Day ③ #SOL21: Contemplating Coaching Conversations & Non-Scale Victories

 

Me: "Hey, there. Aren't you looking fit and snazzy!  You mentioned a few weeks ago you'd started a journey on Weight Watchers. I can definitely tell you've been working the program. You are rockin' a healthy vibe and you seem to have a pep in your step."

Colleague: "Check this out!" (She spins a loosely fitting ring around her finger) "This is my non-scale victory after three months of tracking my food. It's what I'm most proud of. Of course I have lost 20 pounds, but whose counting, right?"

This brief exchange with a teacher yesterday afternoon got my mind spinning in a thousand directions. Her comment and demonstration of a non-scale victory forced me to think deeply about how we measure progress across the educational ecosystem.  Our coaching team has recently been charged with presenting to executive leadership, and we must provide data to show the effectiveness of workshop teaching. I find quantifying something as nuanced and responsive as Reading & Writing Workshop daunting. As my colleagues and I spoke in broad generalizations about our beliefs and convictions regarding this instructional framework, deep in my soul, I know our audience only wants to see the numbers. They don't care about non-scale victories, and we'll be laughed right out of the room if we walk in spinning loose rings. 

Because this conundrum continues to gnaw at my subconscious, I woke up at the crack of dawn and dug deep into the data. As I worked to triangulate the results of multiple assessments, the numbers pointed in too many different directions and drawing conclusions felt almost impossible. I felt like I was mindlessly staring at a malfunctioning bathroom scale, spitting out a different weight each time I stepped on the device. In teaching and learning, will we ever value qualitative data as much as we do numeric outcomes? 

Cross-eyed and defeated, I decided to close my computer and head to my neighborhood gym to squeeze in a few minutes of exercise before the day officially began. While passively climbing fake stairs on the elliptical machine, I noticed a personal trainer working with a new trainee. For almost thirty minutes, I observed the trainer as she coached a young woman on proper techniques and various methods of exercise. The trainee would try out some squats, and the personal trainer would gently correct her form and give a few tips. Then she would step back and snap a picture while the girl practiced. They'd review the image together, and the trainer would provide explicit feedback on how to improve. The trainee would continue with multiple repetitions, while the trainer coached in and physically redirected her. Next up was lunges, and the cycle started all over again.

As an instructional coach and a curious onlooker, I was mesmerized by their process. It made me think deeply about the work we do with teachers each day, and I found myself reflecting on things like purpose, proximity, and pacts made between people who have a deep desire to improve. Before exiting the gym, I interrupted their routine to tell them both how much I'd learned from watching their interactions. The the woman receiving training remarked, "I'm so glad she's here, because I don't know what I look like when I exercise." The skilled personal trainer replied, "My job is to help her with techniques and push her to improve her form so she gets the most out the workout." 

I thanked them both, and as I walked out into the cool morning air, the worries I'd carried into the gym had subsided. Reaffirmed in my belief that observational data matters, I decided to save all those spreadsheets for another day. As Marcus Aurelius reminds us, "Nothing has such power to broaden the mind as the ability to investigate systematically and truly all that comes under thy observation in life.