Ski Messy – how does embracing disorder assist in improving one’s skiing skills? The logic is simple: skiing is, by nature, is a chaotic sport. The learning journey itself is often turbulent, filled with peaks and troughs, erratic paths, and unpredictable outcomes. Many of us picture learning as a seamless climb; an instructor provides the roadmap, and you follow suit, resulting in progress. If only that were the case! The truth is, learning can be a chaotic affair, characterised by trial, error, experimentation, and an array of setbacks. Picture yourself racing down a mountainside with planks attached to your feet. Can this genuinely be considered a neat and orderly expedition?
I categorise sports into tidy and messy disciplines. Tidy sports exude an air of organisation and structure, where motions are synchronised, often premeditated, and executed with minimal errors. Figure skating, high diving, trampolining, and dance epitomise this orderly classification. On the other hand, messy sports—think football, rugby, and hockey—certainly thrive in chaos, with ice hockey standing out as a prime example of spontaneous messy action. Messy but skilful. Don’t confuse the two.
Many skiers have a perception that skiing should epitomise tidiness, built on precise techniques and a firm grasp of necessary manoeuvres. This mindset often follows a pre-plan and execute formula. Movements polished and sophisticated. While this viewpoint holds merit, skiers encounter a formidable foe that might disagree with their tidy ideology: the mountain itself. Far from orderly.
In messy sports, unexpected disruptions frequently interrupt meticulously crafted strategies. Opponents can derail your well thought out plans in a heartbeat. A surfer may discover that a wave has broken differently than anticipated. Winds can shift unexpectedly while sailing, and a tire can lose traction, spiralling out of control. Boxing? Is undeniably chaotic. Conversely, synchronised swimming comfortably occupies the tidy spectrum.
In tidy sports, interference is minimal, allowing for precise execution of plans. How delightful it is to orchestrate each detail and perform without any hindrance! Yet, in messy environments, unpredictability often complicates your plans. Visualise a boxing practice session, where you’re rehearsing your moves solo, only to get blindsided by an unforeseen punch when you step into the ring. That resonates with skiing—diligently orchestrating each manoeuvre, only to be disrupted by a rogue patch of ice.
Balance is inherently messy. Embrace it! The next time you pause on your bike, try maintaining your equilibrium while stationary. Quite the challenge, isn’t it? Learning to ride a unicycle? Now that encompasses true messiness, complete with wobbles, instability, and plenty of mistakes. That’s where true learning happens.
I remember a couple arriving for a private lesson. The husband was eagerly recounting his numerous lessons and steady progress, while his wife struggled to grasp the concepts he had mastered (his words). Initially disheartened, I braced myself for the impending challenge. As we ventured off the beaten path into messy terrain, he faltered while she adapted swiftly, proving her capability to handle any challenge thrown her way. In this scenario, I’d characterise him as a tidy skier, her as a messy one. So, which skier thrived in the untamed terrain? You guessed it—Mrs. Messy.
Bumps? Messy. Off-piste? Absolutely messy. The mountain itself is intrinsically chaotic—stunningly beautiful, yet far from orderly. Nature doesn’t conform to our designs or structures. However, from this very chaos, exceptional experiences blossom.
Thanks to piste grooming machines, skiing attempts to smooth the rough edges, giving rise to the pristine snow carpets, known as pistes. As a result, ski techniques have developed to navigate these impeccably prepared surfaces—movements articulated, conveyed, and replicated by the learner without external disturbances. And then, nature takes the wheel. Weather changes, visibility diminishes, snow falls, bumps form, and ice appears, tossing you into un-groomed terrain where unpredictability reigns supreme. Here, the mountain interferes with your approach, transforming tidy into messy as you adapt to this new opponent.
This chaotic shift from orderly to unpredictable terrain typically surfaces during the challenging red run phase. Up until then, you’ve enjoyed impeccably prepared greens, blues, and easier reds—each trail meticulously groomed. As order collides with disorder, a new set of challenges arises, often referred to as the Intermediate Plateau. Here, tidy intertwines with messy; structured meets spontaneous. Few sports present such starkly defined learning plateaus. Ski schools often concentrate on fostering skills for well-groomed pistes but this conformity whilst working in orderly terrain can fail to prepare students for the raw realities of the mountain. One might argue this progression is logical: learn the structured aspects of skiing first, then adapt to the mountain’s unpredictability. Sounds reasonable. Yet skiers must seize the reality that rigid, well-crafted techniques might falter when confronted with a mountain free from order.
Children ski messily, which enables them to adapt quickly to the mountain. They move freely, unconstrained by limitations. Observing youngsters on the slopes reveals their uninhibited, and yes, messy approach. Trying to encourage adults to embrace a child-like skiing style often encounters resistance; most adults prefer structure and order. Walk into a kindergarten setting and chaos reigns—mess everywhere. Visit a child’s bedroom, and you’re met with delightful disorder. Watch young children eat, and you’ll witness astonishing disarray, likely to be splattered yourself. Attend a music class for young ones, and prepare for a cacophony of noise. Step into an art room bustling with six-year-olds, where splattered paints illustrate their creativity. Skiing shares this resemblance; as we mature, that inherent messiness is typically stripped away, forcing conformity to tidiness—even in our learning methods.
As adults, we gravitate toward learning in organised and structured ways. We aim to grasp languages methodically. Children, however, do not develop language through such rigid frameworks. Their initial words emerge as a jumble of sounds hardly recognisable. Gradually evolving out of that chaos, sense begins to materialise. Without the foundational chaos, structure crumbles. The more unruly the learning during those formative years, the stronger the prospects for future mastery.
As adults, we often shy away from learning like children. Why? We all recognise they are the fastest and most effective learners. Is it the fear of judgment that stifles adults from adopting a child’s approach to learning? If so, maybe it’s a moment to shed those hesitations and revive that youthful spirit.
On your next trip to the slopes, take a moment to observe the children racing past. How do they appear? They radiate freedom and joy. Often skiing low, with wide stances and arms flailing everywhere, unfazed by worries or constraints. Let their image inspire you.
Many skiers look to instructors as role models, yet instructors have refined their skills through years of experience—they’ve traversed messy learning stages. Merely imitating them runs the risk of skipping vital foundational aspects of skiing. You might end up replicating skills further along the path. Expert skiers exhibit polished motions; they’ve weathered the messy phases of learning before honing their techniques.
I’m often taken aback when high-caliber performers showcase talents beyond their usual realms, unveiling the breadth of their capabilities. A ski racer navigating through rough terrain or off-piste. An actor playing a completely different role. A musician picking up a different instrument. All have navigated their messy learning curves.
When we observe exceptional performers, we often overlook the paths they carved, focusing solely on their achieved heights. In skiing—a visually-driven sport—we frequently attempt to emulate the outcome, neglecting to appreciate the journey that led there. This prevalent misunderstanding is crucial for ski instructors to consider when demonstrating techniques. Ask your instructor about how they skied at a stage akin to yours, and you’ll likely discover a distinctly different approach compared to what you observe. The same applies to a mountain guide skiing off-piste. Off-piste skiing illustrates the importance of valuing the journey over the destination. Inquire about your mountain guide’s early experiences skiing in powder, and you’ll uncover a starkly different picture from the one you see in front of you.
The principle stands true for ski racers. If you try to mimic a world-class ski racer, you’re likely to miss essential developmental steps. Every world cup competitor embarked on their journey amid the mess, grappling with mistakes and challenges. These setbacks are pivotal for growth. We often witness remarkable athletes delivering nearly flawless performances, yet they all endured years within their messy learning phases. Each has climbed the staircase of mastery, navigating complexities along the way.
Pursuing the experiences of exceptional performers has become a cherished pursuit of mine. This inquiry reveals the universally messy stages every expert has endured. The recorded success and achievements of ski racers are cataloged on official platforms, shedding light on their fascinating journeys. It’s enlightening to recognise that the outstanding athletes we admire have journeyed through similar tumultuous pathways.
Adult learners frequently entertain fantasies of bypassing the messiness inherent in their learning processes. They aspire to leap ahead, hoping to master refined skiing right from the outset. This urge spans most learning domains—not solely skiing. This is why many great performers begin their journeys in youth. They remain untroubled by polished execution; they cherish learning through experimentation and mishaps.
If you find yourself struggling with your skiing and adapting to the mountain, it may signal that you’ve rushed through essential messy learning stages, seeking refined performance prematurely. This often becomes evident when confronting varied terrains: bumps, ice, steeper slopes, off-piste settings, slush, or poor visibility. If this resonates with you, consider embracing the chaos and acknowledging the necessity of messy skiing.
Historically, skiing instruction has emphasised precise movement patterns from the very beginning of a learners’ journeys. These ingrained patterns become so repetitive that deviating from them feels utterly alien. Often, when teaching or coaching, as I encourage students to adopt different movements, I marvel at their progress, while they might feel confused or uncomfortable with new movements.
Imagine having no habitual movements—no engrained patterns—free to respond to the challenges as they arise spontaneously. This adaptability allows one to navigate anything that presents itself. In the world of ski instruction, messy skiers often fall short of passing their ski teaching qualifications. While they may be capable of conquering any terrain the mountain hurls at them, passing a ski instructor exam is a no. Ski teaching is tidy, while the process of passing these exams requires an even higher level of refinement and dare I say, tidiness. But that’s not how individuals genuinely learn. Learning is messy. Thus, we see a disparity between how instructors are trained and how learners engage with their learning, leaving many skiers receiving instruction framed as though they, as students, are meticulously preparing for a ski instructor exam themselves.
Observe a beginner utilising the snowplough turn—it’s starkly different from a ski instructor’s demonstration. The only skiers who execute manoeuvres like ski instructors are, well, ski instructors themselves. I acknowledge this is a sweeping statement. Forgive me if it doesn’t apply across the board. But it raises the question: Are you learning as if preparing for an exam on the slopes? Shoulders here, hands there, bend this way, feet this far apart, body positioned as so? Or are you engaging in your learning to prepare for the mountain environment itself?
Reflecting on my ski instruction career, I evolved from messy (as a child) to tidy (as I conformed and become a ski instructor) and back to messy (as I liberated myself).
The next time you hit the slopes, gear up to adjust and adapt. Aim to move without a predetermined pattern—just as you would while walking or running through a forest or down an unpredictable hill. Prepare to modify your approach to meet whatever challenges arise. Embrace errors, balance disruptions, and recoveries. Acknowledge that improvement often unfolds through a messy journey. As you ski variable terrain, adapt to match the mountains variability; the more variable and unpredictable the terrain, the more variable and adaptable you must be.