ways is it the same?” With professional competitiveness out of the way, the instructors were willing to openly discuss their observations about the efficacy of simple awareness of edges and skis, turns, or even gravity. They also related anecdotes of how that self-critical, overcontrolling voice I called Self 1 was as much of a hindrance on the ski slopes as on the tennis courts.
As in tennis, the skier was at his or her best only when the mind was quiet and focused. Then skiers experienced the spontaneous excellence that was characteristic of Self 2 in all sports. It became obvious that instructors and students alike needed to become adept at quieting their judgmental, overly analytical Self 1 in order to gain access to the innate and magical competencies of their Self 2.
Ideas like these might have been considered too far out at that time if Abraham had not paved the way for them. Fortunately, he and his colleagues on the Education Committee knew enough to assemble specialists in the field of biomechanics, education, kinesiology, and psychology so it would be difficult to easily dismiss such new thinking and practice. As ski instructors experimented with this more student-and learning-centered approach, many found that they could help skiers avoid much of the frustration and awkwardness previously thought to be a normal part of learning to ski. When the traditional request to conform to “proper form” was replaced with an open invitation to explore possibilities, students became more in touch with their bodies. As a result, their inherent natural learning abilities had a better chance to emerge.
Soon there was an energetic, ongoing conversation in the skiing community about fundamental principles and techniques of teaching core skiing skills. One of the reasons ski instructors could move ahead of the coaches of other sports in understanding the learning process was that they had regular interaction with one another. Unlike the pros at golf and tennis clubs, most ski instructors are part of ski schools that often comprise hundreds of instructors who meet together, teach on the same mountain, and have daily occasion to discuss and debate learning and teaching ideas. Moreover, the methodology used by any particular ski school could add or detract from the school’s reputation and thus become a significant factor influencing the profitability of the resort. Revenues reflect the number of new beginners attracted as well as the retention of repeat students. Therefore, each school wanted to be known as having the most advanced and user-friendly methods of instruction.
Yet it was because of the intellectual leadership of people like Horst Abraham, a true educator, that the conversation reached higher degrees of sophistication. Through his leadership, a new approach to ski instruction called the American Teaching Method emerged. ATM combined an understanding of the human learning process with new observations about effective technique in a way that was very distinct from earlier Austrian dogma. It presented the international ski world with an alternative to the European domination of ski teaching and brought with it a greater focus on the student.
Around the same time, Inner Skiing emerged on the scene and became popular enough among skiers to make The New York Times Book Review’s nonfiction best-seller list. The book showed how skiing could be learned directly from experience. There were two keys to learning from experience. The first involved a heightened, nonjudgmental awareness in the moment. This awareness was gained by paying ever-increasing attention to what happens in different parts of the body, as well as to the precise action of the skis on the given terrain. The second key was the simple trust in one’s potential gained directly from experience. The skiers who learned how to trust themselves improved their performance without having to rely on a menu of “do’s and don’ts” issued by instructors to make your body move in conformity with their current model of “good skiing.” In order to achieve desired levels of awareness and trust, it was necessary, the book put forth, to quiet the critical and overcontrolling voices in the mind.
Not surprisingly, the response from ski instructors to these principles was mixed. A lively debate ensued around such ideas as nonjudgmental body and ski awareness, playful learning, imagery, learning from experience, exploration, engaging in the magic of rhythmic movement, dealing with fear, facilitating learning rather than teaching, and exploring domains of skills rather than teaching rigid technique. Those who had firsthand experience of the natural learning phenomena discovered that the principles were valid and found methods of instruction that took a great deal of pressure off both instructor and student. Skiers and many instructors felt less constrained and were able to explore the expression of their own bodies and unique personalities through their skiing and teaching. It not only made learning to ski easier and more fun, but for many it allowed skiing to become a metaphor for the freedom and autonomy that they wanted to bring into the rest of their lives.
At the same time, there was defensiveness on the part of those instructors who were not ready to let go of teaching standardized skiing technique. Of course, this position found valid support from the obvious fact that technical knowledge of skiing can be an asset in the learning process. The debate became somewhat polarized between ATM, which used technique as background knowledge and favored the simplicity of the inner skiing approach, and those who wanted to teach technique alone. The latter group relied on curriculum-focused teaching and were a force pulling the pendulum toward formalism and teacher dependency. Not surprisingly, some students wanted instructors who would yell the “do’s and don’ts” at them. After all, that’s what most of us have been conditioned to think we are paying for! Many instructors felt it difficult to find an appropriate balance between what they saw as a “soft” humanistic approach to learning and the “hard” technical disciplines.
The original version of Inner Skiing was clearly on the natural-learning side of this debate primarily because its true advantages had not been adequately represented. Even now, I find little that I would want to change in the original text. The principles and techniques are as valid now as they ever were. Principles such as body awareness, trusting natural instincts, learning by paying attention, and the simple enjoyment of skiing no longer seem new to most. And it is now common understanding that there is a big difference between knowing something in the head and knowing it in one’s bod y. Yet overinstruction on the part of instructors and overcontrol on the part of the skier still get in the way of spontaneous excellence on the slopes.
One of the instructional myths that prevailed in skiing as well as tennis and golf was that one should imitate the pros. If you want to learn how to swing or turn correctly, observe the best as they swing or turn and then do likewise. The observation of pros at their best was made easier by advances in video camera technology that could slow rapid movements so they could be analyzed and described in detail. Using the same technology, skiers, with the help of their instructors, could analyze where their technique differed from that of the pros. Then they could go back to the slopes and try to make the appropriate changes.
Of course the mistake in this kind of thinking is that what is right for the pro may not be right for the recreational skier. Even though an acorn has the potential to become an oak, it doesn’t mean that it can reach that potential by imitating the full-grown tree. For example, racers who are recorded at high speeds will make moves that no skier could make at slower speeds without falling over.
Realizing that the new teaching philosophy was leaving most skiers and many instructors somewhat bewildered, Abraham and his team added structure to the system by emphasizing universal core skills such as dynamic balance, pressure control, edging, and rotary movements. These core skills were meant to become the “playing field” for both learners and instructors to allow for exploration and discovery of an integrated development of skills. This approach added a simplicity and spirit of innovation that brought new life to learning the sport and, after a few years, gained international respect.
Later, after the broad acceptance of this approach, the spirit of discovery that had given it birth began to fade. Instructors focused on the new structural elements of the method as if they were final forms, and rigidity started to set in again. Milton Beens, the current education director of the PSIA, and one of the originators of Centerline, pointed out to me recently that as soon as any method becomes accepted and instructors are required to teach it to be certified, the underlying strength of the method tends to be replaced by rote learning and dogmatism without true understanding. Living in a culture that is very results-oriented, it is easy for part-time ski instructors to settle for teaching whatever they are told to teach instead of making the effort to think for themselves and to understand the dynamics of learning itself.
So the pendulum swings in small and wide arcs between the fire of spontaneous learning and the form of dogmatism of one kind or another. Not being a student of skiing technique itself, I have never been interested in the debates about which “outer” technique is better than another. Inner Skiing is about how best to learn whatever technique you decide you want to learn. Chapter 7, “Discovering Skiing Technique,” is a new chapter that puts forth a simple way of bridging the gap between the methodology of natural learning and that of technical instruction without bias as to the school of instruction. The focus is on learning how to learn and how to get out of your own way. This chapter will offer a way of using technical knowledge to facilitate natural learning without the crippling judgments, doubts, and other obstacles that normally attend it.
In addition to the growth of instructional understanding, the ski world has seen a continuous development in skiing equipment. This has had significant impact on the process of learning to ski and caused changes in technique itself. As in tennis and golf, the use of new materials and the changes in size and shape of the equipment have required of recreational and professional skiers alike a continuous willingness to learn and to adapt to change. From my point of view, this is a welcome influence. Anything that prompts us to adapt, change, and keep learning not only moves us to overcome our human tendency to get stuck in rigid patterns, but also prepares us for the kind of learning that is now a necessity in a rapidly changing world.
I find it fascinating and even somewhat amusing to note that just when the pendulum in skiing doctrine was swinging again to the “rigid” side, snowboarding landed on the slopes with an unceremonious but loud exclamation: “We’re here! And we’re not interested in any doctrine. We are inventing a totally new way of moving ourselves over the snow and through the air above the snow.” Of course at first this voice came from the young, the brave, and the restless, intent on pushing not only the limits of their freedom, but sometimes the boundaries of safety as well. Early on, there were no formal instructors of the sport. Snowboarding was being invented by those who wanted to break out of every mold by exploring new possibilities and avoiding conformity to old ones. New moves and more radical tricks, as well as a whole new language to describe and praise them, were being designed every day. At the same time boots, bindings, and boards were being tweaked and fixed by the innovative boarders who were using them. The snowboarder had no choice but to learn from experience. The spirit of this developing sport has been contagious and the pace of its innovation “gnarly” to say the least. It is helping to push the pendulum, stuck for a time in the realm of formalism, back again toward the fire of freedom.
For better or worse, the first stage of the sport has passed. People over thirty can be seen carving turns on boards now made by sophisticated manufacturers. Glossy magazines are advertising snowboarding equipment; books of instruction are appearing, and snowboarding instructors are available at most ski resorts. And of course national and international associations have emerged that want to regulate and hopefully preserve the innovative spirit that brought this new and rapidly growing sport into being.
Chapter 9, “Learning to Snowboard,” looks at the benefits of learning to snowboard as well as an approach to doing so with relative safety and ease. Perhaps what is most difficult about learning to snowboard is also the most beneficial. I asked Pat McNamara, a fifty-three-year-old competitive snowboarder who teaches many skiers the joys he has found in snowboarding, what was most difficult for skiers in learning to snowboard. He explained that the learning curve in snowboarding was much faster than in skiing but that experienced skiers sometimes found it difficult to become beginners again. “It takes a kind of humility that is not going to resist starting again on the bunny slopes even after being able to ski down black diamond slopes with total control.”
The willingness to be a beginner is an essential ingredient to being a good learner—no matter what your level of expertise. It is the willingness to “not know” and to be comfortable with not knowing that makes both children and adults able to learn without fear. For me to do this, I have to drop my image of competence and be willing to start anew. This is the same kind of transition that many skiers may also be facing in their work lives as new technologies and reorganizations require mastering totally new skills. Modern life is not very kind to ruts. Everyone is being required to unlearn old ways of doing things and to be able to adapt to changes without losing balance. We are all being called to rediscover the inherent talent for learning we have as human beings—even if it takes some humility.
So “Learning to Snowboard” is not so much about snowboarding as it is about learning. It is about how and why one might want to consider learning to snowboard. It is about the value of not getting stuck in ruts, and it is about learning how to learn in a way that does not push the envelope of safety to extreme limits. Whether or not the reader is already engaged in snowboarding or has already decided never to put two feet sideways on a single plank, this chapter is an invitation to find your balance between the fire of what is spontaneous and new and the form that distills the best of what is old.
I have always seen skiing as an expression of the human desire to extend freedom and range of movement. Whether on one or two boards, it will always be thrilling to glide down terrain at speeds many times faster than feet alone allow. To do so with grace, elegance, and courage will never lose its attraction. So above all sports that I know, skiing is one that should never be overprescribed. This is not the sport for practicing conforming to boundaries and doctrines. It is a sport for experiencing one’s freedom and trust in one’s inner balance. This alone can assure the necessary outer balance while moving at high speed.
