When I was in training for the Olympics, we trained year around two times a day six days a week. No, this is not a story like the ones your parents told you about walking six miles in the snow, uphill both ways to get to school. This is a true tale.
So, when I train the Golden Eagles I think they should be able to tolerate a couple of two-a-days. They are young and fit and recover fast. They should be capable of handling a couple of days of practice where the days consist of getting up, going to practice, taking a nap and practicing again.
The problem occurs when I forget how intense I am. I tend to push a little bit. Okay, so maybe I push more than a little; maybe it is a lot. Then I forget how I ask them to think while they practice. It is one thing to just run up and down the court, but it is quite another to have to engage your brain every second of the practice.
Monday night after having two practices on Saturday and two on Sunday, I noticed how their brains had quit functioning. It is the first sign of weariness. The second is uncontrollable laughter. We had both symptoms on Monday night.
Imagine being a coach and spending fifteen minutes working on a skill, breaking it down into small portions, explaining why we do something a certain way, and then in the next drill expecting them to take what was learned and apply it into a faster, more complex drill. On paper this seems fairly reasonable, but when we moved from one drill to the next, they looked at me, squinting with that look of confusion as if the language I was speaking was in a tongue most foreign to their knowledge.
Then on top of that, imagine Shannon skipping to her next position on the court and everybody toppling over in laughter. It was cute, perhaps even deserving a chuckle, but a falling down, tears-down-the-cheeks laugh, is a little far reaching. When Lisanne tripped over her two feet, I thought we were going to have to resuscitate Chrissy who was curled in a fetal position on the court.
It was not a pretty practice.
I gave them Tuesday night off believing after 24 hours of recovery, they would return with rested legs and brains. In the middle of Wednesday's practice as they were struggling with the most mundane of skill work, I asked them if they were tired. I even quantified the question by telling them it was not a trick question. I understand players are often afraid of admitting to being fatigue. When they told me they were okay, I responded by yelling at them to get after it.
This was when I knew they were not okay. They were physically trying to pick up their intensity. Their faces showed their determination but their legs and minds would simply not obey.
Later when I asked them why they didn't tell me they were tired, they all said they thought it was a trick question. I am not like the coach who asked if his players were tired and when they said they were tired, he said, "Well, you are not in good enough shape. Let's run some more." After a while, he asked them again, "Are you tired?" When they responded no, he said, "Well, you haven't worked hard enough. Let's run some more."
I am not that coach, BUT I am the coach who forgets how demanding I am and the one who forgets to cut back practice time. I forget we do more in two hours than most teams do in four. I forget how hard I ask them to go every drill.
Bless their hearts that they keep trying to give even when their legs are too weary to move and their brains can't keep signals straight. Bless them that they will forgive this forgetful coach.
ONE HEART! ONE DREAM!
So, when I train the Golden Eagles I think they should be able to tolerate a couple of two-a-days. They are young and fit and recover fast. They should be capable of handling a couple of days of practice where the days consist of getting up, going to practice, taking a nap and practicing again.
The problem occurs when I forget how intense I am. I tend to push a little bit. Okay, so maybe I push more than a little; maybe it is a lot. Then I forget how I ask them to think while they practice. It is one thing to just run up and down the court, but it is quite another to have to engage your brain every second of the practice.
Monday night after having two practices on Saturday and two on Sunday, I noticed how their brains had quit functioning. It is the first sign of weariness. The second is uncontrollable laughter. We had both symptoms on Monday night.
Imagine being a coach and spending fifteen minutes working on a skill, breaking it down into small portions, explaining why we do something a certain way, and then in the next drill expecting them to take what was learned and apply it into a faster, more complex drill. On paper this seems fairly reasonable, but when we moved from one drill to the next, they looked at me, squinting with that look of confusion as if the language I was speaking was in a tongue most foreign to their knowledge.
Then on top of that, imagine Shannon skipping to her next position on the court and everybody toppling over in laughter. It was cute, perhaps even deserving a chuckle, but a falling down, tears-down-the-cheeks laugh, is a little far reaching. When Lisanne tripped over her two feet, I thought we were going to have to resuscitate Chrissy who was curled in a fetal position on the court.
It was not a pretty practice.
I gave them Tuesday night off believing after 24 hours of recovery, they would return with rested legs and brains. In the middle of Wednesday's practice as they were struggling with the most mundane of skill work, I asked them if they were tired. I even quantified the question by telling them it was not a trick question. I understand players are often afraid of admitting to being fatigue. When they told me they were okay, I responded by yelling at them to get after it.
This was when I knew they were not okay. They were physically trying to pick up their intensity. Their faces showed their determination but their legs and minds would simply not obey.
Later when I asked them why they didn't tell me they were tired, they all said they thought it was a trick question. I am not like the coach who asked if his players were tired and when they said they were tired, he said, "Well, you are not in good enough shape. Let's run some more." After a while, he asked them again, "Are you tired?" When they responded no, he said, "Well, you haven't worked hard enough. Let's run some more."
I am not that coach, BUT I am the coach who forgets how demanding I am and the one who forgets to cut back practice time. I forget we do more in two hours than most teams do in four. I forget how hard I ask them to go every drill.
Bless their hearts that they keep trying to give even when their legs are too weary to move and their brains can't keep signals straight. Bless them that they will forgive this forgetful coach.
ONE HEART! ONE DREAM!
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