The Coaching Curve in Collegiate Strength and Conditioning

There’s a weird kind of irony in coaching. We often get into it to help others grow—all stronger, more faster, and in confidence—but our own growth as coaches? That part’s messy. Slow. And full of blind spots we don’t even know we have. Especially in collegiate strength and conditioning, where every day feels like a high-stakes mix of the science of physiology, the art of coaching, and barely-controlled chaos of high pressure sport.

You can easily see it right away with new coaches. They hustle hard, no question about that. But they often pour their energy into the wrong places. They’re stuck in their heads, overthinking every set, every cue, every clipboard detail like it’s gospel. Meanwhile, experienced coaches? They almost seem like they’re gliding—moving through the same day-to-day grind, but with this invisible sixth sense for what actually matters.

So what’s the difference? What separates the “just trying to survive” crowd from those who seem like they’re seamlessly gliding a long a pond calmly like a duck? Let’s dig into it.

When You’re New, Everything Feels Urgent (Even When It’s Not)

New strength coaches usually show up armed with their NSCA textbooks, a spreadsheet of progressions/regressions (hopefully they have some understanding here), and the relentless energy of someone trying to disprove their own imposter syndrome. That’s a good thing—until it isn’t.

What happens next is predictable. They spend hours writing the “perfect” program, only to scrap it when the head coach suddenly decides to run extra film. Or they panic when an athlete tweaks their knee in warm-ups, unsure whether to pivot or push through. Or they get stuck trying to correct every tiny flaw in an athlete's squat, they completely miss the big picture. Sounds familiar?

There’s a kind of tunnel vision that happens here. You’re so focused on doing things “right” that you forget to ask if you’re doing the right things. And that’s where a lot of inefficiency—and burnout—starts creeping in.

Think about it: how many hours are spent preparing a lift when no one’s checked the readiness of the athletes walking through the door? Or when the only metric being measured is bar speed, not their personal belief in the program?

This is the “novice” zone described in the Dreyfus Model of Skill Acquisition. Coaches at this stage rely heavily on rules and protocols because, frankly, that’s all they’ve got. It’s not wrong. It’s just limited. Like trying to drive with the GPS on full volume but never looking at the road.

Meanwhile, Vets Make It Look Easy (But It’s Not Luck)

Now, watch a seasoned coach run the same room. They’re still juggling chaos—just better. They might walk in with a plan, but they know that plan’s about to change. And they’re fine with it. The lift gets cut short? No problem. Someone’s dragging from exams or a breakup? Adjust. They’re not married to the program—they’re married to the process.

These are the coaches who can read the room with their eyes closed. They notice when an athlete’s not quite locking in their bench press—not because they’re off technically, but because they’re mentally somewhere else. Distracted. Lost in thought. They’ve built up pattern recognition through hundreds of thousands of reps, sessions, and missed cues. And now, their decisions come fast, often instinctively. <- This is pattern recognition at its finest.

That’s not magic—it’s mileage. That’s the “expert” stage in the Dreyfus model. And the difference between knowing what to do and knowing why it matters?

It’s everything.

It’s why you see some coaches make massive changes with minimal words. Or why a 20-second hallway chat with an athlete can have more impact than a full team meeting. There’s an economy to their communication, a precision to their coaching, and it’s all built on time, reflection, and a long list of past mistakes.

How To Bridge That Gap Without Burning Out

Here’s the kicker: You can’t shortcut experience. But you can accelerate your learning curve by being intentional about how you grow.

1. Find a Mentor and Actually Listen

Not just someone to copy, but someone who challenges how you think. Ask them what they used to do that they’ve stopped doing. Ask what they’d do differently if they started over. Don’t just chase validation—look for coaching perspective.

2. Reflect Like It’s Part of Your Job (Because It Is)

Set aside 10 minutes at the end of your day. What worked? What flopped? Where did you hesitate? Where did you lean in? If you’re not reflecting, you’re not really learning—you’re just repeating. I've wrote before about my affinity for bullet journing but you should begin some type of journaling or notebook process.

3. Chase Clarity, Not Complexity

Too many young strength coaches equate effectiveness with elaborate programming. But the best results usually come from simple systems executed with consistency. And buy-in. Lots of buy-in. Because if your athletes aren’t bought in, it doesn’t matter how technically sound your periodization looks on paper.

4. Hang Out in the Gray Area

Rules are helpful—until they’re not. Learn to get comfortable with nuance. Two athletes, same injury, might need two totally different rehab paths. One athlete might need a kick in the behind, and the other a hand on the shoulder. Coaching is contextual. The sooner you lean into that, the better you'll be of service.

No One Masters This Job—We Just Get Better at It

As my good friend Brett Bartholomew discussed in his book Conscious Coaching: The Art and Science of Building Buy-In, quoting Hemingway;

“We are all apprentices in a craft in where no one ever becomes a master.”

If you’ve been in coaching long enough, you know there’s no arrival point. There’s no certificate that says, “You’ve made it.” Even winning a championship doesn't validate your feeling like you've achieved anything.

You simply get a little sharper. A little calmer under fire. You build instincts that save time, prevent injuries, and make athletes trust you more.

The real magic? It’s not in the sets and reps. It’s in knowing when to bend the rules, how to read the moment, and why your presence matters.

So if you’re early in your coaching career, keep showing up. Keep sweating the small stuff—but don’t let it consume you. Keep listening, reflecting, asking better questions.

That’s how you turn the maze of coaching into a map.

And if you’re further along? Don’t forget to reach back. There’s a rookie version of you who could use a little guidance. Don’t let them walk blind when you’ve already cleared the path.