The most important professional development I did this year...

... was found in an unexpected place: two days of "helmet therapy" with Champ School

In my day job, I’m a strategy consultant. I help organizations and executives figure out what’s most important and then how to accomplish it to improve their businesses. In my free time, I’m an avid motorcyclist. And I don’t usually think about those two things as having any overlap in the venn diagram of my life, but spending two days at a high performance riding school this summer changed that entirely. I was a student at Yamaha Champions Riding School, with two days of what I believe to be the best coaching in the business available to mere mortals like me, and it’s changed the way I work, forever.

The long-winded version of the story is on my blog / podcast, The Moto Curious, here.

The short version is: Champ School taught me the difference between “caretaking” and “coaching,” a difference that I’m now applying to my work and riding life to increase my own happiness, reduce my stress levels, and enjoy my work (and riding) more. Here’s a quick peek at some of the rules I learned, and how they’ve translated to working with reduced risk of a crash – aka burnout – and increased successfulness.

Students are responsible for getting what they need. At Champ School, the boundaries are set from the moment we sit down in the classroom: our world class coaches are there to coach, and the students are responsible for their own experience. Students get out what they put in, because ultimately – just like in our careers – each of us has our hand on the throttle of our own work. The idea that students – customers -- get what they need; and are responsible for their own successfulness changed how I think about my role and boundaries with clients, colleagues and staff for the better, and more sustainable.

At any given time, I have 100 points of grip to work with. On a motorcycle, each input or condition affects the amount of grip my bike has at any given time. Straight up and down, in a straight line, with warm tires and good track conditions: I’ve got closer to 100 points of grip to work with. I can smoothly maximally brake, or go to wide open throttle, with all 100 points of grip at my disposal. But if the conditions change: if it starts to rain, I’m down to maybe 70 points of grip. Add in a turn, and I may have given away 20 points of grip to lean angle. That leaves me with only 10 points of grip left – which means I have to use it extremely well to keep the bike upright. Our resources at work are similar. People, energy, money, time, market conditions: none of these “points” are limitless, and they all have to be managed carefully and taken together. And personally, my resources are not limitless. At work, I have 8 hours and a certain amount of mental and emotional energy a day. And some days, I start with 100 points of grip and some days I start with 60. So I adjust my plan accordingly, to make the best of the number of points I have to work with.

We operate under the umbrella of direction. Direction, on the motorcycle, is the point where we can see our exit, and are able to apply throttle to increase our speed. Heading toward a blind corner, we do not have direction. Exiting a corner, with a half mile of visibility in front of us, our eyes turned toward what comes next: I’ve got direction. Direction: do we have it? Do we need it? The answer to those questions dictates the decisions we make and what our input and outputs can be. On the track, and at work.

Sometimes we fall over. What matters is what we learn from it. I’m still a little red-faced to admit that I crashed at Champ School. I’m also still a little red-faced to admit that I sometimes wrestle with burnout in my day job. We don’t set out to perform with excellence, expecting to crash. But it happens: a momentary (or longer) loss of focus, and then a sequence of events begins that may be saveable, and occasionally, isn’t. I tipped my bike over in a slow corner, because I applied too much throttle at too much lean because my body was tired, and out of position. I lost focus, and had the best possible outcome short of a save: a minor crash with no injury to myself or others and only minor damage to my bike. I was able to dust off, hop on a different bike, and get back on the track in the next session. And while nobody goes to Champ School to crash, in a weird way, I’m grateful for the experience. Had I crashed prior to Champ School, by the time I reached my pit I would have had a gaggle of dudes, most of whom have a fraction of the motorcycle training, knowledge and experience than I do, waiting there to tell me what I did wrong. And I would have heard all their voices and had no idea what actually happened or who to believe or what to do to avoid a similar crash in the future.

With Champ School under my belt, I had a good idea what happened while I was still sliding across the pavement, before my bike and I had even come to a stop. I knew the crash started about a half lap prior, when I realized I was getting tired and made poor choices from that moment to the tip-over to address the changes in my fitness. Coming out of that turn, I spent more than my available 100 points on throttle, body position and lean angle, and learned the limit of my tires as a result.   

I never wake up on a work day planning to crash. But sometimes, it happens. And what matters is learning from what went wrong, and deciding on a plan for how to recover. Because at work, and on the track, it’s all about how I shake off my mistake and get my eyes focused forward to start over at the next turn. 

I’m curious to hear from you: where did you find professional development in an unexpected place this year?