A bit of a different direction on my writing this morning:
***
I did a thing yesterday.
I took part in a parade.
I cracked jokes all week about it being my 'personal version of hell'- but the real joke was that it is. In fact, I can think of few experiences that would test the limits of my ability to 'pass' more than this event.
What is passing? It's an "art"- I sometimes call it my dark art. It's a prison and it is privilege.
It's the phenomenon that exists when some of us manage to make ourselves appear not disabled for undetermined periods of time.
Not everyone can pass. Passing for Sam is a very rare thing. Sometimes, in a pool or at a park, there is enough going on that people don't notice the hand flaps, or hums, or the fact that he never actually responds to the other kids who apologize for bumping into him while waiting for the slide.
When seen in small doses, a casual observer may not notice my very, very openly autistic son. But it takes most people less than two or three minutes most of the time.
And, quite frankly, I'm kind of glad that passing isn't something I have the option of imposing on him. Sam's outright inability to pass spared him from many harmful therapies and 'treatments' aiming to do exactly that; to normalize, to transform into conformity, to break the Autisticness of his spirit and rebuild him into an automated version of 'typical'.
Unlike Sam, I never had the option of not passing- mostly because no one, not even myself, knew how differently my brain worked. I am from a time when 'gifted' was only seen as a positive, so my areas of need went unnoticed.
It was a time when stims, ticks and rigid routines were believed to be 'bad behaviour' and 'bossiness'; when social and general anxiety were seen as ways to get attention; when I was called dramatic or manipulative for trying to mimic social interactions that made no sense to me whatsoever; when I was told I was lying when I said that I could see sounds, and taste light; when I was told that I was lazy when I was practically failing math, despite stellar grades in every other subject; when I was told that I was a baby when I experienced pain differently than other people, sometimes being overwhelmed by paper cuts and other times not feeling broken bones for months at a time; when I was told that I was a slob because I didn't know how to organize my space; when I was told that I stupid because I couldn't read a map or tell my left from my right.
It was a time when we still believed suicide attempts to be 'cries for attention', not recognizing them as the very real signs of mental illness that they are. (Did you know that Autistic people are 28 times more likely to contemplate or attempt suicide in their teens than not Autistic people?)
Surviving meant learning how to pass.
Especially since I didn't know that I was disabled to begin with.
Now, as an adult with an entire alphabet soup of clinical diagnoses (which most accounts now agree amount to Autism), I am finally learning to release myself of the mental, emotional and physical labour that goes into pretending to be like other people.
For the most part. Sometimes.
Well, at least with some people.
Like 3 of them. At least.
It is really, really, really hard to unlearn everything about your behaviours, and to trust that the world will catch you. Because it doesn't usually- I've seen too many people fall through the cracks to believe that the world will provide me a soft landing. And right now, I can't afford to crash hard and break down. I have two kids, with two spectacularly unique minds, that need me to be their cushion. So now really isn't the time for me to focus on finding my own.
I shouldn't have to pass. But the world is really cruel and dangerous to people who don't pass.
And I need to think about my child who can't pass first.
Which means that, for now at least, I upkeep the things I have always done to help me pass- to help me blend in. Which- ironically- actually make me stand out...but in such a way as to convince people that standing out is my intention.
I seek situations where I can control the outcomes, often centering myself center-stage so as to minimize unpredictability and thereby restrict feelings of general anxiety.
I bring buddies with me to events, pairing myself with people who are socially comfortable and who make me look socially comfortable by association (Thanks Charlie and Ashley).
I cover my head with hats and my eyes with huge glasses- maybe people won't notice how seldom I actually look directly at them.
I cover my body with costumes so that they see the character, not the person.
I literally become a different person- or rather, an extreme version of myself. A caricature of who Zita would be if Zita was more like everyone else.
It's over the top. But it's safe and manageable. And it has kept me together for as long as I can remember.
I've played this role for so long that most people who only know me a little bit would swear that it is who I am and who I have always been.
What they don't know is that, by the time the parade was over, I had literally lost the ability to word. I sat in my car, ignoring my husband and children, for almost an hour. Then I sat at my best friend's house (who was kind enough to offer parenting support for the rest of the day because we both knew I would be a mess after I got home) for almost three, barely participating in the conversation and often having to leave the room to recenter myself, curling into a fetal position and rocking myself back and forth in the armchair.
I cried for at least 45 minutes when I knew I had to go back at teach that night.
I brought booze to bribe myself to get through it.
My bucket was as empty as it gets.
The parade took literally everything I have in me.
And it was the very definition of the all or nothingness of my disabled life.
So why did I go? That's an excellent question.
Even disabled people want to be a part of the community. While going to a parade may not have been my dream way of spending a Friday morning, being with the people who make me love being alive, and sharing in the experience of pride that the parade evoked was an opportunity that I didn't want to pass up.
See, the thing is that I have a job and it is literally the greatest job in the world. It's extremely active, requires tons of mental, physical and emotional energy- which is good, because I have too much energy and my body doesn't know what to do with it. It is creative. It is artistic. It is fun. It is silly. It is empowering. It is vulnerable.
It is the most "me" I have ever been in my entire life.
The people I get to share this job with are some of the best people I have ever met. They are funny, interesting, thoughtful, kind, considerate, inclusive, empathetic, supportive and accepting. This event was special to them- and that means it was special to me. And every single minute of it was worth it to get to witness the joy that they had at being part of something so spectacular.
Watching Charlie dance with my studio owner and mentor, and knowing that I am setting her up for a life of health and wellness, was a beautiful sight.
Dancing on the streets with children, women and men who feel empowered and capable of moving their bodies because of the model we have set in our studio filled me with pride and humility.
And doing burpees with a local newscaster is a story that I will enjoy telling when I am 108 and still doing burpees in my living room.
Just because something is hard doesn't mean it isn't worth doing.
And just because the physical aspect of the activity was difficult for me doesn't mean that the emotional and psychological benefits of feeling like I am part of a community don't outweigh the cost.
The parade wasn't 'fun' for me the way that it was for other people. But that doesn't mean it wasn't special. And I will do it again next year.
And it will be hard. And I will probably need my entire arsenal of 'passing tricks' to make it work.
But every day that I tell my story and immerse myself authentically into my community, unabashedly sharing my experience and openly discussing the challenges that confront those of us with different neuroprocessing needs, these tricks start to feel less and less like 'costumes' and more and more like 'tools'.
And maybe, just maybe- this time next year- while the outside world continues to the see the caricature of me that I need to create in order to navigate its complexities, a few more people on and off the float will recognize and understand that I do these things in order to be able to do for them what they do for me.
And maybe they will better understand that sharing joy with them in ways that make them feel truly joyous is worth it to me, even if it means spending three hours in my personal version of hell.
Saturday, July 22, 2017
Monday, July 17, 2017
GWN2017 Ten Takeaways: Women's Issues
I'm starting to realize that writing posts in my head doesn't actually count as writing posts- and that my memory's capacity is starting to dwindle as I age. So I'm going to write things down before I forget everything.
On July 2, 2017, I participated in my second 70.3 mile distance triathlon. I had registered for it last year, the day of the race, when the adrenaline was still high from the event. At the time of registration, I had every intention of training harder and intensely than I had this year. After all, I wouldn't be in school and- theoretically- my work load would be reduced...theoretically.
Of course, life happens and my best laid plans did not come to fruition. Of course, even I could not have predicted that I would be able to train at all for the event. No more than half a dozen run, swim or bike sessions were executed from December of 2016 to June of 2017. I wasn't just under trained- I was under prepared.
Now, you might say "But Zita, you 'train' every day. You are constantly teaching group fitness classes and at the gym training others. Surely that counts the same way." But, as I will explain later, it does- and it really doesn't.
The race was successful- depending on how you define success. Some have told me that it was an even greater victory for me because of this lack of training factor. I don't feel that way, but there were definitely some major takeaways for me as an athlete and as a professional. I mean, when you are on a bike for 3 and half hours straight, and then running without music for another almost two and half, a lot of thoughts go through your head. Besides, the difference between this year and last year is that now I am not only an athlete; I am a trainer and coach in my own right, and have an increased perspective on the nature of this wonderful sport.
So here are my top ten takeaways from the race and how they will influence me in years to come, broken down into 3 major categories, each of which will be their own post: Women's issues, Performance, and Personal Epiphanies
Women's Issues
This is a pretty big header with a bunch of sub topics- and it is a topic I feel passionately about. In fact, I have argued that one of the only flaws to my PFT program is a very specific lack of classes and programming covering social topics in sports and fitness- many of which center around women's issues. Great White North presented me with multiple examples of just how important it is to start talking about these, not only from an academic/teaching perspective, but from a social acceptance perspective.
We do not talk about women's issues in sport performance, despite the fact that many amateur sport are dominated by women.
10. Menstruation: I already posted my rant about this on Facebook, but can we please start talking about the realities of menstruation as they affect performance. We glanced at this topic (barely) while I was in school, mostly focusing on elite level athletes who train to the point of losing their cycles. But that's a tiny percentage of our athletic population. Most women will menstruate regularly throughout the course of their athletic career. Fatigue, nausea, cramping, iron depletion, uncomfortable sanitary products and additional breaks have to be factored into performance. And while there are definitely new products on the market that alleviate some of these issues, they do not eradicate them.
At every transition location, I was equipped with midol, tylenol, sanitary pads and tampons. My cramps coming out of the swim were so severe that I almost had to pull from the race. Thankfully, drugs kicked in just in time and I was able to push through the event. I had to stop twice along my ride, because I am perimenopausal which leads to unpredictable menstrual patterns, and race day unfortunately happened to be a particularly tough one.
I lost at least 4 minutes on my race from these breaks, one on the bike and one on the run. These minutes were literally the difference between making my goal time and not making it. While I realize that everyone has physiological issues that they have to deal with that affect performance, it would sure be great if we acknowledged that 50% of us have to deal with these about 10-20% of our performance careers. And, while there's really not much that we can do about the impact that it has, I do think that we, as athletes, as trainers, and as educators, need to start being a lot more transparent about the fact that menstruation is a consideration that should be factored by all trainers and athletes in to both training programming and performance prep. I was fortunate that I was prepared. It would have been a very different race if my cycle had started unexpectedly early.
9. "Mothering" while performance training. Now don't get me wrong- my husband is amazing- better than virtually anyone I know when it comes to sharing the parenting load. He is not the problem here. But one thing I experienced in droves last year was social shame for the amount of time training took away from my family. I was constantly reminded of how hard my husband worked at his full time job (which he does, but it bears mentioning that I was working practically full time, coordinating multiple part time jobs to do so, while also carrying a full time course load.)
And while that shame never once came from my spouse, it took a toll on me emotionally. By the time last year's race came around, I was overwhelmed by guilt and convinced that every time my children had a tantrum, it was the result of their mother's perpetual absence. When I discuss this phenomenon with other athletes, I get very different reactions from the men- who tell me that I need to just ignore these comments and that I shouldn't let them bother me- and the women, whose most common response is something along the lines of "ME TOO!".
The fact of the matter is that training for ultra distance events is an extremely time consuming hobby, and that- on a social level- we are still much more tolerant of men taking time away from their families to pursue personal interests than we are in women doing so. Finding time for training is simply a different challenge for women with children. And, quite frankly, I field enough questions about my family missing me as a working mom- I'm sure not a fan of having to deal with them as a training athlete.
8. Sexism and female body shaming:
Last year, during the run, I distinction remember seeing athletes with their tri tops zipped down to their navel. As it was bloody hot out, I remember admiring this tactic and thinking to myself that I wish I had the confidence to do that too.
This year, I went into the race determined to not let body issues hold me back. And when my collar felt too tight on my bike ride, I unzipped it approximately 4 inches, about an inch below the strap of y sports bra. No biggie, right?
Wrong.
As I entered into transition, a male official informed me that I had to zip up my top. When I asked why, he stated "Modesty rules. Your torso must be covered." Despite my rush, I noted to him that this was a pretty sexist stance, to which he replied "No it isn't- the men have to do it too." My husband was there to witness this entire interchange. And while I would have loved to have stayed and argued with him if, you know, it hadn't been a race. But it was, so off I went...to fume for the entire ~2.5 hours of my half marathon.
You see, scrolling through the GWN pictures confirmed to me exactly what I knew to be true. Yes, the 'modesty' rules apply to both men and women equally...on paper. But these are NOT enforced equally at all. In fact, I would state that roughly 40% of men along the race course were showing infinitely more skin that I had been. On many, I was able to see their navels. Don't believe me? The pictures speak for themselves.
Now, it is possible that these men- unlike me- waited until after they had gone through transition to loosen their tops. It might have been foolish of me to do so right at the transition opening. But I suspect that there were at least some who, like me, were already immodest upon their arrival to the gate. And I have an extremely difficult time believing that all of these men were spoken to and just chose to ignore the rules. I have an even more difficult time believing that every single one was missed by the officials at either transition, or on the many stops on the run course. Let's not kid ourselves here, the men were not policed the way that I was.
Now, I did see *some* women daring to race immodestly, tops zipped down to the bra line. AND I saw at least two of them zipping themselves back up before getting to the finish line. Again, a cursory glance at the pictures will confirm that women are, directly or indirectly, forced to comply with modestly rules that men are allowed to freely ignore.
So while the rules may exist for both sexes, if these rules are inequitably enforced then intentions matter very little. Also, can we please stop using the term 'modesty' as if it is some kind of ideal or trophy. Showing less skin than I would if I was wearing a bathing suit may very well be a violation of the rules, but isn't 'immodest'.
This short conversation cost me both physical and mental energy that should have been directed into the race- and it only happened because I am female.
Post 2: GWN2017 10 Takeaways: Performance Learnings
On July 2, 2017, I participated in my second 70.3 mile distance triathlon. I had registered for it last year, the day of the race, when the adrenaline was still high from the event. At the time of registration, I had every intention of training harder and intensely than I had this year. After all, I wouldn't be in school and- theoretically- my work load would be reduced...theoretically.
Of course, life happens and my best laid plans did not come to fruition. Of course, even I could not have predicted that I would be able to train at all for the event. No more than half a dozen run, swim or bike sessions were executed from December of 2016 to June of 2017. I wasn't just under trained- I was under prepared.
Now, you might say "But Zita, you 'train' every day. You are constantly teaching group fitness classes and at the gym training others. Surely that counts the same way." But, as I will explain later, it does- and it really doesn't.
The race was successful- depending on how you define success. Some have told me that it was an even greater victory for me because of this lack of training factor. I don't feel that way, but there were definitely some major takeaways for me as an athlete and as a professional. I mean, when you are on a bike for 3 and half hours straight, and then running without music for another almost two and half, a lot of thoughts go through your head. Besides, the difference between this year and last year is that now I am not only an athlete; I am a trainer and coach in my own right, and have an increased perspective on the nature of this wonderful sport.
So here are my top ten takeaways from the race and how they will influence me in years to come, broken down into 3 major categories, each of which will be their own post: Women's issues, Performance, and Personal Epiphanies
Women's Issues
This is a pretty big header with a bunch of sub topics- and it is a topic I feel passionately about. In fact, I have argued that one of the only flaws to my PFT program is a very specific lack of classes and programming covering social topics in sports and fitness- many of which center around women's issues. Great White North presented me with multiple examples of just how important it is to start talking about these, not only from an academic/teaching perspective, but from a social acceptance perspective.
We do not talk about women's issues in sport performance, despite the fact that many amateur sport are dominated by women.
10. Menstruation: I already posted my rant about this on Facebook, but can we please start talking about the realities of menstruation as they affect performance. We glanced at this topic (barely) while I was in school, mostly focusing on elite level athletes who train to the point of losing their cycles. But that's a tiny percentage of our athletic population. Most women will menstruate regularly throughout the course of their athletic career. Fatigue, nausea, cramping, iron depletion, uncomfortable sanitary products and additional breaks have to be factored into performance. And while there are definitely new products on the market that alleviate some of these issues, they do not eradicate them.
At every transition location, I was equipped with midol, tylenol, sanitary pads and tampons. My cramps coming out of the swim were so severe that I almost had to pull from the race. Thankfully, drugs kicked in just in time and I was able to push through the event. I had to stop twice along my ride, because I am perimenopausal which leads to unpredictable menstrual patterns, and race day unfortunately happened to be a particularly tough one.
I lost at least 4 minutes on my race from these breaks, one on the bike and one on the run. These minutes were literally the difference between making my goal time and not making it. While I realize that everyone has physiological issues that they have to deal with that affect performance, it would sure be great if we acknowledged that 50% of us have to deal with these about 10-20% of our performance careers. And, while there's really not much that we can do about the impact that it has, I do think that we, as athletes, as trainers, and as educators, need to start being a lot more transparent about the fact that menstruation is a consideration that should be factored by all trainers and athletes in to both training programming and performance prep. I was fortunate that I was prepared. It would have been a very different race if my cycle had started unexpectedly early.
9. "Mothering" while performance training. Now don't get me wrong- my husband is amazing- better than virtually anyone I know when it comes to sharing the parenting load. He is not the problem here. But one thing I experienced in droves last year was social shame for the amount of time training took away from my family. I was constantly reminded of how hard my husband worked at his full time job (which he does, but it bears mentioning that I was working practically full time, coordinating multiple part time jobs to do so, while also carrying a full time course load.)
And while that shame never once came from my spouse, it took a toll on me emotionally. By the time last year's race came around, I was overwhelmed by guilt and convinced that every time my children had a tantrum, it was the result of their mother's perpetual absence. When I discuss this phenomenon with other athletes, I get very different reactions from the men- who tell me that I need to just ignore these comments and that I shouldn't let them bother me- and the women, whose most common response is something along the lines of "ME TOO!".
The fact of the matter is that training for ultra distance events is an extremely time consuming hobby, and that- on a social level- we are still much more tolerant of men taking time away from their families to pursue personal interests than we are in women doing so. Finding time for training is simply a different challenge for women with children. And, quite frankly, I field enough questions about my family missing me as a working mom- I'm sure not a fan of having to deal with them as a training athlete.
8. Sexism and female body shaming:
Last year, during the run, I distinction remember seeing athletes with their tri tops zipped down to their navel. As it was bloody hot out, I remember admiring this tactic and thinking to myself that I wish I had the confidence to do that too.
This year, I went into the race determined to not let body issues hold me back. And when my collar felt too tight on my bike ride, I unzipped it approximately 4 inches, about an inch below the strap of y sports bra. No biggie, right?
Wrong.
As I entered into transition, a male official informed me that I had to zip up my top. When I asked why, he stated "Modesty rules. Your torso must be covered." Despite my rush, I noted to him that this was a pretty sexist stance, to which he replied "No it isn't- the men have to do it too." My husband was there to witness this entire interchange. And while I would have loved to have stayed and argued with him if, you know, it hadn't been a race. But it was, so off I went...to fume for the entire ~2.5 hours of my half marathon.
You see, scrolling through the GWN pictures confirmed to me exactly what I knew to be true. Yes, the 'modesty' rules apply to both men and women equally...on paper. But these are NOT enforced equally at all. In fact, I would state that roughly 40% of men along the race course were showing infinitely more skin that I had been. On many, I was able to see their navels. Don't believe me? The pictures speak for themselves.
Now, it is possible that these men- unlike me- waited until after they had gone through transition to loosen their tops. It might have been foolish of me to do so right at the transition opening. But I suspect that there were at least some who, like me, were already immodest upon their arrival to the gate. And I have an extremely difficult time believing that all of these men were spoken to and just chose to ignore the rules. I have an even more difficult time believing that every single one was missed by the officials at either transition, or on the many stops on the run course. Let's not kid ourselves here, the men were not policed the way that I was.
Now, I did see *some* women daring to race immodestly, tops zipped down to the bra line. AND I saw at least two of them zipping themselves back up before getting to the finish line. Again, a cursory glance at the pictures will confirm that women are, directly or indirectly, forced to comply with modestly rules that men are allowed to freely ignore.
So while the rules may exist for both sexes, if these rules are inequitably enforced then intentions matter very little. Also, can we please stop using the term 'modesty' as if it is some kind of ideal or trophy. Showing less skin than I would if I was wearing a bathing suit may very well be a violation of the rules, but isn't 'immodest'.
This short conversation cost me both physical and mental energy that should have been directed into the race- and it only happened because I am female.
Post 2: GWN2017 10 Takeaways: Performance Learnings
Monday, July 10, 2017
10,000 hours...
I've have some thoughts tickling my brain this week that I feel compelled to put out there in the universe. This isn't really related to fitness as much as it is related to my experience in the industry thus far.
They say it takes 10,000 hours to become proficient in your activity; to develop expertise.
Putting that into context, we're talking about at least 5 years of 40 hours/week with no vacations or days off. That's a lot of hours.
It is literally about 95% more than what I have done so far. I'm about 1/20th of the way into 'expertise'.
The idea goes that the more you do something, the better you become at it.
This is probably true, for the most part. I'm not going to knock the value of practice.
But I have something to say about 10,000 hours....
While I may be new to Personal Fitness Training, I've spent the past 20 years directly or indirectly involved in coaching, mentoring or training others- I've been a Trainer for as long as I can remember.
Whether it was as a swim coach, gymnastics instructor, voice teacher, employee trainer, General Manager, Strategic Planner, Small Business Coach, or now as a PFT, helping others work their way through the learning process of setting goals and achieving them has been my life's work.
All told, I've banked way more than 10,000 hours in the "leadership" field. So, while I'd hesitate to refer to myself (or anyone else, for that matter) as an expert on Leadership, I'd like to think that I've picked up a few things along the way.
And if there's one thing I have learned, it is this:
An hour to one is not an hour to all.
What I mean is that: quality almost always trumps quantity.
An hour of poor quality training/effort is worth very little.
Conversely, ten minutes of fully focused, fully engaged learning and growth can move mountains.
I recently had a conversation with colleagues about what qualifies an expert or a professional in my field. I took issue with the use of these terms being used interchangeably, just as I took issue with it being implied that I was *not* a professional because I am new to this field.
Let me be extremely clear here- I am not in any way challenging the knowledge and depth that comes with decades of experiences and working with hundreds of clients. There is absolutely NO doubt that, when it comes to movement mechanics, my knowledge is still academic and my practical experience is rudimentary.
But let's not conflate terms here. Inexperience doesn't negate me as a professional, nor does it automatically imply a lack of expertise.
This is my career. It is my life. I have spent the last three years fully immersed in this industry, including two years of full time, non stop post secondary experience. Despite being relatively new, I've already worked directly as a trainer with several dozens of different bodies, and have coached and facilitated group fitness with literally hundreds of different people. That's one the beauties of group fitness- I literally see no less than 100 bodies moving every single week. It's extremely valuable in terms of practical experience.
And, in my relatively short time in this field, I can confirm that my statement above stands as true for fitness training as it does for everything else: An hour to one is not an hour to all.
There are thousands of trainers who have been doing this longer than I have and the majority of them are probably better than I am right now.
They've logged more hours. I get how it works.
But while my hourly log has been shorter, I came to the game with a a few secret weapons: 1) almost two decades of work experience, in various fields, 2) an insatiable desire to learn, grow and excel, 3) an unwavering dedication to doing the best job I possibly can for my clients, and (here's the real kicker) 4) a whole lot of discipline.
If I don't know it, I will learn it.
If I don't understand, I will ask until I do.
And every single hour I spend in this trade, I spend 100% focused on the "prize"- delivering the absolute best experience I possibly can for the people I am working with.
So while I may only be at 500 or so hours, they've been 500 hours of "all in" effort; and, when it comes to performance, that effort will ultimately be the distinguishing factor.
The beautiful thing about lifelong learning is that I will never truly be an expert! The scope of human knowledge is simply too vast for me to ever immerse myself so completely as to truly be known as one- and most so-called "experts" will tell you that they are constantly still learning and being surprised by their field of interest.
Knowledge is as endless as the human experience. And if you are a passionate student, then you will only ever feel as though you are barely scratching it's surface.
But I am a professional. And I am skilled and knowledgeable. I bring passion, commitment and discipline to my field and I am growing as fast as I possibly can.
My hours are quality. And they are accumulating quickly.
So I might not be there yet, but give me half the time and I'll get there.
Game on, kids.
They say it takes 10,000 hours to become proficient in your activity; to develop expertise.
Putting that into context, we're talking about at least 5 years of 40 hours/week with no vacations or days off. That's a lot of hours.
It is literally about 95% more than what I have done so far. I'm about 1/20th of the way into 'expertise'.
The idea goes that the more you do something, the better you become at it.
This is probably true, for the most part. I'm not going to knock the value of practice.
But I have something to say about 10,000 hours....
While I may be new to Personal Fitness Training, I've spent the past 20 years directly or indirectly involved in coaching, mentoring or training others- I've been a Trainer for as long as I can remember.
Whether it was as a swim coach, gymnastics instructor, voice teacher, employee trainer, General Manager, Strategic Planner, Small Business Coach, or now as a PFT, helping others work their way through the learning process of setting goals and achieving them has been my life's work.
All told, I've banked way more than 10,000 hours in the "leadership" field. So, while I'd hesitate to refer to myself (or anyone else, for that matter) as an expert on Leadership, I'd like to think that I've picked up a few things along the way.
And if there's one thing I have learned, it is this:
An hour to one is not an hour to all.
What I mean is that: quality almost always trumps quantity.
An hour of poor quality training/effort is worth very little.
Conversely, ten minutes of fully focused, fully engaged learning and growth can move mountains.
I recently had a conversation with colleagues about what qualifies an expert or a professional in my field. I took issue with the use of these terms being used interchangeably, just as I took issue with it being implied that I was *not* a professional because I am new to this field.
Let me be extremely clear here- I am not in any way challenging the knowledge and depth that comes with decades of experiences and working with hundreds of clients. There is absolutely NO doubt that, when it comes to movement mechanics, my knowledge is still academic and my practical experience is rudimentary.
But let's not conflate terms here. Inexperience doesn't negate me as a professional, nor does it automatically imply a lack of expertise.
This is my career. It is my life. I have spent the last three years fully immersed in this industry, including two years of full time, non stop post secondary experience. Despite being relatively new, I've already worked directly as a trainer with several dozens of different bodies, and have coached and facilitated group fitness with literally hundreds of different people. That's one the beauties of group fitness- I literally see no less than 100 bodies moving every single week. It's extremely valuable in terms of practical experience.
And, in my relatively short time in this field, I can confirm that my statement above stands as true for fitness training as it does for everything else: An hour to one is not an hour to all.
There are thousands of trainers who have been doing this longer than I have and the majority of them are probably better than I am right now.
They've logged more hours. I get how it works.
But while my hourly log has been shorter, I came to the game with a a few secret weapons: 1) almost two decades of work experience, in various fields, 2) an insatiable desire to learn, grow and excel, 3) an unwavering dedication to doing the best job I possibly can for my clients, and (here's the real kicker) 4) a whole lot of discipline.
If I don't know it, I will learn it.
If I don't understand, I will ask until I do.
And every single hour I spend in this trade, I spend 100% focused on the "prize"- delivering the absolute best experience I possibly can for the people I am working with.
So while I may only be at 500 or so hours, they've been 500 hours of "all in" effort; and, when it comes to performance, that effort will ultimately be the distinguishing factor.
The beautiful thing about lifelong learning is that I will never truly be an expert! The scope of human knowledge is simply too vast for me to ever immerse myself so completely as to truly be known as one- and most so-called "experts" will tell you that they are constantly still learning and being surprised by their field of interest.
Knowledge is as endless as the human experience. And if you are a passionate student, then you will only ever feel as though you are barely scratching it's surface.
But I am a professional. And I am skilled and knowledgeable. I bring passion, commitment and discipline to my field and I am growing as fast as I possibly can.
My hours are quality. And they are accumulating quickly.
So I might not be there yet, but give me half the time and I'll get there.
Game on, kids.
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