S01E02 Show Notes: How Champ School Changed My Work Life
As a strategy consultant (and part-time teacher), I consume a ton of professional and personal development content. Podcasts, blog posts, books (thank God for libraries) and in-person training and events are a part of my everyday. At work, during dog walks, and on my commutes. But the most influential content I consumed this year, in terms of impact to my career, came in an unexpected place.
Two days of learning performance motorcycle skills withYamaha Champions Riding School changed how I work, forever.
I signed up for Champ School because I hit a plateau in myperformance riding. I coach new-to-the-track riders, and was hoping to (1) learna thing or two about how to teach riding, better; and (2) spend a little time focusedon my own riding skill, since I’d poured so much of my time and energy thisseason into my students. It was a gift to myself, during a season with a lot ofups and downs, and it was the closest thing to a vacation we had this summer.
When we sat down for our first classroom session, Coach NickIenatsch started with a brief introduction – the key takeaways of which were:
I am responsible for my own experience here at ChampSchool. He asked us to practice turning the throttle and repeating, as we “mockaccelerate” our imaginary motorcycles sitting in the classroom:
“Me, Me, Me, Me, Me, Me” and
“Me, Me, Me; I, I, I; Myself, Myself, Myself.”
And, get what you need. He had us practice jumpingout of our seats, raising our hands, and saying, “Coach! I have a question!” Physically,literally, practicing the motion of jumping up, raising our hands, and sayingthose words. We had a huge mix of riders, from highly accomplished and highlyskilled (and really fast) folks to one guy who had owned his motorcycle only afew months, and who did his first track day the literal day before Champ Schoolstarted. That “welcome” by Nick and the other coaches (highly accomplished proriders themselves) send me the message:
“You are here, so you belong here.”
I’ve been a rider for nearly 20 years in a sport where I’m theminority in more ways than one: I’m not wired for speed, I’m wired for skill; I’mnot externally competitive, I compete with myself and my expectations ofmyself; I’m not an adrenaline junkie (and am a rule follower and quiterisk-averse in a lot of ways); and I am – yes – female – which is still relativelyrare among some circles of the sport. Evenas a highly-trained rider, I struggle with feelings of not “fitting in” at thetrack, and especially with feelings of “imposter syndrome” as a ridinginstructor even though the proof of my training and skill is in the pudding ofmy students’ success (and smiles). Nick’s intro let me know from moment one:that imposter syndrome shit has got to step aside. It doesn’t serve me. I’mresponsible for my own experience; I “deserve” to be here as much as any otherperson whose butt is in a chair in this room. And I can choose whether to letmy imposter syndrome hold me back; or to set it aside and take up the space Ichose to place myself in, in that classroom and on that bike on the track.
As I listened to Nick speak I thought: this isn’t justmotorcycle training. This is the kind of life training that people like mespend decades in therapy and moving through personal and professionaldevelopment as “seekers.” I’m often doing so because I feel inadequate in someway … like I’m not “good enough,” so maybe some additional training or book orpractice will be the magic key that unlocks my “good enoughness.” When really,just like the repetition of experiences and habits that lead to my “not goodenoughness” self-belief; perhaps I can repeat experiences and habits thatremind me that I belong where I am. The lessons of Champ School are spelled outas a series of rules – Champion Habits -- so expertly honed that they burrowinto your head like earworms. And I’ve been learning and practicing them eversince Nick and the other instructors started talking on that first day ofschool.
I didn’t understand, and wasn’t able to apply everything I learnedduring those two days of training. At times, I couldn’t keep up (physically ormentally). But the rules still got in there, and there hasn’t been a day sincethat a Champion Habit hasn’t popped into my head to help me guide a decision:on and off the bike. And especially, in my work. Two days of riding with ChampSchool changed how I work, in ways I could never have expected; and I just keeplearning. Here is just a peek at what Champ School taught me about how to work,better.
I have 100 points of grip to work with. On amotorcycle, this means that I am working with certain variables -- brakepressure, lean angle, throttle, radius of the turn – that have a limit. Myresources are not limitless. If I’m using 50 available points by carrying leanangle, then I only have 49 available points with which to apply the throttle:if I apply 70 points of throttle, I fall over. If I’m on warm tires, and thebike is straight up and down, then I have all 100 points of grip to work within my throttle, brakes and body position. But if I’m on cold tires, I only havemaybe 70 points of grip to work with. If I’m on cold tires in the rain, makethat maybe 60. My resources are not limitless. At work, I have 8 hours and acertain amount of mental and emotional energy a day. And some days, I startwith 100 points of grip and some days I start with 60. So I adjust my planaccordingly, to make the best of the number of points I have to work with.
We operate under the umbrella of direction. This isone of the habits that sunk in for me after we left Champ School, as I’vepracticed in my “four wheeled motorcycle” (my car) and in my street riding (andat work). At Champ School, we learned whenapproaching a corner, to use our brakes until we’re happy with our speed anddirection. Then to keep the throttle neutral (maintain our speed) until we cansee the exit. When I can see the exit -- when the bike has direction – then Ican apply the throttle, take away lean angle, and my speed increases. As a strategicconsultant, so often, businesses are fighting these truths. Applying throttleheaded for a blind corner. Staying at maintenance throttle – giving up preciousseconds of time (aka money) – even when we have direction and can see the exit.Whacking the throttle open or slamming on the brakes in a moment of panic whilecarrying too much lean angle. Sometimes those choices mean we move more slowly –miss opportunities, miss out on revenue – than we could be. And sometimes,those choices lead to a crash. I’ve found myself, when working with clients andon projects, focused intently on where we are in the proverbial turn. Are we goingto the brakes, toward a corner to calm our nerves – since the dynamics of thecorner are unfamiliar to us? Are we in the middle of a long sweeping turn, notyet able to spot the exit, at which point: neutral throttle is what’s calledfor? Or are our eyes up – seeing the exit – ready to start applying throttleand then maximize throttle when the bike is upright? Because the work, and howwe work it, should match where we are in our direction journey.
Go slow when it’s slow. A nuance to operating underthe umbrella of direction is to accept: we’ll make ourselves much faster byincreasing our speed on the fast parts of the track than by trying to increaseour speed on the slow parts of the track. I’m a hard charger at work, so it’shard for me to remember this habit in my day to day (even though I had a verygood lesson in it during Champ School – more on that in a sec). The fastestriders out there are slow in the slow corners; at some point in the turn, wherethe rider is turning the bike, similarly skilled riders are all riding at aboutthe same speed: slow. Routinely, that’s a matter of physics, not courage (witha few notable late braking exceptions). What separates the fast riders from theslower riders is the speed at which they get to that slow point of the turn,and the speed at which they can move away from the slow point of the turn. Soforcing speed in a slow part of the track is a recipe for a crash. Same thingat work: go slow in the slow parts; and increase the throttle in the fastparts. We’ve got much more to gain through learning and applying that habit,than by repeatedly crashing trying to go fast during a slow point.
Sometimes we fall over. What matters is what we learnfrom it. I crashed at Champ School. It was ego bruising, and embarrassing (internally– I had nothing but support from my fellow riders and the Champ School staff). Secondsafter my bike and I slid safely into the dirt of the run-off outside the track,one of my coaches was by my side.
“Are you ok?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I said, taking inventory of my body, myhead, my extremities. “I’m fine. Totallyfine.”
“What happened?” he asked.
“I think I lost the rear,” I said, replaying what I couldsee and feel as the bike slid out from under me.
I got a ride off the track on the backseat of another coach,while one coach rode my banged-up but still rolling motorcycle down to my pit. Duringthat embarrassed-feeling backseat ride of shame, I thought about the series ofevents that lead to the bike falling over and knew that my crash had startedtwo laps prior, leading to a loss of focus from fatigue; then exceeding my 100points of grip because my body wasn’t in position when I applied the throttlewith too much lean angle on the exit of a slow corner – trying to ride a slowcorner fast -- when I was physically and mentally tired.
I wasn’t hazed, I wasn’t teased, I wasn’t mocked or shamedfor being a disappointment – for letting my coaches and their excellenttraining down. I fell over, I didn’t get hurt, and I learned a few lessons I’llnever forget. So I got back on a (borrowed) bike, and started the day over withthe next session.
We’re always going to experience setbacks. The biggestfailure I can have as a rider is to crash and hurt someone else. The secondbiggest failure I can have as a rider is to crash and hurt myself. And thethird biggest failure I can have as a rider is to crash without injury. I experiencedthe third biggest failure I can have as a rider. And my recovery from thatsetback has not been a straight line, but I’m a better rider for what I learnedthrough that tip-over in Turn 11.
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As Champ School gets further and further in my rearviewmirror, and I spend more time in my desk chair in front of the computer andless and less time getting my “helmet therapy,” as Coach Nick calls it, I’ve realizedanother huge lesson that wasn’t memorialized as a habit during Champ School,but which I began learning there.
As a consultant, and a riding instructor, I’ve been workingin a very caretaking way. Nurturing my work, my clients and my riding students asa caretaker: doing what I can to help them feel supported, set up for success,and well cared for. I’ve felt responsibility for their success or “failure” anddespite my therapist repeating the story of the butterfly needing to push itsown way out of its cocoon to survive – a reminder that sometimes we have to letpeople struggle – that struggle is necessary to survival.
Because of feeling all this added responsibility, I’ve beenoverworking, and bringing my work and work stress home, and working withheaviness, not the kind of lightness that I work with at my best. In my ridinginstruction, I’m supposed to teach in the morning and then cut students looseand get my own riding time and practice in during the afternoon – but I spentall season feeling like I needed to help keep my students safe during theafternoon, so I spent most of each track day teaching and coaching, and rarelywas able to shift out of “caretaker” mode and into riding for my own riding.
It’s hard for me to describe to you how excellent thecoaching at Champ School was. The coaching was clear, structured, the habitsdistilled down to their very core, able to be remembered and applied in a splitsecond. I left Champ School in awe of the quality of the coaching – and at beinga very normal person and rider, able to spend a couple days surrounded by absoluteexcellence of coaching and curriculum. And when I returned to teaching, and to work,it slowly dawned on me over the last few months: I can work my work differentlyby building a coaching habit. By letting go of caretaking; letting go of myfeelings of responsibility for my clients, staff, and students. By recognizingthat I’m responsible to help them get direction, and to help them have an ideaof what to do when they achieve it. They’re in control of the throttle. And it’smy client, staff and student’s jobs to make sure they get what they need fromme.
I have yet to make the shift – from caretaking to coaching –in my day job. It’s not the kind of thing one can do as a 180. But I canalready envision how my track coaching will be different next year. I’ve gotthe off season to develop my coaching “toolkit” and then I’ll have all nextyear to apply it. To being a resource available for my students to get whatthey need from me; and then, to cutting them loose early in the afternoon sothat they can – necessarily -- struggle and I can get some riding time of myown, and to shift gears and apply my coaching to myself and my riding.
As recently as this week, there was another article published about how Champ School changed the author’s life. When we hear someone say those words: that something changed their life; we hear that as hyperbole. But the further Champ School gets in my rearview mirror; and the nearer next season gets, I can honestly say: it’s not hyperbole. Not only did Champ School change my riding, and not only did Champ School change my life. It also changed how I work – on the track, and in my day job.
You can find more information about Champ School and their variousprograms on their website at https://ridelikeachampion.com/and via social media: they’re active on all the major channels, sharing awesomecoaching content regularly – their social media content was actually whattriggered me to sign up, since I found the lessons they were sharing on socialreally easy to understand. And in case you were wondering, this story isunsolicited: I paid for Champ School out of pocket, and the only benefit Ireceive from sharing my story is the hope that other riders will get theirbutts into that classroom and learn how to ride Faster, Safer so that we canreduce the risk of riding on the track, and on the street.
