Here is a short list of things at which I did excel in my youth:
- daydreaming
- listening to a cassette tape of The Cure's Disintegration
- napping
- finding the right word in my rhyming dictionary to complete that couplet
- snacking
Given the theme of this blog post, you might assume that I am here to tell you about how, one day, I found the inspiration that would guide me as an educator within the pages of some book as I sat reading, alone in my childhood bedroom, P.E. be damned. This is not the case. In fact, I draw a great deal of inspiration for my approach to teaching from the world of fitness--precisely because I've always felt like an outsider in that environment.
Somewhere along the road to adulthood, I begrudgingly decided that I needed to exercise. I tried a number of different approaches to physical fitness over the years. I tried working out to DVDs in my living room with an audience of Cheerio-eaters lounging behind me on the couch. I tried running bleachers at Phoenix College. (There were so many ways I could have killed myself doing this.) I tried working out with a friend at LA Fitness. No matter the setting, I always carried with me those feelings of anxiety and a mean little (adolescent) voice in my head telling me that I don't belong.
About a year ago, I decided to try yet another new approach to cardiovascular health: I began taking classes at an Orange Theory Fitness near my house. I showed up with my dossier failures in sports and exercise tucked under one arm, and all my pet anxieties trailing obediently behind me. My experience at OTF, however, proved to be different. The students in class each week represent a diverse range of ages, body types, and physical abilities. The coach welcomes each of us with a high-five and remembers our names. When the coach offers a correction to a student's form when performing an activity, it is done with kindness, and in a spirit of helpfulness. I keep coming back because the coaches make it clear that every student in class belongs there, and that we are all striving for progress, not perfection.
Sometimes while I am panting through a hill on the treadmill, I think about what great teachers the OTF coaches are. With a little kindness, some high-fives a few accommodations, they have helped me to get out of my own way so that I can focus on my health.
About a year ago, I decided to try yet another new approach to cardiovascular health: I began taking classes at an Orange Theory Fitness near my house. I showed up with my dossier failures in sports and exercise tucked under one arm, and all my pet anxieties trailing obediently behind me. My experience at OTF, however, proved to be different. The students in class each week represent a diverse range of ages, body types, and physical abilities. The coach welcomes each of us with a high-five and remembers our names. When the coach offers a correction to a student's form when performing an activity, it is done with kindness, and in a spirit of helpfulness. I keep coming back because the coaches make it clear that every student in class belongs there, and that we are all striving for progress, not perfection.
Sometimes while I am panting through a hill on the treadmill, I think about what great teachers the OTF coaches are. With a little kindness, some high-fives a few accommodations, they have helped me to get out of my own way so that I can focus on my health.
Every semester, just for a kick, I ask my classes who among them wants to become an English teacher. I have never had a single hand rise into the air. The students in my classes are not interested in spending their lives unlocking the mysteries topic sentences or MLA citation style for others. In fact, many of the students who show up to class on the first day feeling like outsiders to the world of English. Many of them carry around memories of a class they took where their paper was returned to them, bleeding red ink. Or one where they felt out of place because English is not their first language. Or one where they stopped coming to class because they were simply too anxious to complete the semester.
These days, I channel my inner Orange Theory coach. What can I do or say in class to show my students that they do, in fact, belong here? How can I help them to set aside their anxieties, quiet those voices in their heads, and start forging a new relationship with the world of words?
I think of my coaches, and I work to build a welcoming community in my classroom through friendly smiles, genuine interest in the lives of my students, some goofy memes, and an abundance of high-fives.
These days, I channel my inner Orange Theory coach. What can I do or say in class to show my students that they do, in fact, belong here? How can I help them to set aside their anxieties, quiet those voices in their heads, and start forging a new relationship with the world of words?
I think of my coaches, and I work to build a welcoming community in my classroom through friendly smiles, genuine interest in the lives of my students, some goofy memes, and an abundance of high-fives.
Wow Lisa- Loved this post. Thanks for sharing your story. I connect with your experiences. I can still see my cursive handwriting workbook from the primary grades. Each page is graded and "bleeding" red ink to correct my imperfect penmanship. Still to this day, I feel shame about my handwriting and I know it traces back to the red pen. When I taught elementary school, I never graded with a red pen for that reason. Maybe the world is a slight bit kinder now for elementary kids since they don't teach cursive anymore. At least my district didn't. No time for that we were told. Also, one of my favorite bits of advice to my students was "We're all just here to learn. We're not here to be perfect." Thanks for your uplifting post. Love this line the most- How can I help them to set aside their anxieties, quiet those voices in their heads, and start forging a new relationship with the world of words?
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