Guiding on the side

Professors who work at teaching focused colleges have a saying that in some ways differentiates them from their peers at the research centered universities. According to this term, the teaching professor is not “the sage on the stage” but rather “the guide on the side.”

I find the need to differentiate college from university a bit problematic because I have taught at a wide range of institutions and because I happen to like doing research and scholarship. Often, the focus on teaching is emphasized as a sort of defensive comeback to professors at what are called “research one” (or R1) universities who look down their noses at colleagues who work at community colleges, in vocational-technical oriented programs, or in colleges like mine that strive to be “student centered.”

Nevertheless, I do find the differences between sage-com and guide-ness intriguing. I often find myself wondering how one decides when one is performing like a sage and when one is acting the role of the guide. I know from my own experience of attending an elite private university for my undergraduate degree and a state-funded public university in a space colonized by the United States for my masters and doctoral degrees, that the professors who took on the “sage” style of teaching often electrified me with their wisdom but did not give me a lot of immediately retained knowledge. I know from rather problematic but nevertheless reputable measurements like standardized tests and grade-point averages that I personally gained much more learning and knowledge through lived experiences than I did from what professors taught. For instance, I never quite cleared the 80th percentile with my SAT scores but was well into the high 90s with my GRE result. I eked out a respectable but not spectacular 3.2 GPA for my bachelor’s degree but had a consistent 4.0 for my master’s and doctoral degrees. The fact that I worked as a daily newspaper reporter full-time for the twelve years that passed between the completion of my bachelor’s degree and the beginning of my graduate studies, despite nearly failing the basic news writing course in my undergraduate career, further supports the argument that one learns more by doing than by listening.

Still, I greatly respect what professors have taught me, and, like many adults who find their paths meandering into teaching, I found myself almost unconsciously modeling some of their practices when I first had students of my own. Even today, after thirteen years of teaching, I find certain ‘isms from certain professors lingering into my rhetoric:

* Good journalists need to become good bullshit detectors.

* You aren’t going to become a better writer by reading about writing, or talking about it. You need to write.

* Some of the best dissertation topics are heard about in coffee shops. It’s a pity they never get written.

* The best way to do research is to get lost in the library.

* If you’re just embarking on a project, act like a vacuum. Pull in everything.

* Set aside two hours a day of non-negotiable time for reading and writing. It doesn’t matter when those two hours occur. What matters is that you stick to them. For you.

* Critical thinking is a space of discomfort. If you’re feeling uncomfortable, that means you’re growing.

The list can go on, but hopefully the message is clear. Listening to lessons or pearls of wisdom that professors impart has value. But the value is lost if the practice fails to follow.

It has taken me longer than it should to get to the punchline, but the main point that I think I want to make is that the best guides are sages, as well. Sage-dom is not about dispensing knowledge and filling the purportedly empty minds of the masses; it is about building a relationship with students so that students trust the professor enough to take the words that the professor offers and apply them to their own purposes. One can be a guide on the side only if one is able to create an atmosphere of trust among students. Would you listen to someone you didn’t trust? Probably you have once or twice because the “bullshit detector” wasn’t quite working. Even if you emerged unscathed, one lesson that probably emerged from the experience was not to trust that person again.

I think of these words as I prepare to head to Lake Placid, NY, in a couple of hours to work as a volunteer compiler of results at the finish line of the 2014 Ironman. Already this year’s event has been faced with challenges beyond the athletes’ and organizers’ control: thunder and lightning derailed the 2.4 mile swim: Professional athletes were able to finish, but the age-group category (which is the bulk of the competitors) mostly were pulled out of Mirror Lake, where the swim took place, after completing the first of their two loops. Happily, it seems that the storms have passed — at least for now — which should allow everyone who started the opportunity to finish. The best coach could not have prepared the best athlete for this kind of an unpredictable event. The worst coach, however, might lead their trainees to believe that because of this development, the athletes themselves are unfit or incapable of success. They failed. Like I nearly failed news writing. The better coaches, of course, would encourage their trainees to realize that making it to the start line was success in and of themselves, and barring personal health or injuries, that if they did it once, they could do it again.

These ideas are reinforced as I remember running my first marathon. As I was heading out on mile 11, I saw the leaders of the pack heading back, at about mile 21. Marveling at their speed and agility, I joined everyone around me in cheering them on. I found my own pace quickening as my body unconsciously modeled their movements and as my mind emotionally “vacuumed” in their energy. Later, a young woman told me that if she had seen the winners when she was so far back in the pack, she would have simply gotten mad and quit. That, in my mind, is the result of bad teaching. The woman is completely missing the point.

Practicing practices

One of my resolutions for today was to leave the “whine box” at home. Getting to the point of realization that I needed to wean myself off the whine took a little longer than the now-599 days that I’ve been off the word’s homonym. The breakthrough realization came through an understanding that I had been spending the past couple of months making up a story about myself.

The story went something like this: Himanee entered a set of New Year’s resolutions at the start of 2014, and in her classic no-holds-barred style, posted them to Facebook. Among the resolutions were intentions to complete in the same Olympic distance triathlon and marathon that she completed last year with hopes of bettering her times.

She entered the year training stronger and better than ever. She began putting out energy that attracted other triathletes, and soon began making new friends and chatting about training and racing. She went into the cold, wet spring with a strong base of strength, and entered the early months of summer feeling confident and proud. And then the blow came. Time and money — or money and time — made the ultimate resolutions unrealizable. Other projects and priorities put registration fees, new running shoes, and other somewhat necessary pieces of equipment out of reach. And, so, the dreams had to be shelved — much to her bitter disappointment.

So, some of this story is true. But the kicker is not. What I have come to realize is that while I like the excitement of the event, the energy of crowds, and all the swag that one gets from registering and participating in An Event, it doesn’t matter all that much to me whether I compete or not. What matters is that I continue to move my body, stay healthy, and have fun in the process. Coming to the realization that the story of bitter disappointment and dashed dreams was purely a figment of my imagination made me wonder why I needed to make such a story up. Can one not “train” without an event to look forward to? Does one need a race as an end? Can training for health and fitness for life be more than the means to an end? Can it not be an end in and of itself?

I found myself pondering these questions this afternoon as my husband Jim and I drove the winding country highway in the northern Adirondacks toward Lake Placid, where tomorrow the Ironman will take place. We signed up to be volunteers — as we did last year. Only this year we chose to assist at the finish line of the run from 5:30 p.m. to midnight, in the last hours of the race. Last year, we were thrilled to be there when the first competitor crossed. This year, we wanted to be there to cheer the last competitor to finish. I particularly also wanted to imagine myself in that place, crossing that line at some point that would make me an “Ironman”, too.

I do have that wish. Still, as we drove the curves and listened to our vehicle groan as the altitude steadily climbed, I found myself feeling butterflies in my stomach. Could I do that distance? Did I want to put myself through such pain? Wasn’t training enough?

Last night, I realized that I have been struggling this year with more than just making it to the starting line of triathlons, marathons, or any other events. I have struggled for inspiration to write. I have struggled with trying to improve my oral health. In battling with these struggles, I often have gone down the road of lamenting what I lack: money for registrations and equipment, money and time to finance getaways to private writing retreats, and money for a rather expensive dental procedure that my insurance carrier is covering just modestly. As I acknowledged that the laments were accomplishing nothing, I started to wonder how one overcomes the presence of lacks. The answer took me to an obvious space: One either whines or one manages. And one way of managing is to continue to practice.

Training is practice. Writing longhand each morning as I have done fairly consistently for fourteen years is practice. Sharing words with the public — or at least the speck of the universe that is one’s own public — is practice. One can set goals to do something, to be somewhere, to have accomplished this, that, or the other thing by such and such time. Attaining many of those goals might be outside of one’s control (i.e., reasons for a lack of money this year have little to do with me and everything to do with the importance of caring for ailing animals, emergency home repairs, and family decisions to move resources toward collective endeavors). Practice, however, is always within one’s control.

After our stop in Lake Placid for a volunteers meeting, my husband Jim and I decided to head away from the crowds that had converged on the small town for Ironman. We had brought our bicycles with us and wanted to bike some quieter mountain roads. We found a good turnout a little outside the town of North Hudson, unloaded our bikes, and headed out for a spin. I had been training all year; this was Jim’s first time on a bike in more than a year.

“Wow, it feels good to be biking again,” he declared, after our ride.

“Indeed, it does,” I agreed. Then, a bit hesitantly because he always kicks my butt when we do anything sports-related together because he’s not only male and ten years younger than me but stronger than an ox and almost a natural athlete, I asked, “So how did I do? Did I look better?”

He looked at me straight in the eye and said, “You’ve gotten good. Just keep doing what you’re doing. You can only get better.”