The Difference Between a Coach and a “Great Coach”
There seems to be no shortage of “life” and “business” coaches these days, and some of the more entrepreneurial ones appear to be making a fortune selling courses on how to become a coach. That is not what I mean when I talk about coaching. What I am referring to is a true coach, someone with deep experience in a specific discipline who can observe, diagnose, and guide improvement in a way that helps you see what you were unable to see yourself.
The Blind Spots We Cannot See From the Inside
A great coach rarely transforms someone by teaching entirely new techniques. More often, their real value lies in their ability to observe subtle inefficiencies, small habits, or mental loops that the individual cannot see from the inside. They help uncover blind spots and, once those blind spots are visible, improvement tends to follow naturally. In many cases, the underlying capability was already present; the coach simply revealed how to access it.
I was reminded of this lesson by an experience with a trap shooting coach.
As a kid, I shot trap competitively and had the benefit of several excellent instructors who drilled the fundamentals into me early. Those fundamentals stayed with me even after I stepped away from the sport for more than twenty years. Eventually, looking for something that would get me out of the office and force me to focus on something other than work, I began going to my local gun club again during the week.
I was shooting reasonably well, typically breaking between eighteen and twenty clays out of twenty-five. A few of the mid-week regulars, mostly retired shooters who had spent decades around the sport, suggested that I should consider entering a local competitions Being naturally competitive, I found the idea appealing, but I wanted to sharpen my skills a bit before taking that step. Their advice was straightforward: spend a couple of sessions with one of the club’s professional coaches.
What the Coach Saw
When we met, the coach told me that before offering any suggestions, he wanted to watch me shoot four rounds (100 shots). He did not say a word, just moved around the range observing from different angles and positions while I shot, taking notes and a few pictures. Afterward, we sat down and talked through what he had seen.
He told me there were only four things we needed to fix. Two involved technique, and two involved fixing me.
That immediately caught my attention:
What surprised me was how little he criticized. He said my form was solid, my gun was fine, and the ammunition I was using was perfectly adequate. I expected to hear about stance adjustments or some subtle trick involving gun position. Instead, he pointed out two small mechanical issues that I had never noticed and two mental habits that were interfering with my shooting.
Two Fixes in Technique
The first technical adjustment involved how I was visually tracking the clay pigeon. I had always been taught to point the shotgun barrel toward a reference point above the trap house (the place from where clay pigeons are launched) that corresponded to the station I was shooting from. That guidance was correct but incomplete. The coach suggested that I introduce a second reference point further out in the distance, essentially, the area of the horizon where the clay pigeon would emerge and travel, and that is where I needed to look, not over the barrel.
He even placed visual markers on the range so I could see both the near and distant reference points simultaneously. Once I began aligning these two visual anchors, the gun’s motion became more intuitive. Instead of reacting to the clay pigeon after it appeared, my visual field was already aligned with its likely trajectory. For someone whose brain tends to think multidimensionally, this adjustment made immediate sense and dramatically improved how quickly I could acquire the target.
The second technical issue was something I had never noticed about my own shooting style. The coach observed that the moment I fired, I lowered the shotgun slightly in order to see whether the target had broken. In other words, I was interrupting my follow-through. His instruction was simple: keep the gun in position after firing, allow the clay to break, and lower it. What was interesting was that I would never do that with a rifle, so I was amazed I was doing it. That small change ensured that my swing continued smoothly through the shot rather than stopping prematurely.
Two Fixes of the Person
The more interesting insights, however, were the two adjustments that had nothing to do with shooting mechanics.
The first involved my mental state when I arrived at the range. The coach noticed that during my first round, I appeared less focused, but by the final rounds, my concentration was much sharper. When he asked about my routine, the explanation became obvious: I was usually coming directly from the office. My mind was still occupied with work when I began shooting. His suggestion was to give myself time to transition. Walk around the club, shoot another range, or simply relax before stepping onto the trap line so that my mind could disengage from work.
The second observation was even more interesting. After I missed two consecutive targets during practice, he asked whether I had started consciously thinking through the steps of my shooting process. I told him that I had, because I always ran through a mental checklist to make sure I was doing everything correctly. He explained that this was precisely the problem. By actively thinking through each step, I was interfering with the muscle memory that had already been ingrained over years of shooting. My body already knew the sequence. By consciously narrating the process in my head, I was essentially disrupting the natural rhythm of execution.
His advice was simple: trust muscle memory and let the process unfold without overthinking. I have the exact problem with golf, which is one of the reasons I stopped playing.
The Result of Small Adjustments
The following week, we met again. I followed his suggestions carefully, including his request that I leave my phone in the car so that notifications would not distract me. When I stepped onto the line, everything felt noticeably smoother and more automatic. By the end of the session, I had broken ninety-eight out of one hundred targets.
It was not a new shotgun or expensive ammunition that produced that improvement. The difference came from a few small adjustments and, more importantly, from someone observing my performance from the outside and helping me see things I had been unable to see myself.
The Real Lesson About Coaching
That experience reinforced a lesson that applies far beyond sports.
The real value of a coach is not teaching something new. It is helping you see what you could not see yourself.
Great coaching rarely involves dramatic change. More often, it consists of identifying the small adjustments that unlock the ability that already exists. Individuals and teams often struggle not because they lack skill or resources, but because they are too close to their own habits and routines to recognize the inefficiencies embedded within them.
A skilled coach provides the perspective that makes those hidden constraints visible. Once they are visible, improvement often follows quickly.
The real power of coaching, in other words, is not that it gives you something new. It is what helps you finally see what was already there.
The Business Parallel
Great leaders, like great coaches, unlock intrinsic motivation by helping people see what they are capable of.
Looking back on those coaching sessions, what struck me most was how little actually changed. My equipment was fine. My fundamentals were already solid. The coach did not introduce any revolutionary technique or secret trick that transformed my shooting overnight.
What he really did was help me see what I could not see in myself.
That experience reinforced something I have observed repeatedly in business as well. Most teams do not struggle because they lack intelligence, effort, or even skill. More often, they struggle because they are too close to their own habits and routines to recognize the small inefficiencies that have crept into their process.
A good coach provides something that is almost impossible to generate internally: perspective.
Once someone helps you see the blind spots, improvement often comes surprisingly quickly.
Explore More Epiphanies
This article is part of my ongoing series, My Digital Marketing Epiphanies – realizations, hard-earned lessons, and mental models shaped by decades in the field.
If you want more insights, visit the full archive here: My Digital Marketing Epiphanies
