I’ve written before about the concept of “practice” in training (“The Repetitive Nature of Training Is *Not* Killing Me”, “GTG for Krav Maga”), and I’ve certainly yammered about it enough in classes over the years. Here is a very interesting viewpoint from champion BJJ competitor Kit Dale:
Ditch the 10,000 hour rule! Why Malcolm Gladwell’s famous advice falls short.
Here’s a video on the subject. Though Kit’s talking specifically about BJJ, the concept is no less valid for general skill development, and it is certainly adaptable to training Krav Maga.
There is no universal method for efficient and effective learning—or teaching, for the reverse perspective. I have personally had success with both styles of learning and teaching (“massed” and “non-massed”) at different stages of developing very different skills.
What’s your preference?
Damn you, Patrick, this is my third attempt at answering your post—I have so much (too much) to say!
First, I encourage all readers to read the essay at the link, as well as watch the video above. They make different points, or the same point very differently. About how we learn.
From my perspective as a student and a teacher of kenpo, I am all too familiar with the limitations of “massed” practice. Repeating a newly-learned technique over and over doesn’t necessarily make me better after thirty minutes than I was after five, and the obsessive repetition can be frustrating and dispiriting. I notice this with people I teach, as well. I will break away from teaching one technique when I sense diminishing returns from the student, move on to something else, then return to it later in class. It’s amazing how often the technique seems easier after a break.
When I was new to the system, my ideal method of learning a technique was to revisit it often: learn it at the beginning of class; practice it a few times to make sure I had it; demonstrate it for the instructor at the end of class for corrections or finer points; go over it again later in the evening at home; see if I still had it the next morning (I didn’t always); see if I still had it at the start of next class. That’s how I got my techniques to stick. Laborious, maybe, but better than putting in the same effort without the same benefit. (Kenpo is more scripted then krav, but I think krav students would also benefit from a little homework.)
I also tell kenpo students that they should (and will) re-learn their old techniques throughout the system. Tests for purple, green, and brown belts (all three degrees of brown) are cumulative—as is the black belt test, obviously. Students may test on the same technique five or more times over their years of their study. The technique may be the same, but we expect a deeper understanding at black belt than at yellow belt.
I felt like black belt wasn’t the end of my journey in kenpo, but the beginning (maybe the middle). I didn’t need to learn new techniques (though I have), but had achieved a status that allowed me time to go back and actually understand what I had previously merely learned. That distinction has been key for me. We progress in kenpo by the accumulation of techniques and the promotion in belts. But while they were necessary steps in learning, they are only tangential to understanding.
If that sounds pretentious (if?), let me explain. When I got my brown belt, Brian took me aside to congratulate me, but also to encourage me to watch how black belts moved. That would be the next phase of my learning. The advice seemed a little vague at first—hadn’t I been watching them all along?—but I began to see what he meant. Movement in kenpo is the art of that particular martial art, but also its “martiality” (to coin a word). A twist stance is not just a balletic move, but an instrumental part of the strike or block that accompanies it—and an even more instrumental part of what follows. When I teach a new technique to an intermediate or advanced student, I’m more interested in how they stand, how they turn, how they balance, than in what they do with their hands. I want them to watch how black belts move.
The essay has given me food for thought. The idea of “interleaved” practice—teaching via a mash-up different skills to the benefit of all of them—sounds intriguing. Intimidating, but intriguing.
That’s way more than enough, even if it’s hardly all I want to say. If there’s anymore bandwidth available, I hope others speak up.
Josh
Thanks for sharing your perspective, Josh! Always insightful.