So why does focusing on more or less skills actually miss the point?

I’ve noticed that those students who are becoming expert performers no longer come to class with a desire to practice their most recent set of skills, or a desire to practice any particular skills for that matter.  They trust the process & the class, and have faith in their instructor.  They face what is in front of them with full attention.  As many black belts commented when I surveyed them earlier this year (click here to read more), they do it simply for the love of doing it.

What I mean is that the skill we practice becomes less important than the attitude with which we approach our training.    I don’t mean to imply that learning skills and practicing skills aren’t essential, but expertise is no longer attached to either of these stages.

I want to repeat myself because I think it is incredibly important: the skill we practice becomes less important than the attitude with which we approach our training.

When we have the right attitude we feel fully present.  When we are present we are able to face reality (that which is right in front of us).  When these things happen then we are closer to achieving coordination of mind and body, the essence of hap-ki-do.

So why are more skills a bad thing?

Well it comes down to one simple word, “practice”.  If you’re constantly chasing the next skill you stop practicing the skills you’ve got; and practice is what makes someone an expert.  As Master Chang often says, “knowing is not enough”.

Research by K Anders Ericcson estimated that expertise is developed from 10,000 hours of deliberate practice.  Through deliberate training we develop muscle memory, automaticity and change sluggish and unreliable movement patterns into fast automatic actions.  There’s no fast track to muscle memory, just many hours of constant repetition.  What’s also useful to realise is those circuits need to keep firing it we want them to continue to function properly.  To repeat a quote from a previous blog: ‘if you don’t use it, you lose it’.

Three essential ingredients of deliberate practice are: intrinsic motivation, concentration and challenge.  When you concentrate, you notice the errors you’re making and can make changes.  If your movement is wrong it should bother you – but if you aren’t concentrating you don’t even realise.  Through the struggle, through the mistakes, we re-programme ourselves and we repeat, repeat, repeat.  That process will only happen if we made our own internal decision to do so; and, if we are able to get satisfaction from the learning process not simply the outcome.

Learning and development aren’t static – they are in a constant state of creating.  Simply put: what we practice, is what we become.  This is why daily practice is so important and why learning more and more skills actually takes us further and further from being the expert practitioner we aspire to be.

Next month I’ll conclude this look at skills with some thoughts on why focusing on more or less skills actually misses the point (part three).

So why are more skills a good thing…?

Sometimes students have problems with techniques, or claim that ‘this one just doesn’t work when I do it on John’.    They look to me for the answer, some sort of response that will miraculously solve their dilemma.  Often it’s quite straight forward, a foot has been placed wrong, a technique has been remembered incorrectly, a partner who knows what is going to happen next is purposefully stopping the skill, or simply more practice is needed.  But there is the occasion when a brick wall is hit and things aren’t happening at all.  I don’t want to lie; there are definitely limits to the usefulness of some skills.  Some physical attributes like speed, flexibility, strength, hand/wrist size, height and weight make some skills easier for some people.  But does that mean that overall Hapkido doesn’t work?

One of the reasons we have a multitude of skills is that every skill won’t work in every situation and for every person.  Being tall for example gives me an advantage when I perform Yellow wrist skill number 4, but as my height also means I have a higher centre of gravity it is a distinct disadvantage when performing YewSool skills, unless I have enough flexibility and gluteal muscle strength to get low.  Yew Sool might not be the easiest skills for me, but by learning them and getting a degree of proficiency in them I have also learned about balance, the importance of getting low and many other equally significant insights.  By drilling the skills, particularly the ones I struggle with I’m challenging myself, pushing myself to the limits of my abilities… and as such those limits keep edging back.

When we train with different opponents and with different skills over a long time, we also gain sensitivity to our opponent.  What I mean is, even if your opponent is a complete stranger, you develop an awareness of what skill you can make work on what person and naturally you adapt.  The more skilled we are, the more we are able to instinctively know what to do.  Having a large arsenal at your disposal means if needed, you can choose the right skill for the right situation.

So learning lots of techniques is a good thing.  It gives us an understanding of our body and the bodies we are working with, and ultimately it provides us with choice.

Next month, in part two, I’ll talk about why lots of skills can be also be a bad thing.

Before Christmas I surveyed some of Chang’s Hapkido Academy (CHA) black belts to discover what keeps them coming back after achieving their black belt.  I’ve received over a dozen responses now from black belts across four of our schools, which gives me quite a bit of data to start noticing various recurring themes.

So why do CHA black belts continue to train?

Many black belts agree that the long years of training has meant that Hapkido, and CHA in particular has become a big part of their identity.

• Hapkido is like a relationship.
• CHA has become a part of me.
• Hapkido is part of my life and it is part of me
• I want to live as a practicing black belt for as a long as I’m physically able (it’s who I’ve become, it’s part of my identity (not all my identity though – that’s important too)

An overwhelming theme was that of the fun, enjoyment and feel good factor that Hapkido practice gives.   

• It’s fun
• I enjoy training.
• I enjoy coming to class and get satisfaction from practising as hard as I can.
• An upcoming test can focus the intensity of training but I have found it’s not the reason for turning up to class.  I do it simply for the love of doing it.
• Often times I’m tired from work, I have an injury or I just don’t feel like exercising, but I force myself to go to class and 100% of the time I am so glad I went.
• CHA is very simply a place where I want to be, with people I want to be around.  I didn’t stop liking it just because I got my black belt.

The black belt itself was never seen as an end product.

• I never intended it to be the ultimate goal
• Black belt was never really my goal
• Didn’t really have a goal of getting my black belt
• When I received my black belt I knew I didn’t know it all.  I have found that my horizons continue to expand and that there is always going to be more to learn.

There is this consensus that there is always ‘more to learn’, and the experience of CHA is one where personal growth matters.

• I was really proud to become a CHA black belt and I would agree that since then it has been a real personal growing experience.  This in turn has made me appreciate class even more and amplified my motivation.
• My new goal became conquering myself.
• Through CHA I am able to discover and define who I am.
• Helps light the way for my journey.
• What is as important to me as the Hapkido training is continued participation in ki meditation class.
• What has been a constant source of strength for me has not been the physical lessons, but the philosophy that underpins the training.

The discipline of practicing Hapkido and the ethos the school stands for helps students tap into that ‘better version of themselves’.

• I think the discipline of going to Hapkido and going to ki class in and of itself is something that makes me feel good about myself.  It makes me more disciplined in other areas of my life.
• I’m CEO of my company.  I know I have a tendency toward arrogance. CHA reminds me to be humble.  It is the ethos of the school and what it stands for that is important to me.
• For an hour or two every other day I am forced not to think about anything else.
• Because I love the confidence it brings me
• I agree with the values that underpin the school and so I have the feeling that by going to class it’s good for me.
• If I had the worst day at work or at home, somehow everything was ok after class.
• Hapkido helps me maintain balance and it remains one of the tools that helps keep me in touch with a better version of myself.

It’s not all about the mental side though.  Black belts enjoy the constant physical challenge; as well as deeply understanding that, ‘if you don’t use it, you lose it’.

• I am humbled  by the limits of my physical capabilities
• I remain motivated to train myself because the value of self-defence has gone up.
• I love the tremendous physical fitness it brings me, and I love the physical challenge of trying to stretch my body’s capabilities, even as I head into my elder years.
• I feel that if I do not practice regularly I will lose the skills I have gained
• Just because I have a black belt now doesn’t mean I can stop exercising.

It takes a lot of time and practice to achieve a black belt.  There is an appreciation for the help and support they have received along the way, and desire to give back.

• We have some kids who have some hard lives.  I think that I provide some sound leadership for those students who might not receive what they deserve at home.
• I focus more on the improvement of other students – this actually improves my own technique.
• I would like to support others who are in the same position that I was.
• I feel that I owe something to the school; it’s the idea of ‘pay it forward’.

Thank you to all who contributed to this black belt exploration; it’s been a fascinating and familiar read.  I’d like to end with another quote, one that personally resonates.   “First and foremost  I love Hapkido and Ki Meditation and it’s my passion. For me there is pure joy in the actual act of training. I feel completely alive when I train. I’m not sure there is any other reason at the root of it all – I simply can’t imagine not training – it would be like part of me is missing.”

See you all in class!

A famous pianist, Vladimir Horowitz, who performed well into his eighties once said, “If I skip practice for a day I notice.  If I skip practice for 2 days my wife notices.  If I skip for 3 days, the world notices.” (Coyle, 2009)

But what is it that motivates us to achieve greatness or simply to maintain a level of proficiency in something we enjoy?

I’m interested in motivation. In particular, what motivates us after we get our black belts? Most students understand that Hapkido is more than the physical, but that’s easy to say when the goal of black belt is still tempting you on. Personally I’ve learned more about myself after black belt, than I ever did before… to me Hapkido is something about confidence, about identity, and about reminding me to be an authentic version of myself…but I’ve also grown up with Hapkido so I wondered whether my experience was unique to me or is this something that others experience too.  A few weeks ago I asked the black belts at Chang’s Hapkido Academy about just that…

The responses have started coming in and they are a joy to read.  One black belt said, “Hapkido isn’t something that I do, it’s who I am” – I can really relate to his comment…

I’ll be collecting all the responses over the next few weeks and look forward to sharing some of my impressions and the overall themes in the coming months.  Click here for part two of this article.

Works Cited
Coyle, D. (2009). The Talent Code. New York: Bantam Dell Publishing Group.

A study by Jones et. al. is often used to define mental toughness.  In this paper they studied elite competitive athletes and said that mental toughness is, ‘having the natural or developed psychological edge that enables you to: generally, cope better than your opponents with the many demands (competition, training, lifestyle) that sport places on a performer; specifically, be more consistent and better than your opponents in remaining determined, focused, confident, and in control under pressure.’ (Jones & Connaughton, 2002)

They further reported that the key characteristics of mentally tough athletes were self-belief, intrinsic motivation, concentration and the ability to handle pressure. (Jones, Hanton, & Connaughton, 2007)

Interestingly, it is exactly these attributes that Hapkido seeks to instil through the strict discipline and etiquette it teaches.  Through Hapkido training we become more aware of situations that get us frustrated, intimidated or enable us to lose focus.  Following the instructor’s commands, we rid ourselves of negative self-talk which undermines performance.  By focusing on the process of daily practice we learn from our mistakes and take joy in the personal growth they provide.  As we progress through the ranking system our responsibility increases, we grow in confidence and we begin to help others in their journeys.

The bowing etc. that is demanded of us is not for the benefit of the instructor, but rather a method the instructor uses to help us become fully successful.  So the next time you enter the dojang and bow, shout out ‘yes, sir’ or ‘yes, ma’m’ when called to stand, remember that this practice is essential to your full development as Hapkido experts.  Without this we may be fit and know some nice techniques, but we will never totally be the best we can be.

Works Cited

Jones, G., Hanton, S., & Connaughton, D. (2007). A framework of mental toughness in the world’s best performers. Sports Psychologist, 21(2), 243-264.

Jones, H. G., & Connaughton, D. (2002). What is this thing called mental toughness? An investigation of elite sport performers. Journal of Applied Sports Psychology, 205-218.

What happened? Well, those who believed they were using the professional golfer’s putter consistently perceived the golf hole to be larger than those in the other group. Furthermore, the belief seemed to improve their performance; in other words they sank more putts.

The researchers suggested that this might have happened because the belief they were using the professional golfers putter may have encouraged them to use positive mental imagery associated with his past successes. Maybe also there was some sort of placebo effect – a lucky club!

Now we can poke fun at this and say, “Silly people, it was just a normal club, you can’t get special powers from an inanimate object”. Or, we could ask the question….if this is how our brains work, can I tap into that somehow and improve my own performances?

I wonder what might happen if we believed that we were wearing Grandmaster Chang’s uniform. Can we somehow embody that feeling and therefore tap into the potential psychological boost?

Reference:
Lee, C., et al. (2011). Putting Like a Pro: The Role of Positive Contagion in Golf Performance and Perception. PLoS ONE, doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0026016

Guardian Newspaper Article

Two ways in which an instructor/coach or leader can manage the environment that they create is through
1. An ego climate
2. A task oriented climate.

An ego climate is all about competition and being the best. Students are compared to others. Success & outcomes (at any cost) are highly emphasized. This sort of environment creates anxiety within the participants as there is a constant need to be better than others and to be told they are the best. Unfortunately there is only ever one winner -which naturally makes everyone else a loser. People begin to doubt their ability; and those with lower levels tend to drop out. No one can be successful all the time, so naturally people start feeling like failures. Motivation is all extrinsic; there is a high need for that external reward.

In contrast, a task climate is primarily about personal growth. Students seek to improve their personal best and focus on technique and goals. People tend to give more time and effort to training; they try harder and feel lower anxiety. Amongst participants there is open communication and mutual respect. Confidence increases as does enjoyment. Motivation tends to be intrinsic; the reward is internal.

Even in competitive environments, good coaches want to develop task centred learning. If you think about the backdrop of low funding, the competitive nature of sport and the time required to achieve excellence, athletes must have high levels of intrinsic motivation in order to have any chance of success or longevity.

If we want to really learn something, we have to allow ourselves to be rubbish and to take enjoyment out of putting time in and seeing slow progress. If we worry about how good we are compared to others, it’ll only be a matter of time until we drop out.

That’s why black belt isn’t a destination … it’s a sign post along the way. And that’s also why, “no, we don’t have competitions”.

If we look closely at sport, we can find many examples of athletes, supposedly past their prime, still performing at elite levels; Dara Torres and Martina Navratilova immediately come to mind.

Many people stop sport when they leave school/university. The 70 year old weightlifter doesn’t owe his success to being a worldclass athlete, but rather he is an individual who kept training when others quit.

We can’t deny that certain physiological changes do happen as we age: decline in lean body mass, muscle power, skin elasticity and heart rate to name a few. But studies show that the decline is much less than we tend to accept. Simply put, ‘if you don’t use it – you lose it’.

As we age the rate of regeneration slows so we may not be able to train with the same intensity and at the same frequency of a younger athlete. But by continuing to take part in activities like Hapkido training, we ensure we work on our muscular strength and mobility as well as maintaining all-round fitness. In this way, we will always be younger, in the physiological sense, to our real age.

And before we classify an ‘old’ athlete as being ‘over 40′… I’m told that Jean Borotran and Kitty Godfrey still played tennis into their 90′s.

When we punch, for example, we actually put ourselves into a deeply vulnerable and off balanced position; but this same body weight shift that causes vulnerability also enables us to get the most power into the technique.

In our personal lives, without vulnerability we never step out of our comfort zone…we never grow…we never connect to others. When we make ourselves vulnerable we actually open ourselves up to life.

Can we be fully alive or powerful in both our Hapkido and our personal lives without a degree of vulnerability?

I would be really interested to hear your thoughts on the relationship between power and vulnerability.