The Carpenter and the Gardener
A topic we enjoy discussing perhaps more than any other is the role of the strength coach within the coach-athlete relationship. How can we best conceptualize the purpose that the coach serves? Does the relationship between the two entities change as we shift from a coach-centric to an athlete-centric philosophy? If so, what language or what heuristic can we use to help explain how this engagement should work? The goal of this article is to lay out one of my favorite ways of thinking about two different approaches to athlete management by connecting two seemingly disparate activities: carpentry and gardening.
The Carpenter
In order for this metaphor to make sense, we must first pause for a moment and consider the ways in which both the Carpenter and the gardener go about their business. For the Carpenter, working with wood is a very objective and analytical pursuit. Measurements are taken, plans are drawn, and material is cut and joined together. As the craft becomes more and more elevated, the tolerances become smaller and smaller. Millimeter precision is often required, especially when we get into the intricacies of fine woodworking. Thus, in order to be successful the Carpenter must become the master of his environment. If a plan requires an angle of 38 degrees to correctly join two pieces of wood, a 40-degree cut simply won’t do. The project at hand, complex as it often is, will be best approached in stages. The Carpenter has the final vision in mind and tends to work backward from that point, laying out materials, forecasting various tasks, and executing them along a predetermined path. Time is money, and efficiency is paramount. Ultimately, because the medium of wood is infinitely malleable, the success or failure of a project is singularly dependent upon the Carpenter himself.
The Gardner
Let’s contrast this with the role of the Gardner. While pursuing his craft, the Gardner must contend with an ever-evolving external force: Mother Nature. Whereas the Carpenter is able to manipulate and maneuver his medium at will, the Gardner must work within the inescapable constraints of variables beyond his control: sunlight, water, temperature, etc. Given this, a successful Gardner must be willing to surrender a large degree of that control, focusing instead on what tasks he can complete to hopefully create success in the long term. When planting a seed, the Gardner has no idea how many tomatoes will grow from a single plant. Nor does he have any idea of the size or shape. He may manipulate the contents of the soil, the amount of water, or the type of fertilizer used to best hedge against failure; however, he understands that at the end of the day, his role is less “enforcer” and more “caretaker.” Only by consistently navigating within constraints will the Gardner be able to produce bountiful harvests season after season.
The Strength Coach
In many ways, the role of the strength and conditioning coach has traditionally aligned with the role of The Carpenter. We have long assumed that the variables associated with athlete management are controllable–malleable to the point of being able to forecast to pinpoint precision. How many times are we told that we should envision the end result (sports performance), create a plan (periodization), and work backward to the present day to deliver a long-term strategy for athletic development? How many times have we ignored Mother Nature and scratched our heads wondering why the athlete was not able to complete three sets of five at 85% six Tuesdays from now?
Perhaps the role of the coach might be better aligned with the role of the Gardner. True athletic development requires an understanding of things beyond our control, both the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns. We cannot, for example, forecast an athlete’s mood state three months from now. We have no way of predicting whether or not they will get a good night of sleep before Thursday’s training session. Instead, we must allow ourselves to be comfortable operating within constraints by creating parameters within which we have some level of control. Autoregulation is a fantastic example, whereby we assign intensities based on subjective levels of effort as opposed to strictly objective prescriptions. In this way, we allow for variation in “sunlight,” “water,” and “soil health” because we acknowledge that these factors are beyond our control.
Control is a scary thing. We pursue more of it because having more of it means we deal with less uncertainty, and less uncertainty can feel incredibly validating. On the flip side, accepting less control requires us to find stability within an ever-changing environment and forces us to start using phrases like “I don’t know” or “it depends.” Fortunately, an understanding of the realities of dealing with humans, just like the realities of dealing with tomatoes, can prove to be incredibly…fruitful. Athletes are scary and unpredictable things, and instead of expending all of our efforts trying to control and manipulate outcomes, we might be better served by surrendering to the realities of variability and flexibility to produce better long-term success.