What Coach Val helped me see—and why the way we coach matters.

In my mind, I was doing everything right.

My blade was straight up and down. My entry was clean, just in front of my forward foot. I was folding at the waist, adding that slight rotation—almost like looking under my armpit—to “load the spring.” Engage the core, sit up, move the waʻa. Then punch the bottom hand forward as I recovered for the next stroke.

At least, that was the picture in my head.

What was actually happening looked a little different.

I had plenty of energy and power, but my stroke was all over the place. The results weren’t matching the effort. It was great cardio. My control and efficiency needed some work.

Then Coach Val rode in the waʻa with our crew and watched me paddle.

She pointed out that I was placing my blade too deep. For a few strokes, she asked me to try placing it only halfway. She also brought my attention to my release: make it clean, and stop rushing it.

That half-blade instruction was a correction for what she saw me doing that day. It gave me a different target to try so I could adjust my placement.

And it helped me recognize the difference between what I thought I was doing and what I was actually doing.

When wanting it more gets in the way

When we were racing, I was full of adrenaline. I wanted to win. Somewhere in all that effort, I lost track of my fundamentals.

In my head, I was putting together a powerful stroke. In the water, I was spending plenty of energy without getting the return I wanted.

Coach Val gave me something specific to pay attention to: my placement and my release.

I started making sure I had the catch before trying to move the waʻa, then letting the blade leave the water cleanly.

Everyone behind me appreciated the adjustment, too. Apparently, paddling is more enjoyable when the person ahead of you isn’t providing a complimentary shower or trying to fill the canoe.

That lesson is why I think the way we explain a skill matters so much.

A paddler can be listening, trying hard, and still need help connecting an instruction to what their body and blade are actually doing.

Why break the stroke down?

Think about how many things a paddler might be trying to manage: posture, reach, rotation, blade angle, placement, pressure, timing, release—and keeping up with the crew.

Now imagine trying to correct all of them at once.

Working memory is the mental space we use to hold information and work with it. Research on children learning basketball found that working-memory capacity affected how they learned under an approach that supplied several technique instructions at once. That does not tell us exactly how adult paddlers learn, but it gives coaches a reason to consider how much information someone can use while moving.

My takeaway is practical: explain the purpose, choose a clear priority, and give the paddler a chance to try it.

That is where Set. Place. Move. Release. can help. Each word gives the coach and paddler a shared place to focus.

Set. Prepare for the next entry. Understand the position the coach is asking for and what it helps you accomplish.

Place. Pay attention to the blade’s entry and connection with the water. For me, this meant recognizing how deeply I was placing it and establishing the catch as I applied pressure. Placement and movement should flow together.

Move. Give the effort a purpose: move the waʻa with the crew. Plenty of effort was never my problem. Learning to use it well was.

Release. Finish the stroke cleanly and return for the next entry. Coach Val helped me recognize that rushing my release was something I needed to address.

There is a physical reason to care about these details. Forces on a paddle blade change through the stroke; an analysis of a sprint-canoe blade found different force patterns during the catch, draw, and exit. Effort alone does not explain what the blade contributes. How and when we apply it matters, too.

Give the instruction a purpose

“Move the waʻa” is a useful reminder to me because it brings my attention back to what the stroke should accomplish.

In motor-learning research, attention directed toward a movement’s effect is called an external focus. In one balance experiment, participants focusing on the platform’s movement performed better and used less attention than those focusing on their feet. That supports considering cues about the intended result, while still choosing instructions that fit the learner and the task.

The words still need explanation, demonstration, and feedback. A short cue becomes useful when the paddler understands what it means.

Coach Val could see something I could not. Her feedback gave me a way to connect what I was feeling with what was happening.

Put it back together

The stroke is continuous. Breaking it down gives us places to learn, but we still have to bring those pieces back into the crew’s rhythm.

For me, good coaching means showing the movement, explaining why it matters, choosing something specific to practice, and watching what happens. It also means asking the paddler what they noticed.

I am thankful for the lessons I keep learning, especially the ones that challenge the picture I have in my own head.

I have millions of strokes ahead of me. That still might not be enough to find the perfect one.

But I want to keep learning—and give the people behind me a drier ride along the way.

Set. Place. Move. Release.

See you at practice.