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222
The authors are with the Faculty of Education, Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, BC, V5A 1S6,
Canada. E-mail: rjlloyd@rogers.com.
Quest 2006, 58, 222-241
© 2006 National Association for Kinesiology and Physical Education in Higher Education
Interactive Flow in Exercise Pedagogy
Rebecca J. Lloyd and Stephen J. Smith
A phenomenology of the bodily experience of interactive fl ow adds to Csik-
szentmihalyiʼs fl ow theory. Whereas Csikszentmihalyi attended to teachersʼ and
studentsʼ experiences of fl ow separately, this inquiry explores fl ow through three
water-inspired layers of physical interaction between fi tness professionals and
their clients. Teaching fi tness is likened to the emotive experience of surfi ng the
ocean peaks, swimming in the shallows, and diving deep beneath the surface. As
a producer of high, immersed, and deep fl ow, this teaching moves actively from
an elevated stage of one-sided instruction to motions of deep, other-directed
absorption. Learning to teach in this fl ow-producing way is portrayed through
fi rst-person accounts of the intensifi cation of closeness, connection, reciprocity,
and mutuality between fi tness professionals and their clients. This study, with its
reference to the postures, positions, gestures, and expressions of fi tness instruc-
tion, indicates a kinaesthetic register of fl ow consciousness that serves as a guide
to effective exercise pedagogy.
To truly question something is to interrogate something from the heart of our
existence, from the center of our being. (van Manen, 1997 p. 43)
Van Manen alludes to the difference between simply asking a research question
and living a research question. If we explore a question that moves us from the “heart
of our existence” and wrestle with it on a personal, professional, and philosophical
level, the end result is often felt in the way we experience the world, interact with
others, and continue to form future questions. The question What is the nature of
fl ow in fi tness and personal training instruction? has done just that.
Fitness instruction is something that Rebecca, the fi rst author of this article,
has been involved in for over sixteen years at community and international levels,
yet only began to examine deeply and critically when the question of what makes
such instruction pedagogically justifi ed came to her attention. Rebecca was an in-
demand instructor who enjoyed the up-front work of leading fi tness classes. Yet,
increasingly, she realized that performing a fl awless, pre-choreographed, aerobics
routine or a preplanned personalized training program did not mean that meaning-
ful pedagogical interaction had taken place. In questioning the “high” that comes
with such fi tness instruction, and seeking alternative modes of teaching, Rebecca
realized that pedagogical fl ow can extend beyond the realm of individualized peak
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Interactive Flow 223
experience characterized in Csikszentmihalyiʼs (2000, 1997a) fl ow theory. Shift-
ing her position in fi tness classes and changing her instructional relation to clients
created a different, more interactive sense of fl ow, which appeared to have greater
benefi t for the clients she taught and which transformed the pedagogy she now
professes at continuing education courses for fi tness professionals.
Living the question of the nature of fl ow in fi tness and personal training instruc-
tion lends itself to phenomenology. As both an attitude and a method, phenom-
enology shapes this question around considerations of the lived body, lived time,
lived space, and the lived other (van Manen, 1997) as the existential heuristics of
experiencing fl ow. Accordingly, as Rebecca refl ected on the nature of interactive
fl ow in teaching and training interactions, she focused on the body dynamics of
relating to another in various tempos and through different proximities. Descriptions
of the confi gurations of lived body, space, time, and the other helped distinguish
the “high” fl ow experience of leading an exercise class through an automatic, pre-
planned routine from the “deep” fl ow experience of using grounded, other-directed
motions of reaching out and making a lasting difference with an exercise client.
This article borrows heavily from Rebeccaʼs doctoral thesis (Lloyd, 2004)
to portray a phenomenology of interactive fl ow that builds on the psychology of
individually-defi ned fl ow to which Csikszentmihalyi has been a major contribu-
tor. It is a study that follows the phenomeno-logic of fl ow as it is experienced and
understood in interactions with members of exercise classes and fi tness clients.
We take a phenomenological interest in the phenomenon at hand by relying on the
lead authorʼs fi rst-hand experience of it. We consider interactive fl ow as it is lived
through rather than as it has been conceptualized. We investigate this lived experi-
ence by means of the existential heuristics of space, time, body, and the other. In
so doing, we also outline an exercise pedagogy of interactive fl ow. We describe
the fl ow experience through a teaching orientation that aims at the best interests
of the fi tness student and client. We render the pedagogical meaning of interactive
fl ow as a text for scrutiny by others who are similarly animated in their interac-
tions with students and clients and motivated to enhance their fi tness instruction
and personal training.
Peak Pedagogical Flow
Etymologically “fl ow” comes from the Old English word “fl owen.” The root
“fl oa” means to boil milk, hence the heated formation of fast moving bubbles, and
“to fl ood” (Skeat, 1963). To “go with the fl ow” infers that one is traveling in the
direction of the stream or river. Apart from the vortexes or eddies associated with
fast moving water, there is a natural downward valence in the terrain that precludes
the possibility of fl ow or fl uid movement. A bobbing piece of driftwood is a prime
example of “going with the fl ow” as it does nothing to modify, chart, or contribute
to its downward path. Perhaps it is for this reason that Csikszentmihalyi asserts that
going with the fl ow, “an expression used by the counterculture of the 1960s,” is in
“some ways antithetical to what fl ow means” (Csikszentmihalyi, 2000, p. xviii).
Jackson and Csikszentmihalyi (1999) explain that “going with the fl ow” implies “a
laissez-faire attitude, where one is taken along as if on a ride that requires no effort
of oneʼs own” (p.115). An active surfer standing on a carved out piece of wood or
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224 Lloyd and Smith
fi berglass, in contrast, uses the resistance of the water to carve her own path while
connecting to the larger environment in which she fi nds herself.
Full body wetsuit, blue board with fl owers at the nose, rolling white waves,
walking out dunking the nose of the board under each dumper, looking to the
horizon to choose the perfect wave, waiting . . . seeing the crest just about to
happen, paddling hard, getting in front of the wave, feeling a force bigger than
myself push me forward, arching my back, holding the rails, springing to my
feet to a sideways low stance in one motion, feeling natural ecstasy—there is
a god. (Personal Journal, 2002)
What becomes increasingly apparent is that the active and reactive nature
of the fl ow experience carries the quality of “pleasurable exertion” (Feldenkrais,
1980, p. 77). Again taking etymology into account, it becomes obvious that fl ow
“emotions themselves are a kind of motion, hence we say we are ʻmovedʼ when
we experience deep emotion” (Mazis, 2002, p. 160). The dimension of lived body,
the perceptive experience of surfi ng, changes through the other dimensions of lived
space (the downward valence of moving water), and lived other (interconnecting
with a body of water). The range of emotive depth is signifi cantly affected by the
pitch of the wave or the ecological and perceptual layers of depth. Surfi ng combines
both the vertical feeling of high fl ying rapture in the act of looking over the steep
downward slope of the waveʼs crest in an arch-supported paddle and ecstasy in the
more-than-body and almost out-of-body sideways low stance.
Looking over the downward pitch of a wave from a surfboard somewhat
resembles the sensation of looking over the edge of a cliff. Here one may be caught
in the terrible beauty of wanting to merge with the depths of the beckoning baby-
blue sea. Leaning over and looking out over the sea, one might sense Cataldiʼs
(1993) intertwining of James Gibsonʼs (1986) “distance from here” and Merleau
Pontyʼs notion of “depth as we experience it” (Cataldi, 1993, p. 39). The water
isnʼt a separate objective or disconnected entity. It has the phenomenological depth
of the continuous recessed surface that interconnects “here” and “there.” Cataldi
refers to this distance as sensitive space, an emotional and perceptual connection
to depth that we experience. Merleau-Ponty asserts this connection through his
“thesis of the incomplete reversibility of the Flesh, to think proximity and distance
together, as ʻmutually synonymousʼ” (Cataldi, 1993, p. 76). The elemental concept
of “Flesh” is what allows Merleau-Ponty to make this interconnection.
The fl esh is not matter, is not mind, is not substance. To designate it, we
should need the old term “element,” in the sense it was used to speak of water,
air, earth, and fi re, that is, in the sense of a general thing, midway between
the spatio-temporal individual and the idea, a sort of incarnate principle that
brings a style of being wherever there is a fragment of being. The fl esh in this
sense [is] an “element” of Being. (Merleau-Ponty, as translated by Alphonso
Lingis, 1968, p. 139)
The beckoning sea is not just below us. We feel what Merleau-Ponty (1968)
terms the indissoluble link between the ocean and the sea in front of us. The
imagined reality of jumping over the edge exists in that moment of both fear and
wonder. If acted upon, one would certainly experience the primordial intertwining
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Interactive Flow 225
of the fl esh and fl uid; however, it is that very possibility and the beauty associated
with both inter-human and inter-water relationships that interconnects both “the
experience of fl ow and the appreciation of the romantic sublime” (Stranger, 1999,
p. 270).
The experience of fl ow in surfi ng and, in turn, of the merge of fl esh and fl uid
elsewhere provides context for considering a similar kind of fl ow experience in other
exercise and fi tness settings. Rebeccaʼs fi rst refl ections on fl ow in fi tness instruc-
tion took place at a national conference where the stakes were high and where the
vertical pitch was evident in her positioning on an elevated stage. A journal excerpt
describing how she prepared for and experienced fl ow in group fi tness follows.
It was the excitement, the collective energy of the performance that fi rst
attracted me to become a fi tness leader and present education workshops at
fi tness conferences. I wanted to feel the excitement of presenting new moves
and step up the level of challenge by being a leader of leaders rather than a
follower. I took the preparation phase very seriously. I pre-choreographed
my entire hour-and-thirty-minute routine and practiced it over and over
again matching each sound effect with a specifi c movement on my Power
Music aerobics tape until it was automatic. I remember choosing to give up
my summer holiday ritual of lying in the sun, smothering on sunscreen, and
enjoying intermittent dips into the river. Instead, I had on my running shoes
and aerobic shorts and I was repeating the sequences of knee-ups, step touches,
and six-count stomps that occasionally crossed a phrase. I did not take a second
to turn around to the waterfront and soak in the beautiful view of the willow
tree that my Dad planted as a small shrub and which blossomed into a huge
fountain of green on the shore of our beach. Instead, I peered into the patio
door refl ection repeating my verbal cues, associated movements, and direc-
tional changes until my recall was 100%. By the time I got to my stage, I was
fi lled with a huge surge of electrifying energy. My performance unfolded and
I felt the whole room moving to a collective beat. The upturned smiles and
transitional synchronicity transformed the multidirectional patterns of “knee-
ups” into ecstatic spine-tingling sensations. It didnʼt feel like an hour and a
half went by; I just felt the sensation of one movement fl owing into the next.
My automatic responses to the music completely consumed me. Not once did
I doubt what I had to do next. Nothing distracted me from being there, in the
moment, teaching this aerobics routine. Thinking back, I am surprised that I
didnʼt worry what they thought of me being a fi rst-time presenter. I just felt
that I had something special to offer. I knew from the direct feedback in the
glowing faces and sweat glistening bodies that they were feeling what I was
feeling. (Personal Journal, 2001)
What Rebecca felt, according to the characteristics identifi ed through Mihaly
Csikszentmihalyiʼs 25 years of research, was the experience of fl ow. In the state of
fl ow, there is a balance between challenge and skill, a sensation of action merging
with awareness, a set of clear goals, immediate feedback to oneʼs actions, the feel-
ing of distraction being excluded from consciousness, no worry of failure, a loss of
self-consciousness, and a distorted sense of time (Csikszentmihalyi, 2000, 1997a,
1996). To Rebecca, being fully motivated to be the best performer she could be
02Lloyd(222).indd 22502Lloyd(222).indd 225 4/12/06 4:13:34 PM4/12/06 4:13:34 PM
226 Lloyd and Smith
was the ultimate challenge. She wasnʼt presenting for the money. In fact, she was
not paid for this event or the preparation of it since that was the custom for fi rst-
time presenters at this conference. She simply wanted to know that she could do
it, prepare for it, and enjoy the feeling of connecting with the fi tness participants.
In her mind, she was at the top of her fi eld, having taught fi tness for close to ten
years and believing she had something to share and teach. Rebecca thought nothing
of the somewhat “self-directed,” energy-reaping fl ow experience being sought on
many levels. Feeling the “collective effervescence” made the risk of putting herself
on stage in a possibly vulnerable position worth taking (Stranger, 1999, p. 265).
Making the transition from teaching at the club level to performing at the Conven-
tion Centre was comparable to a surfer “search[ing] for a larger more challenging
wave” (Stranger, 1999, p. 267). She couldnʼt wait to feel again the rush and the
ecstatic sensation of being up front. She continued to dream up workshops and
submit proposals to present year after year.
This attention to fl ow is drawn to the pleasure felt in reaching a level of emo-
tional automaticity on a frequent basis. When “play” is pressed on the stereo, the
body responds. It doesnʼt matter if one is feeling down in oneʼs personal life. The
pull felt to engage in the energy exchange of “collective effervescence” takes over
completely. Tiredness and depressing moments of the day dissipate as the body fi lls
up with movements of the other. The fl ow experience is similar to what the surfer
expresses in “los[ing] yourself [through] tapping into a power thatʼs greater than
you,” especially at special events such as fundraisers or conferences where two
hundred or more bodies move to the same beat. One becomes, in essence, “part
of [the same wave]” except that the position remains that of riding it from above
(Stranger, 1999, p. 270).
There exists, with this experience of fl ow, a type of reversibility which Mer-
leau-Ponty (1968) referred to as feeling “the fl esh of the world [..] indivision of
this sensible Being that I am and all the rest which feels itself in me, [the] pleasure-
reality indivision” (p. 255). Seeking, providing, and receiving pleasure is a regular
occurrence in such “hyped up” events. There is a similar “hyperindividualistic,
amoral hedonism” found in surfers who “surf for the same reason. . . . [They]
perpetually fl og [themselves] to the heights of orgasmic pleasure—because it feels
good” (Stranger, 1999, p. 274).
Rebecca didnʼt question her pedagogical approach. She presented the exercise
curriculum in a performative way comparable to what everyone else was doing.
But now, some years later, there is a realization that performing pre-planned
lesson formats and energizing a group of people to the height of pleasure do not
necessarily constitute instruction. Cultivating an ecstatic moment of synchronicity
does not necessarily infer learning. The bubble of individual fl ow burst. It became
time to refl ect on a different kind of fl ow that is not performative, but deeply
engaged—fl ow that is not comparable to the thrill of seeking a new challenge or
feeling the transcendental moment of being on top of a wave or on top of a stage.
It became time to understand what it means to be deeply involved and in touch
with an instructional body and the bodies of those being instructed in group fi tness
classes and personal training sessions.
Rebecca questioned not only the standard version of group exercise instruc-
tion but also the individualistic experience and collective synergy of fl ow that
sustains it. There must be another kind of fl ow that is not just active but interactive1
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Interactive Flow 227
that is subjectively felt and intersubjectively shared and that is expressed bodily
and communicated through the connection of expressive bodies. In addition to
Csikszentmihalyiʼs active and reactive fl ow that sustains a particular version of
exercise instruction, there must be an interactive fl ow in which class members,
clients, participants, and students can become more responsible for the feelings,
progressions, and maturations of their own movements.
Flow Dynamics
The interactive dimension of fl ow has yet to be explored in teaching rela-
tionships. Csikszentmihalyiʼs (2000, 1997a, 1997b) theory of fl ow fi ts the type
of experience described above that is performative in nature and focused on the
teacherʼs delivery of a lesson. Csikszentmihalyiʼs experiential sampling research
method2 targeted such “teacher-oriented” fl ow experiences and pointed out that
students who appear to be listening to a lecture are typically thinking about “their
dates, their coming football game, how hungry they [are], and how sleepy they
[are]” (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997b, p. 6). To address the lack of student fl ow, Csik-
szentmihalyi downplayed the role of the teacher and focused on the individual
fl ow experience of the student interconnecting directly with the subject matter.
He suggested that students learn how to self-monitor, fi nd their own sources of
feedback, set autonomous goals, discover their balance between challenge and
skill, minimize distractions, focus on the process over results, and have a choice in
selecting growth-producing material (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997b). Certainly the onus
of fl ow responsibility can be put on the student. For instance, Mandigo and Thomp-
son (1998) used Csikszentmihalyiʼs (2000, 1997a) skill-challenge model of fl ow
and reported favorable results from having students independently fi nd “optimal
levels of challenge.” But the pedagogical question remains: How does the student
learn to take on such responsibility and what is the instructorʼs role in helping the
student become so responsible? How, in other words, is the fl ow experience shared,
cultivated, and subject to teacher infl uence? These questions draw attention to an
active sense of fl ow and the lived experiences of teachers and students, instructors
and participants, trainers and clients, interacting with one another.
In our continuing focus on the fl ow dynamics of exercise pedagogy, in contexts
where the primary goal is to become fi t and strong, we are interested in how active,
and indeed physically inter-active, this fl ow cultivation can become. Accordingly,
when Rebecca refl ected on fl ow in personal training, a seemingly interactive
encounter, she realized that the replacement of a group with an individual does
not necessarily make the pedagogy more interactive. She, like other members on
her personal training team, was more concerned with the delivery of a preplanned
program where she could lead her clients through each motion so that they could
“go through the motions” of getting into shape. Although not elevated perceptu-
ally in terms of being on a stage, distance was created by taking up a position of
authority. Flow in this kind of personal training relationship was characterized by
the loss of chronos time, in being consumed by the completion of a program of
exercises, sets, loads, speeds, and rest intervals. She was not alone in this approach
to training. The following example captures the experiential feel of taking a client
through a pre-planned program.
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228 Lloyd and Smith
William stands behind his client, John, in a way that exudes pumped-up energy.
His white T-shirt is loose enough to look professional but fi tted in a way that
reveals his hypertrophied, full-bodied stance. There is something primordially
sexy about him. Perhaps it is the way he gets excited about getting stronger
or the deep throated grunts that surface as he pushes as hard as he can in his
own personal workouts.
William enjoys the program planning aspect of personal training and often
researches the best ways to organize and sequence exercises for bodybuilding
over the Internet. The neatly written program is placed on the nearby ledge and
at the beginning of the pre-set rest interval, he diligently revisits the card and
adds the correct weight and repetitions for each set. As William returns to the
bench, his attentive squeeze on the timer of his watch signifi es that the rest is
over and it is time for John to do another set of incline presses. John reaches
down for his weights and snaps them up into the ready position. William leans
in and grabʼs Johnʼs elbows to help steady the set-up. As John fi nds the groove
or steady pathway from the 90-degree elbow fl exion in the down position
and full extension in the up position, William releases his touch and stands
back to watch with uncanny intensity. He looks as if he is transferring energy
from his attentive stance to Johnʼs push. Nothing else exists in this moment.
William is fi xated from afar, sending motivational energy through his solid,
upright posture and semi-clenched fi sts—a stance which encourages John to
go for at least two more reps towards the end of the exercise. John puts the
weights down while William reaches for his watch to click the timer for the
next rest-interval. (Personal Journal, 2001)
William connects with his client. Nothing detracts from their interaction,
and all that exists in their intertwined consciousness is the next movement of the
pre-set workout. Williamʼs attentive presence makes a difference in his clientʼs
movements. John is motivated to do two more repetitions than he would normally
have done on his own.
Similarly, oneʼs confi dence is elevated when someone nearby channels his
or her energy into the movements. One feels the enhanced power of squeezing
out one more repetition. Nothing else exists except that push or pull. There are no
distracting thoughts, just an energy surge that culminates in all-consuming push
or pull through weight plates and beyond. Everything goes up—energy is up, the
weights move up, and it feels like the entire roof may lift up.
Watching another do a channeled push or pull sends resonating feelings of
excitement. The mouth goes dry remembering the anticipation felt at the beginning
of the lift as the metal bars are grasped in the perfectly centered position. Two to
three strong exhales and. . . . If the most important thing is the amount of weight
lifted, then one can relate to Leslie Heywoodʼs (1998) description of the traditional
weight room experience:
where [weightlifting] bodies parade around dressed in bright tights, fl exing
their forearms, shaking their willowy legs, circling each other like so many
peacocks unfurling themselves for display. Where an extra fi ve pounds lifted is
a cause for joy; where the magazine racks are full of paper curled up in sweat
of the thousand hands that turned over their pages while making the Stair
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Interactive Flow 229
Master or treadmill churn through its lonely mechanical course. (Heywood,
1998, pp. 1-2)
Leslie Heywood (1998) draws our attention to the external image of the gym
body and the measure of success by how much the body can lift, push, or pull.
What matters in this depicted culture is what lists of exercises one follows, how
often, with what intensity, and how this process relates to getting big, hard, and
strong. In the process of “hardening our bodies [. . .] in every sensory solicitation,
we manage to become dead while still being alive in some very real sense” (Mazis,
2002, p. 54), i.e., we are neglecting what is below the surface, our sensory experi-
ence, our “lived body.”
Richard Shusterman (1999) doesnʼt take this cultural shaping and mechanistic
approach to evaluating and admiring our hard bodies too lightly.
Enthusiasts of bodily beauty and bodily training are not merely superfi cial; they
are more sinisterly linked to fascist exterminators, who treat the human body
as a mere “physical substance,” a malleable mechanical tool whose parts must
be shaped and sharpened to make it more effectively serve whatever power
controls it [. . .]. They see the body as a moving mechanism, with joints as
its components and fl esh to cushion the skeleton. They use the body and its
parts as though they were already separated from it. . . . They measure others,
without realizing it, with the gaze of a coffi n maker [and so call them] tall,
short, fat or heavy. . . . Language keeps pace with them. It has transformed a
walk into motion and a meal into calories. (Shusterman, 1999, p. 7)
The human body is surely more than a moving mechanism. We, as sensing,
sensitive bodies, can connect to another body beyond the objective gaze of a coffi n
maker sizing up external shape and dimension. There can be an appreciation for
what is felt on the inside, what Catherine David described as the “deepening,
which leads toward an unending, unveiling of the latent meaning in each gesture”
(David, 1996, p. 42). We can move toward an appreciation of movement fl uidity,
transformation, and embodied understanding of transcendence, that which Csik-
szentmihalyi and Csikszentmihalyi (1988) and Stranger (1999) describe as fl ow,
as we begin to understand our intertwining “somaesthetic” presence to one another
(Shusterman, 1999).
Disembodied Training of Trainers
Encouraging personal trainers to appreciate motion beyond its scientifi c and
mechanistic representation is a never-ending battle since the pressure of giving
out lists of disembodied information is fuelled by a scientifi cally-based physical
education system and the public demand for wanting the mechanistic answer for
getting into “shape.” Deeply connecting to the lived experience of teaching exer-
cise means that the way we, in Western cultures, view and experience the body
is ultimately challenged. The body is no longer an empty, mechanistic vessel that
can conform to programmatic motions. Each body has his or her story, nuances
in alignment, emotions, thoughts, and depth below the overriding surface of body
image that Markula (1995) repeatedly draws our attention to in her examination
of the “fi rm but shapely, fi t but sexy, strong but thin” postmodern exercising
02Lloyd(222).indd 22902Lloyd(222).indd 229 4/12/06 4:13:36 PM4/12/06 4:13:36 PM
230 Lloyd and Smith
body. There is something deeper than the constructed image of the body that the
instructor in Markulaʼs (1995) study speaks of in saying: “I think stomachs are
probably one [problem area], hips, outer thighs, those are the main ones. . . . Thatʼs
where we have most of our fat cells, thatʼs where we store most of our fat” (p.
435). Focusing on the body in a part-by-part fashion objectifi es what can become
a deeply rooted transcendent experience. Exercise performed for the sole purpose
of reshaping body parts cannot become something soulful. Questions to be asked
when considering the purpose of physical activity or exercise include these: Are
we performing mechanistic motions out of an external drive to look a certain way
or fulfi ll the requirements of what constitutes healthful living? Are we allowing
ourselves to consider that there can be some form of joy in motion and a primordial
connection to pleasurable exertion, or are we expecting our personal trainers to
“whip” us into shape?
Aerobic instructors, personal trainers, and participants can be encouraged to
explore meaning in the body and, in so doing, to challenge the underlying principles
of the fi tness training process. The anatomy traditionally taught is based on the
knowledge of disintegrated dissected, objectifi ed, dead bodies. If one can match
the right name to the indicated body part on, say, the “Pro-Fit”3 personal training
written exam and verbally recite what muscles are being worked in the practical
component, for example, that was the extent of the anatomy necessary to know.
Course instructors or manuals do not typically teach one to see and intuit beyond
the names and identifi ed parts. They donʼt discuss how somatic awareness can be
cultivated, how posture can be refi ned so there is a deep growth in the way the
person comes to carry himself or herself.
Why do educators of personal trainers and instructors uphold knowledge that
is based on what Pronger (1995) describes as “the dead body,” an entity that is “not
seen as a fellow human being, but as an object4 of study” (p. 437). Why is it that we
base our physically educative knowledge on bodies whose owners have “vacated
the premises” (p. 438)? Perhaps it is because a mechanistic, objective body can
be manipulated into various positions with little regard for what that person might
feel and experience if he or she were emotionally and intellectually present. Why
have we not adopted the empathic gaze instead of the “surface grazing gaze” that
Foucault distinguishes in “the birth of the clinic” (p. 54)? To gaze infers that one
follows “the path of the knife” as it “cuts beneath the surface and opens up the
corpse” (p. 54) to discover the “opaque mass in which secrets, invisible lesions,
and the very mystery of origins lie hidden” (Foucault as cited in Moore, 1996, p.
54). By comparison, Pronger writes of the mystery found in “the inner reaches of
a personʼs body” that are only accessible “under the most intimate, indeed mysteri-
ously erotic, circumstances” (Pronger, 1995, p. 428). But we need not go quite this
far in our gazes, glances, and reaches to discern empathically the living, breathing,
exercising body of another.
Immersed Pedagogical Flow
To delve beneath the culturally constructed, gym-hard body requires a shift
away from external perception and an appreciation for our intertwined fl uidity. Leder
(1999) draws out the fl uid notion of this connection by articulating that we are more
than Merleau-Pontyʼs primal metaphor of the “fl esh,” an “exemplar sensible,” an
02Lloyd(222).indd 23002Lloyd(222).indd 230 4/12/06 4:13:36 PM4/12/06 4:13:36 PM
Interactive Flow 231
element of the world and an element of the body—we are “the fl esh and blood” of
the world. Blood circulates below body images, mirrored refl ections, video-taped
analyses, and mechanistic motions. The depth of connection to which Leder (1999)
draws our attention represents intertwining capabilities, interconnections between
bodies, exercising bodies, and relationships of reciprocity between bodies.
Delving beneath peak fl ow experience in exercise pedagogy also requires a
departure from Csikszentmihalyiʼs (2000, 1997a) XY graph, or Cartesian model of
fl ow, which illustrates the relationship between challenge and skill and reinforces the
unidirectional progression of fl ow intensity, i.e., toward peak performance experi-
ence. A different model of fl ow, which draws attention to fl uid motion affected by
peak landscapes and deep seascapes, indicates a movement trajectory that contrasts
with Csikszentmihalyiʼs model (2000, 1997a). Whereas Csikszentmihalyi proposes
a unidirectional, upward progression of fl ow intensity toward peak experience, we
are more inclined to see fl ow actions and interactions moving with a downward
valence. There is a need to distinguish between “peak experience” (Maslow, 1965)
and “deep play,” which for Csikszentmihalyi (2000) in his explorations of fl ow in
rock climbing5 amount to one and the same experience.6 Just as surfi ng or teaching
fi tness is affected by the pitch of fl ow, so the waves of motion and emotion, the
pleasures that turn, on occasion, to anxieties and fears, can also assume a qual-
ity of attachment and groundedness. One can discern within the fl ow of exercise
pedagogy a sensitive space, a place of a calm, an ebb and fl ow, that is closer to the
surface of the ocean or the surface of another living breathing body, yet refl ective
of the ocean fl oor.
Rebecca looks back to the peak fl ow experience when she fi rst presented at
a fi tness conference, how she spent considerable time refi ning the fl uidity and
maturation of her movements but did not ask or otherwise infl uence participants to
connect to and feel a sense of maturation in their own physical presences. Although
not aware of it at the time, the way she taught was based on an assumption that the
participants were vicarious vessels, open to instructor motions on a joyous, superfi -
cial level of mimicry. When the workshop ended, she did not wonder to what extent
these participants were inclined to move in a more mature or refi ned way. She did
not ask what they learned about their bodily presences and what they will pass on
through their bodily mode of understanding to their respective students. The feeling
of transcendence, or what Csikszentmihalyi (1988) and Stranger (1999) refer to as
feeling “at one” with the environment, was based on the merge of the instructorʼs
bodily experience with the apparently mindless motions of the participants.
Rebecca began to create a space and possibility for interactive fl ow as she
moved away from a position of riding a wave, which we likened to a position of
authority on the stage at the front of the room, thereby departing from a place that
supported peak performance fl ow. She refrained from being a purist, like Plato,
concerned with “the representation of bad models” (Gebauer & Wulf, 1995, p. 25)
and embraced variations on movement beyond the “right way” or “only way” to
be performed. The following journal entry reveals how she no longer saw herself
providing the mimetic impulse for the class.
I teach a ball class every Tuesday. It begins with 30 minutes of cardio and
then ends with 25 minutes of core strength work on the ball and a fi ve-minute
stretch. This morning I felt a vibrant sense of life in the class. I broke from the
trance-like state of repetition and stopped to see the reaches and lengthening
02Lloyd(222).indd 23102Lloyd(222).indd 231 4/12/06 4:13:36 PM4/12/06 4:13:36 PM
232 Lloyd and Smith
of the limbs in the forward traveling, skating-like motion. As I walked around
and occasionally froze an ideal position, my participants started to change their
alignment. Slightly bent, soggy knees began to stretch in the full hip exten-
sion so that their fl exed ankles reached out in a long, downward trajectory
toward the fl oor. Each reach back with the heel was countered with a forward
stretch of the arm and extension of the fi ngertips. I was no longer at the front
but immersed in the room, teaching from the centre as opposed to leading the
group from a distant front.
My favourite part of the cardio happened during an impromptu combination
of two single leg curls followed by a double. I donʼt normally do this move
because I fi nd that my 10 oʼclock ladies typically like to hold onto a simple
repeating movement in units of 8 to 16. The smiles and ease in the air inspired
me to suggest a turn on the double curl. The complete pattern looked like a
bowtie as we turned from one side, through the centre, and to the next, over
and over again. I looked up to see the woman in the green shirt who lifted her
arms in such a beautiful way that before I knew it, my arms stretched out and
felt her grace in the diagonal lift. She danced years ago and, for that moment, I
moved with her as if I were part of her corps de ballet, supporting her opening
night debut. (Personal Journal, 2002)
Moving in response to the fi tness participants, with the intent of refi ning
their postures and positions through freezing certain movements, helped Rebecca
change the way the movements are performed. Demonstrations such as these can
be performed on a stage at the front of the room, but the degree to which the ges-
ture is identifi ed and embodied varies considerably when there is closer proximity
between the teacher and the class. Walking around the room while identifying key
positions creates opportunity for closer, more intimate relations. Moving in the
same direction, in a side-by-side fashion, opens the door to reciprocal interaction
of assuming the diagonal wingspan of the woman in the green shirt, dancing her
way through the class.
The class was no longer below Rebecca, but moving in front of, beside, around,
and through her. In comparison to the depth of one-on-one personal training rela-
tionships, however, this merge was comparable to swimming in the shallow end
of a pool. She still didnʼt delve deep beneath the “gym body” exterior. This group
fi tness pedagogical encounter was supported by the buoyancy of the moment. It
is doubtful, furthermore, that any lasting postural or positional change occurred
during the fast-paced, effervescent nature of the interaction. It wasnʼt a learning
environment for a lasting change in posture, gestures, and expression, just a day
comparable to swimming in the shallows where there was ample opportunity for
taking in and breathing out the other. One can imagine any traces of the interac-
tion soon leaving the participantsʼ bodies as they wiped off the sweat from the
frolicking workout.
Deep Pedagogical Flow
Delving beneath the surface of everyday experience creates opportunity for
encounters that are lasting, life changing, and life affi rming. Jumping into a pool,
02Lloyd(222).indd 23202Lloyd(222).indd 232 4/12/06 4:13:37 PM4/12/06 4:13:37 PM
Interactive Flow 233
off a dock, or into the ocean can be a quick tingling brush with bodily depth if
the intention is to quickly resurface and joyfully jump in again. It can also be the
entry point to another place, a deeper dimension of the existing world, and a space
and time that lies below the surface and fully surrounds, immerses, and embraces.
Ackerman (1999) speaks of the positive sensations that come from emerging from
a deep experience, such as feeling “stronger than usual, more adroit, [and] better
informed” (p. xiii). The longer one sustains a plunge, the more time one has to
become absorbed in everything the water-human merge has to offer. Time below
the surface allows the aesthetic, synaesthetic, and kinaesthetic qualities of the
moment to “sink in.” It affords an attentiveness to the “vitality affects” of move-
ment (Sheets-Johnstone, 1999, p. 158) and specifi cally those fl owing affects to do
with surging, swelling, rising, undulating, and waving as distinct from the bursting
and rushing affects of less sustained movement consciousness.
I now reach out beyond my bubble of existence to make a difference in the sea
of bodies around me. I no longer teach with the desire to lift my class under my
wing and seduce them into feeling the motions of “collective effervescence” or
exercise-induced ecstasy. I now feel the inter-lapping sensitivities of making
ripples of refi nement in the motions of the bodies within and surrounding me.
I only started to feel specifi c responses, comparable to the way synchronized
swimmers adjust their stroke, when I deeply immersed myself in one body, not
just anybody in the sea of movement around me, but one body—my personal
training clientʼs body. Marthaʼs squat differed, I found, from Leoʼs, Suzieʼs,
Benʼs, and Frankʼs experiences of the squat. Each person has a unique style
and pattern to the motion, an individual history associated with the motion, a
variable internal desire to repeat the motion, and a personal level of somatic
awareness and interest in refi ning the motion. (Personal Journal, 2003)
In becoming more attuned to the bodily experience of her clientʼs motions, their
individual styles and “fl uid affi nities” (Cohen, 1993, p. 81), Rebecca also became
aware of the experience of teaching and refi ning movement through her body. There
comes the realization that the attentive body of a trainer has a very specifi c role in
encouraging a clientʼs deepening level of bodily consciousness. The relationship is
comparable to the “standing, sitting, walking and riding postures” that interconnect
a rider and a horse (Game, 2001, p. 9). Game explains, “all postures need balance,
alignment, relaxation; they require being grounded together [with the horse] with
slow, deep breathing. Then there is aliveness” (p. 9). Imagine the upright posture
of an English-style rider. Although the seated position may seem somewhat stiff,
prim, and proper, there is fl uidity in the merge between rider and horse. They
are, as Game puts it, “in the fl ow together . . . the relation is what matters here—
individuals, human and horse, and species, are forgotten” (p. 4).
Deep fl ow is cultivated in part by the posture of a personal trainer. It can carry
a similar sense of “aliveness” as a rider sitting on a horse in the fl ow of deeply con-
necting to the motions of a client unless, of course, the trainer has lost interest and
literally becomes bored stiff. Attentive trainers, conversely, feel that something very
special is happening in the motions they are observing, feeling, and appreciating.
A trainer who is kinaesthetically intertwined with a client can feel a motion from
afar as if he or she were performing that motion. Merleau-Ponty (1968) writes, “the
02Lloyd(222).indd 23302Lloyd(222).indd 233 4/12/06 4:13:37 PM4/12/06 4:13:37 PM
234 Lloyd and Smith
seer is caught up in what he sees, it is still himself he sees: there is a fundamental
narcissism of all vision” (p. 139). The trainer imagines that he is becoming the
performer so that he is, in a way, embodying the experience of his client. When this
kind of experience takes place, there are telltale bodily signs that denote resonat-
ing levels of interconnection. Recall Williamʼs semi-clenched fi sts resonating with
his clientʼs bench press. Johnʼs attentive trainer motivated him to perform another
repetition as it provided a solid base to metaphorically push against in order to
propel himself deeper into the sensations of the movement. Just as the quiet posture
of the rider on a horse may look rigid on the outside, a clenched-fi st stance may
actually be very much alive and comparable to what Bergson (1975) refers to as
the “solidity, so to speak, which even water presents” (pp. 211, 212) and which
allows a swimmer to push against it in order to dive just a little deeper.
This ability to identify and feel the internal kinaesthetic and proprioceptive
vitality affects of movement—the “surgings, fadings, and all such qualitative
features of [movement] experience” (Sheets-Johnstone, 1999, p. 158)—contrasts
the typical approach to training a body that we note with athletic trainers who
“see the body as a moving mechanism, with joints as its components and fl esh to
cushion the skeleton,” and who objectify the body “as though they were already
separated from it” (Shusterman, 1999, p. 7). Feeling clientsʼ movements, even to
the potential level of cellular breathing (Conrad-DaʼOud, 1988), draws one deeper
into what is happening within clientsʼ bodies and what is happening with oneʼs
own responses.
But such resonating kinaesthetic responses, no matter how deep and intertwined
in terms of bodily identifi cation and appreciation, are not necessarily linked to the
pedagogical intention of enhancing and maturing the vitality affects of a motion.
Gesturally responding to a client with the intention of refi ning a motion differs
from being drawn into the performance of another with kinaesthetic empathy or
awe. The fl ow that is felt sympathetically and autonomically needs to be modulated
by purposeful and somatic movement intention. In other words, the interaction
between trainer and client needs to penetrate the motions of the latter and nur-
ture the development of posture, position, and the spatially and temporally fl uid
vitality affects of the clientʼs movements. Feeling the aesthetic grace of clientsʼ
movements draws a trainer deeper into what is happening within clientsʼ bodies
and what is happening within the pedagogical response. The client becomes more
than an objective entity likened to a lump of clay about to be molded; the trainer
feels and guides the clientʼs movement as if her or his body were an extension of
the clientʼs fl esh. This sensation of folded-over, reciprocal interconnection, articu-
lated in Merleau-Pontyʼs (1968) “chiasm” of the fl esh, strikes a balance between
the experiences of the client moving and the trainer moving in response to refi ne
the clientʼs movement where “[p]erception represents a possible path for sensing
the other, respecting him as a subject, and it allows me to remain a subject while
perceiving the other” (Irigaray, 2001, p. 22).
Irigaray helps extend this phenomenological analysis of interactive fl ow by
leading the way into more intimate foldings where self and other, trainer and client
become intertwined. She explains, “[a]s for a woman, she touches herself in and of
herself without any need for mediation, and before there is any way to distinguish
activity from passivity” (Irigaray, 1999, p. 354). There is no pause in shifting from
object to subject. Both hands or foldings of the fl esh are able to touch and perceive
02Lloyd(222).indd 23402Lloyd(222).indd 234 4/12/06 4:13:37 PM4/12/06 4:13:37 PM
Interactive Flow 235
simultaneously. Here Irigaray has more of a liberating feminist agenda for rewriting
the male approach to exploring, describing, and understanding the psychology of
Freud and the intertwining of the fl esh in Merleau-Pontyʼs perception; however, her
thoughts and refl ections are helpful in understanding the inter-subjective purpose of
personal trainer touch. Trainers touch not for the sake of touching and connecting
to an object; trainers touch with the intention of moving a client to a deeper level
of awareness. Trainers help clients feel responses and activations that typically
occur below the level of consciousness.
The following example articulates a particular intertwining of the fl esh that is
indicative of a deep, interactive pedagogical encounter.
Leo7 is a client who has developed a strong sense of bodily awareness through
intertwining fl esh-on-fl esh palpation and more fi gurative pedagogical touches.
From a distance, I am sure that an outsider watching my gestural intercon-
nection with Leo would think our relationship was comparable to a puppeteer
working with a marionette. Not in the sense that my client moves wherever I
put him, as if the puppet has no input, but in the sense of the gestural depth of
my hands responding to his movement maturation. My hands pull imaginary
strings and make small adjustments in hip level or knee placement by holding
the space between Leo and me together. I do not objectify Leoʼs motion by
treating him like a lump of clay that I mold; on the contrary, I attune to his
growing level of awareness and make connections inside his body to make
small adjustments. He does not passively let me put him in place. He actively
responds to my gestures of placement. (Personal Journal, 2003)
Rebeccaʼs hands show signs of what Heidegger called being “ready to hand”
(Levin, 1985, pp. 138-140). They respond to another living, breathing, moving
body in holding, supporting, molding, shifting, shaping, and so setting in place
new patterns of exercise motion.
When I train Leo, I see my hands reaching in an open, palm facing in, fi nger
extended position, compressing the ball of air between them. Leo moves his
legs closer together today while balancing the base of his shoulder blades
and neck on the ball in an alternating one-arm chest press. Keeping the hips
level while a loaded arm moves out to the side requires a strong stable torso.
I see the hips start to waver and my gesture of squeezing everything together
starts to reach his hips. They are getting tighter and holding their position.
My attention is on Leo completely. I squat from behind, reach out, ready to
grab a weight if he gets off-balance, and channel squeezing energy through
my palms. I donʼt place my hands in a way that looks like I am expecting to
catch a vertical football or embracing a birthing childʼs head. My hands create
a shape that helps Leo feel the coming together of his buttocks, hips and ribs.
In other words, my hands are thinking of what is best to support and stabilize
Leoʼs position. (Personal Journal, 2003)
Rebeccaʼs hands are, phenomenologically speaking, engaged in a thinking
response to anotherʼs movements. Hands, whose “neurologic and biomechanical
elements are so prone to spontaneous interaction and reorganization,” and hands
whose “motivations and efforts . . . are so deeply and widely rooted” (Wilson, 1998,
02Lloyd(222).indd 23502Lloyd(222).indd 235 4/12/06 4:13:38 PM4/12/06 4:13:38 PM
236 Lloyd and Smith
p. 10) bear thinking in the turn of the palms, the point of the fi nger tips, and all the
appositions and oppositions of which they are capable. According to Heidegger
(1999, p. 112), “Every motion of the hand in every one of its works carries itself
through the element of thinking; every bearing of the hand bears itself in that ele-
ment. All the work of the hand is rooted in thinking.”
Rebeccaʼs gesture came to her awareness after she fi rst attended to Leo. It was
her client-directed attention that created the position and attenuated her sense of
bodily awareness. Holding her hands as if waiting to catch a babyʼs head was new
for her. She hadnʼt noticed the gesture before, although it is a movement that is
common to the collective historical actions associated with birth. “Etymology tells
us that to ʻgestureʼ means ʻto bear,ʼ ʻto bring forth,ʼ ʻto give birth,ʼ and ʻto make
appearʼ” (Levin, 1985, p.125). Her hands bore a response to Leo and a feeling of
being held together across space.
What might have happened if she had not held her hands in this way, if she
had not focused on Leoʼs stability and turned her palm, for example, to look at her
watch? Would this have taken away from Leoʼs effort? This is not something with
which Rebecca could experiment. Taking her hands away during his set was not
something they wanted to do. She was with Leo, feeling the effort of keeping his
body together. Her hands were thinking their way into his body. They communicated
in such a way that when Leo rose he lifted his hands and mimicked Rebeccaʼs posi-
tion. He giggled and said “My hands, my hands.” Leoʼs good-humored mimicry
reinforced the hands of birthing in his trainerʼs consciousness.
It wasnʼt until Leo stood up and purposefully imitated Rebecca that she real-
ized she wasnʼt only a watcher; she was the “watchee.” Earle (1995) experienced
a similar reversal in her professional experience as a marine biologist. She stepped
outside her role of professional researcher and became aware of what or who was
being searched and seen.
From the fi shʼs standpoint, I was a noisy apparition of rushing bubbles, hose,
and huge helmet with legs, but I willed myself to be inconspicuous and, stealth-
ily as I could, made my way toward them. Then, something totally unexpected
happened. First one, then several, and fi nally all of the small fi sh I had been
stalking turned and swam in my direction. I was supposed to be the watcher,
but found myself the watchee, the center of attention for a bunch of curious
fi sh, apparently mesmerized by the strange bubbling being that has just fallen
through their watery roof. For twenty blissful minutes, I became one with the
river and its residents, bending with the current, blending in—and breathing!
(Earle, 1995, pp. 42, 43)
Earleʼs experience draws attention to the who and what is involved within an
interactive merge. As a professional trainer, it is easy to think that one is invisible
and that a clientʼs presence and bodily awareness is all that matters. After all, it is the
clientʼs motion that one intends to refi ne and mature, not in a mechanistic skill-based
fashion, but in a way that carries Levinʼs (1985) notion of maturity in the genesis and
unfolding of motility. Leoʼs imitative gesture helped Rebecca see what it was like
to be seen by him, which helped her see how she was moved by him in a way that
wasnʼt contrived or shaped out of conscious or “ego-logical motivations” to which
“our hands typically belong, that is, to an ego-shaped body” (Levin, 1985, p. 133).
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Interactive Flow 237
Through deepening awareness of how to respond to clients, one can refi ne a way
of moving that carries the intention of maturing motion. In taking Levinʼs (1985)
advice that “we are beings who need to give thought to Being in the thoughtful-
ness of our posture, our stance, our gait and comportment, and in the thoughtful
gestures of our hands” (Levin, 1985, p. 92), we need to pay closer attention to the
way of standing and responding gesturally in client-trainer interactions with the
intention of critically refl ecting on and questioning the interactive nuances of the
motions used to train, instruct, and teach. Motion-sensitive gestures, such as open
handed reaches, embraces, and fl uid extensions of responsiveness that put fi tness
instructors and personal trainers in touch with class and client movements, exude
aliveness, trace vitality affects, and stay in contact with the emerging motions of
fl uidity that are the hallmark of mature movement.
Interactive Flow Applications
This study of interactive fl ow in exercise pedagogy provides an example for
any physical educator to refl ect on the bodily aspects of peak, immersed, and deep
fl ow. The criticism of peak fl ow relates to the tendency of physical educators to
become “wrapped up” with preconceived notions of the exercise curriculum that
have them overlook the necessity of moving in response to their students. It seems
obvious that a physical educator must move past “peak” fl ow to be able to delve
into the process of maturing meaningful motion. Still, a caveat is worth mention-
ing: There is a place for peak fl ow and uplifting experiences that provide a “hook”
for fi rst-time or even seasoned educators.
A fi rst step in cultivating pedagogically a deeper bodily perception of interactive
fl ow is, as Sheets-Johnstone (1999) points out, becoming aware of self-movement,
which is to say, being aware of what it means to move before we control how we
move. She asserts that if we become aware of “our original kinetic spontaneity”
we can understand “how movement is the generative source of our primal sense of
aliveness and of our primal capacity for sense making” (Sheets-Johnstone, 1999,
p. 132). Refl ecting back to the motions that cultivate peak fl ow in group fi tness, it
becomes apparent that the clapping, pointing, and halting signals keep large groups
of students moving together to a collective beat. The cueing gestures donʼt neces-
sarily reach out and make a lasting difference in the participantʼs fl uid movement
experience. In fact, managing gestures are, in themselves, the antithesis of fl uid
motion, being so sharp and authoritative. It is the lack of motion or fl uidity that
limits the interpersonal depth of such gestures. They do not reach out with the inten-
tion of delving beneath the corporeal surface of the “gym body” as the directional
points continue to point to a place that separates a lived experience of “here” from
an objective “there.” Although there is extension in the direction beyond the span
to which instructional fi ngers reach, these gestures that manage pace and direction
do not reach out with the ability of being, in Irigaryʼs terms, “re-touch[ed]” (Ross,
1998, p. 196). Stiff, extended fi ngers pointing to the side reach toward a place
that is outside the space of the living breathing bodies in the exercise class. They
do not carry the sensitivity of inter-corporeal touch that “puts me in touch with
bodies” (Ross, 1998, p. 127). Such gestures continue to carry out the one-sided
instructional intent of the exercise curriculum and, more often than not, magnify
the verbal commands of preconceived or crafted exercise routines.
02Lloyd(222).indd 23702Lloyd(222).indd 237 4/12/06 4:13:38 PM4/12/06 4:13:38 PM
238 Lloyd and Smith
An immersed sense of interactive pedagogical fl ow, where the teacher moves
in response to the ebbs and fl ows of student enthusiasm and responsiveness, trans-
forms the predesigned lesson plan into an interactive pedagogical process. Perhaps
managing motions within group fi tness instruction can be compared to those motions
of physical education teachers that lead children through drills, games, and relay
races with the desire to keep children busy. Gestures of management unaccompanied
by motions of student-directed interaction limit the possibilities of cultivating a
deeper sense of body awareness and refi ning movement quality. Just as it is neces-
sary to step down from the perch on the aerobics stage, so it is required to fi nd a
lighter touch in teaching children than the more strident motions of management,
if movement awareness and refi nement are to occur. Likewise, the vitality affects
of a truly deep interactive fl ow found in the merge between trainerʼs motions and
clientʼs performances can emerge in the shared joy of childrenʼs developing move-
ment competencies.
Within this phenomenological structuration of fl ow consciousness, we believe
physical educators, regardless of their domain, can become more intentional in the
way they move when they teach. Our initial inquires into cultivating the teaching
body (Lloyd & Smith, 2004; Smith & Lloyd, 2003; Smith, 2004) found that novice
teachers of physical education fi rst think of gestures that manage, such as raised
hands to gain attention, linear gestures to indicate row formations, and pointed fi n-
gers to explain or punctuate a concept. A few perceptive student teachers, however,
bring their understandings of the subtle changes in sport and dance performance to
a more nuanced sense of the embodiment of teaching. Just as they understand that
subtle changes in body position and motion produce signifi cant changes in sport
performance, such as the ideal fi ngertip release in a chest pass, or that fi nger and
arm extension enhance the expressivity of a balletic movement, so too can they
understand motions that go beyond the tip of a fi nger to point out more than the
rules or formations of an upcoming activity.
Our intention in working with student teachers is to have them focus on motions
that, for the most part, tend to be overlooked because they are not overt actions of
control and management. Accordingly, when we ask novice physical educators to
become aware of how they move during the in-between times of a lesson, after the
class has been organized and directed to a task, it not only challenges their somatic
sensibilities, but also their understandings of the physical education curriculum. We
encourage student teachers to become aware of how they move in response to their
students as the inanimate, written down, lesson plan objectives unfold in dynamic
interactive pedagogical experiences that carry the possibility of deep pedagogical
fl ow. Student physical activity thus becomes more than a “show” to watch from the
sidelines. The physical education curriculum becomes a living, breathing, interactive
encounter. In simple terms, imagine the difference between a physical education
teacher assuming the arms akimbo stance and one who relaxes the self-attending,
self-asserting, and self-supporting pose and becomes an open-armed co-participant,
ready to move in response to the studentʼs unfolding activity. As a child runs or
connects with a ball, this agile, ready-to-move, open-armed stance affords the pos-
sibility of a mimetic transfer of vitality, energy, enthusiasm, and joy to the teacherʼs
posture. Once teachers engage in such a motile, lived curricular experience, they
can enhance what Anderson (2002, p. 35) metaphorically and cognitively refers to
as being “touched” by the content in some way to engage in the gestural “dance”
02Lloyd(222).indd 23802Lloyd(222).indd 238 4/12/06 4:13:38 PM4/12/06 4:13:38 PM
Interactive Flow 239
that Mazis (2002) claims, more generally, is our rightful movement relation to the
world. It is what we describe as deep, interactive fl ow.
Ideally, the subtle, fl uid motions of interactive fl ow are best refi ned through the
mode of thoughtful and mutually refl ective, pedagogical practice. Refi ning interac-
tive fl ow in an isolated fashion without a client or a student is comparable to the
act of perfecting a handshake without another hand. Before the shake happens, all
one can do is open oneself up to the possibility of receiving an intertwining motion.
Just as a hug or an embrace can only be received from an open-armed position,
the only thing one can do to prepare for the onset of interactive fl ow is to refi ne an
open “ready position.” Once the merge between self and other takes place, as in
the interlocking clasp of a handshake, interactive presence and mutual participation
defi ne the development and course the movement dynamics take.
Such hands of interactive fl ow penetrate the depths of the body. As Merleau-
Ponty (1962, p. 186) stated, “It is through my body that I understand other people
just as it is through my body that I perceive ʻthings,ʼ” and it is through contact
with the motions, fl uidities, vibrations, rhythms, and vitality affects of the body
that I perceive and understand my interconnections with self, Other, and the world
at large (Olson, 2002). It is this movement toward the Other, through gestural syn-
chrony and bodily contact, that establishes the practical means to a refi ned exercise
pedagogy, with the experiential movement from peak, to immersed, to deep fl ow
providing the measure of pedagogical effectiveness.
Effective fi tness teaching, exercise pedagogy, clearly involves more than lead-
ing8 a student or client through a motion. Deep pedagogical fl ow fl eshes out the
motile pedagogical possibilities of open, fl uid hands ready to respond, receive, and
create lasting bodily transformations in both the student and teacher production
of mature, movement forms. Deep interactive fl ow may not be possible to sustain
for prolonged periods of time, but certainly it provides a well-spring of insight for
refi ning and cultivating the movements specifi c to the disciplines of fi tness, games,
sports, dance, and gymnastics, and in turn, for sensing and feeling the transcendent
possibilities of being rooted in a deeply animated, movement consciousness. A
model of interactive fl ow in exercise pedagogy that picks up where the psycholo-
gies of fl ow leave off, may indeed serve us well in its applicability to a vaster fi eld
of movement disciplines and therapies.
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End Notes
1According to Merriam-Websterʼs (2002) online dictionary, “interactive” means being
“mutually or reciprocally active.” The prefi x “inter” specifi cally refers to the nature of being
mutual or reciprocal. “Active” has been defi ned as action or physical movement over contempla-
tion or speculation.
2The Experience Sampling Method (ESM), which Csikszentmihalyi began to explore in the
mid-seventies, was designed to “capture the experience as it occurred, when it was fresh in the
mind” (Csikszentmihalyi, 2000, p.xix; my italics). At random intervals during the day, participants
were paged with an electronic beeper and were asked to fi ll out a self-report booklet. The ques-
tions ranged from Where were you? What you were doing? How do you feel on a seven-point
scale where 1 is sad and 7 is happy?
3 Note that “Pro-Fit” is not the actual name of the certifying organization. It was modifi ed
to ensure privacy.
4“Now when I see a lung, for example, I concentrate on its structure. . . . I donʼt picture
its being in someone who was once living, breathing, and talking (Fox, 1988, p. 63, as cited in
Pronger, 1995, p. 437).
5In Csikszentmihalyiʼs (2000) chapter, entitled “Deep Play and the Flow Experience in
Rocking Climbing,” he interchangeably used the terms “peak experience,” which he took from
Abraham Maslow, and “deep play,” which was inspired from the eighteenth century British
philosopher, Jeremy Bentham.
6Csikszentmihalyi is not alone. Michael Murphy and Rhea White (1995) also misrepresent
the term “peak experience” when they describe the transcendent experience of a diver, a seem-
ingly “deep” encounter, where “in just 30 feet of water . . . [he] felt absolutely at one with the
ocean [. . .] he could hear the grains of sand on the bottom and [. . .] his life has changed ever
since” (pp. 35-36).
7Note that Leo is not the real name of this client and permission was received from the
client as well as the university ethics board for the doctoral research (Lloyd, 2004) from which
this excerpt has been taken.
8The etymological origin of pedagogy is derived from the Greek paidagogos, from pais
(gen. paidos) “child” + agogos “leader,” from agein “to lead” and the “Latin paedagogus, slave
who escorted children to school” (Online Etymology Dictionary, 2004).
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