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Small Class Phobia
by Mark Grevelding
The combination of a small class and the fragile ego of
an instructor are often the ingredients of an aerobic nightmare. For
some, low attendance in a class is met with a shrug of the shoulders,
but for others, a small turn out is like a knife in the heart. Why do
some instructors happily teach to four people while others re-coil in
horror? Are we just prima donnas, or is it more?
Recently, I had another one of my embarrassing "diva moments." It occurred
during my aqua kickboxing class, which normally draws good numbers.
Emerging from the locker room into the pool area, I was greeted by the
sight of a nearly empty pool. Upon seeing only five people in the pool,
my mood immediately darkened and I'm sure my facial expression reflected
the black ink shooting through my veins. The fact that the pool area
was abnormally stifling didn't help matters. My tantrum began by barking
at the lifeguard not to remove the remaining three lap lanes, as we
would OBVIOUSLY not need the space. Barely able to crack a smile, I
started the music and pouted through the first 15 minutes of class.
THE NEUROTIC THOUGHTS OF A SLIGHTED INSTRUCTOR: "What is it? They don't
like me? They don't like the class? Ok, so it's snowing. Big deal. I'm
here. They should be too. How dare they forsake me!" It amazed me that
I was able to cue at the same time my mind raced over the injustice
of my perceived abandonment. As an instructor for six years, I have
repeated versions of this shameful performance more times than I would
care to admit. Fortunately, common sense always prevails just in time
to recover my dignity and the remainder of the class.
THE CONTRITE THOUGHTS OF AN EMBARRASSED INSTRUCTOR: "Oh Mark. You are
such a jerk. These people trundled through snow to see you and all you
can do is focus on the 15 people who aren't there. Pull yourself together
and give these people the respect they deserve and the class they showed
up for. You'll be lucky if ANYONE shows up next week after this little
display!" As always, I overcompensated by being Mr. Ultra Personality
for the second half of class, and of course the five people all thanked
me after class, making me feel like more of a jerk. The following week
the pool was brimming with people once again and all was well. But was
it really? Why do small classes fill me with dread?
I've given this a lot of thought, and I cannot help but draw a parallel
to the same issues that doom me in relationships. Without a doubt, I
have major phobias concerning rejection and abandonment. Looking back
at my relationships, it is easy to identify the wreckage caused by my
fears of not being good enough. Whenever I perceive someone might be
losing interest or not paying enough attention, a warning bell goes
off in my brain and I scramble to cut the line before they can reject
me. Perhaps this explains why I constantly change choreography, format,
and style in my classes. I'm like the Madonna of aerobic instructors,
constantly re-creating myself because I'm afraid if I don't, my students
will loose interest and abandon me.
Yes, the ability to adapt and change is essential for an instructor,
but I question my urgency, frequency and motivation for keeping the
classes exciting. Do I facilitate new formats in my classes to improve
the functional fitness of my students, or do I desperately create and
concoct to impress and ensnare, ensuring they will never leave. (Please
refer to my previous article, "Confessions of a Choreography Monster.)
Naturally, my students love change, but most would be just as happy
doing an established routine. God knows I could sure use the reprieve
from choreographing all the time.
In the world of group fitness, we strive to be our best, hoping to pack
a classroom, and withering when our best doesn't seem good enough. In
my six years as an instructor, I've witnessed some pretty nasty character
assassinations on fellow instructors. Attacks launched by class members,
peers, and even group fitness directors. Due to our position in the
spotlight, we open ourselves to all sorts of unkind treatment. Member
surveys, number tallies and performance evaluations rank us in pecking
order, validating the popular instructors and depressing everyone else.
During my first few years as an instructor, I used to study the class
number tallies like they were the NASDAQ Composite. The whole time plotting
and scheming my ascension to the revered spot of having the class with
the most students. In my warped mind, big numbers meant I was good enough.
God rue the day when a popular instructor should walk by and see me
teaching to a small class. Just kill me now please!
My personal experience with member surveys has been mostly positive,
but I've seen some instructors reduced to tears by inappropriate and
unjustified remarks. I understand the need for providing members with
a forum for voicing their likes and dislikes, but I've seen surveys
which invite responses in areas which class members simply are not qualified
to critique. It becomes a slippery slope when we focus more on what
members want, as opposed to what they need. I remember once teaching
an "audition" kickboxing class at a local corporate facility. The group
fitness director stood at the door after class and grilled the students
on what they thought of my performance, in full view and earshot of
me! The consensus was that they liked me, but they didn't get their
heart rates up enough. Apparently the previous instructor kicked, jabbed
and jacked to beats exceeding 140BPM, and the director suggested I might
try the same. No thank you.
As for class evaluations, when done right, they can be very helpful.
Again, I've had mostly positive experiences with these. The most helpful
evaluations were the ones that pointed out areas where I could improve
my delivery and execution of functional fitness skills. Hopefully, most
group fitness directors focus their evaluation on whether or not the
class is designed to improve health and fitness, rather than nitpicking
on silly things.
And then there is the bane of all insecure instructors, the nefarious
number tallies. "Dare I write this shameful number down, or should I
fudge it?" Certainly a moral dilemma I faced often during the first
few years I taught. Some clubs keep tallies, some don't. Of course,
group fitness directors have to take numbers into account, but numbers
don't always tell the whole story. The instructors delivering the best
overall workouts aren't always the instructors with the big numbers.
Upon closer inspection, it might be revealed that very few people go
to Susie's class because they think she spends too much time warming
up, cooling down, and her music is to slow. They would rather go to
Mary's class because she steps to a super fast beat, doesn't waste time
cooling down, and does a million crunches. Is this a fair comparison?
I hope I'm not sounding like I have an axe to grind. In the end, education,
longevity, and an excellent rapport with my students, ultimately provided
me with the kind of success I had always hoped for. But as always, my
thoughts and words simply reveal the trials and tribulations of our
profession. I assume that what I experience and feel is felt by others.
At least I hope so. (Great.something else to be neurotic about!) For
the most part, I have been blessed with an abundance of wonderful feedback.
But I've also had my feelings hurt and have spent far too much time
wrestling with the demons in my mind, the demons that turn a small class
into an indictment of my unworthiness. Kind of heavy stuff I know, but
it needs to be said. This is dedicated to all the instructors who have
left a classroom dejected and feeling not good enough. You are not alone.
And this is written for all the group fitness directors so that you
might understand your instructors and their egos a little better.
Thankfully, I am in a much better place than I was a couple of years
ago. I no longer burn with shame or seethe with jealousy at the sight
of another instructor's packed class.
It's much easier to bless that instructor. I have matured as an instructor
and come to the realization that not everyone will like my class despite
my best efforts at charm and creativity. I can't please everyone. Some
people would rather walk over hot coals than attend one of my choreographed
step classes, and that's ok. I no longer take it personally. I can't
own people's personal preferences, but I can own my reaction to them.
In our quest for a big class, we are always tempted to imitate other's
success, hoping to recreate it as our own. We are foolish if we think
our students can't see through this ruse. If WE can't be ourselves,
what kind of message are we sending to our students who look to us as
role models? And if we continue to think that another instructor's popularity
detracts from our own, security and satisfaction will forever elude
us, and our star will never shine. There is a slice of pie for all instructors,
a place in the front of the classroom for all different types of personalities,
body shapes, ages, and skill levels. All that is required is an honest
desire to want to help people change their mind, body and soul.
I am reminded of a passage in a book by one of my favorite authors.
In her book, "A Return to Love," author Marianne Williamson states,
"We can't fake authenticity. We think we need to create ourselves, always
doing a paste-up job on our personalities. That is because we're trying
to be special rather than real. We're pathetically trying to conform
with all the other people trying to do the same. A tulip doesn't strive
to impress anyone. It doesn't struggle to be different than a rose.
It doesn't have to. It is different. And there's room in the garden
for every flower."
We don't have to be special. We don't have to be a star. We just have
to be real. For me, I must try to remember that every class, regardless
of size, is an opportunity to deliver my ministry of health and fitness.
I wish I could say that I'll never again experience neurotic thoughts
at the sight of a small class, but by owning my issues and my reactions
to those issues, hopefully I can avoid future "diva moments."
Spring is FINALLY here! Enjoy. Take the time to appreciate the tulips
and the roses, and all the other flowers in the garden.
Mark Grevelding is a free-lance writer and full time fitness professional
living in Rochester, New York. As a personal trainer and group exercise
instructor, he is certified through AEA, AFAA, and FITOUR. He may be
contacted via e-mail at markgrev@aol.com, or by phone: (716) 865-2609,
or by mail; Mark Grevelding, 234 Milford St. #9, Rochester, NY. 14615.
Copyright and permission granted by Mark Grevelding, 2001.
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