Many people have a subtle sense of distance from sports.
When you see coaches and teachers talking about a bunch of incomprehensible terms, such as core activation, axial stability, and the names of various muscles, you can't help but think: These seem very professional and profound. Can someone like me who knows nothing about this really learn them?
This feeling of "not being good enough" makes many people back down before they even get started.
If you've ever felt this way, this article wants to tell you one thing: not understanding the terminology doesn't mean you're not suited for sports. In fact, a good teacher shouldn't make you feel this way.
We have a slight misconception about "professionalism".
Our culture easily equates "explaining something in a difficult way" with "being very professional".
If a teacher can fluently recite a series of anatomical terms and some seemingly profound principles, we are often filled with respect and think, "This teacher knows so much, they're amazing!" Conversely, if a teacher uses very plain and everyday language in their teaching, we sometimes wonder: Is this too simplistic, not professional enough?
Let me be clear first, technical terminology itself is not a problem; in fact, it's very important. Discussions among teachers, communication with medical professionals, and advanced professional training all require precise terminology; it's an essential part of the profession.
However, there's an often overlooked distinction: technical terms are suitable for use among professionals, but not necessarily for teaching the average person. We often mistakenly believe that the more technical terms a teacher uses, the more skilled they are. This association is actually inaccurate.
Why do technical terms sometimes hinder students' learning?
Imagine your teacher saying, "Please activate your transverse abdominis muscles."
The brain of someone without an anatomical background will immediately start working overtime: What is the transverse abdominis? Where is it located? How do I "activate" a muscle I can't even feel?
While he was busy decoding these terms, his attention had strayed from bodily sensations and entered into mental analysis. But learning movements requires bodily sensations, not mental analysis. As a result, he understood the "meaning" of the sentence, but his body remained completely bewildered.
But if the teacher rephrases it as: "Imagine there's a light inside your belly, gently drawing it inwards to shine."
A miracle happened. This person didn't need to know where the transverse abdominis muscle was; his body found the sensation on its own. Because of this visual input, the brain bypassed the analysis and spoke directly to the body.
This is why, for the average learner, easy-to-understand imagery is often more useful than precise terminology. It's not because the terminology is wrong, but because when it comes to "teaching someone to use their body," language that can be received by the body is the effective language.
The ability to explain the complex in a simple way is actually a deeper skill.
Here is an observation worth mentioning.
Using technical terminology is relatively easy. Anyone who has memorized anatomy can rattle off those terms. But translating a complex bodily principle into a sentence that anyone can immediately grasp physically is much more difficult.
It requires the teacher to first digest the principle until it becomes part of their own being. They need to understand it deeply enough to transcend jargon and explain its essence in the simplest terms. They need to understand different people's bodies and know what kind of imagery can evoke the right feelings in what kind of person.
So when you encounter a teacher who teaches you in a very everyday, colloquial way, allowing someone like you with no background to immediately participate and feel the impact, don't rush to doubt their professionalism. That ability to explain complex things simply often develops only after thoroughly integrating and mastering the knowledge.
This has always been Chanrou's choice.
Chanrou's teaching tradition, starting with its founder Juliu, has made extensive use of imagery.
"Let the energy flow from the center of the seed to your fingertips." "Imagine your spine swaying in the water like seaweed." "Spin your body like wringing a towel." These words contain no difficult terms, yet they precisely evoke bodily sensations.
This is not because Chanrou doesn't understand science and anatomy, but because it cares more about one thing: enabling everyone, regardless of their sports background or whether they understand professional terms, to participate, feel, and engage immediately.
Chanrou uses plain language and imagery, but behind it lies a sense of thoughtfulness. It doesn't want to build a wall with technical jargon, making people feel, "This is too professional, I probably can't learn it," and then shut them out. What it wants to do is open that door, allowing everyone to walk in and experience it with their own bodies.
So don't let "not understanding" stop you.
If you've ever hesitated to take the first step because you thought sports were too advanced or the terminology too difficult to understand, hopefully this article will put your mind at ease.
You don't need to know any anatomy to begin. You don't need to understand the terminology to learn. A good teacher will guide you step by step, using language you can understand and methods your body can feel. All you need to do is be willing to feel your body; leave the rest to your guide.
Truly good teaching doesn't make you feel that the teacher is very profound, but rather makes you feel that you can do it too.
