The Paradox of Practice
There is some logic behind a claim that high school teachers detest, piano instructors grimace at, and little league baseball coaches despise: practice doesn’t make perfect. In fact, it’s useless. Consider the following statements:
- Practice is defined as the repeated performance of some activity, with the goal of increasing the participant’s capability in that activity.
- When observing any given practice, the participant is performing at a level within their unique personal capabilities.
- The possibility of a significant change in this capability between repeated individual performances is nearly impossible.
- On any interval of performances, a significant change in this capability is nearly impossible.
- It appears to be impossible that practice, over any interval of time or repetitions, will improve the participant’s capability to perform.
For example, imagine there is a runner that is exerting all of their possible effort (a best-case scenario) completing sequential 40 yard dashes. This is a depiction of the results following one completed trial:
If the runner, exerting maximum effort, completed one 40 yard dash at a time of 5.5 seconds, how will the next three times compare given the same effort? This is ignoring fatigue and any other factors that could possibly affect the runner’s performance.
It is highly unlikely; nearly impossible, in fact, that one 40 yard dash would result in a change of capability significant enough to alter the runner’s time. Each of the three following repetitions would produce the same result — the same runner will logically produce the exact same time. If they are exerting the maximum possible effort at their unique capability, there is no logical way that time could change. What if the runner ran n more trials?
That’s right — every trial, with the same participant and unique capability, will produce the same time. It is this logic that leads to the possible conclusion that it is impossible for practice, given any number of repetitions, to improve the participant’s capability to perform. If it appears impossible for even this perfectly ideal athlete to alter their performance, practice does not seem to be a worthwhile activity.
How, then, can we expect to “practice” anything: writing, playing an instrument, shooting a basketball, and expect a different level of proficiency than when we began?
Chances are, in the competitive atmosphere of some workplace, sport, or activity, you’ve felt that same pressure. When faced with a challenging workout or a noticeable lack of improvement, many lose faith in the value of continuous practice. It is this paradoxical conclusion that many people seem to arrive at — and it even has a logical basis! But it doesn’t end there.
This mentality may be understood by observing a basic thought process coined by Henry E. Kyburg, Jr. as the lottery paradox. Kyburg examines a completely fair lottery with any number of tickets that represent entries. The rules of the fair lottery dictate that one of the tickets (shown as boxes) must be a winner, which we will call Case A. One random ticket wins, which is shown in green.
However, this perspective changes when the tickets are observed on an individual basis. When viewing the chances of winning per ticket, say there are 1000 entries, the chances of ticket 1 being selected are a measly 1/1000. We can conclude from these odds that it is nearly impossible for ticket 1 to win. Take the same approach to viewing the chances of ticket 2, ticket 3, ticket 4, and so on, and you arrive at Case B:
In Case B, it is seen that all tickets are accounted for and yet there is no winner. Because each individual ticket’s chances of winning were so miniscule, we could say with relative confidence that each ticket would not be a winner. We’ve arrived at an interesting crossroads: Case A is true because there is one winner in the lottery, but observation of the individual odds gives truth to Case B, with no winners. A contradicts B, yet A and B are both rationally true.
Our rational acceptance of the world around us, as shown in the lottery paradox, plays a significant role in the curation of our individual perspectives. Because we are inclined to accept things that make logical sense, we tend to walk into contradicting thoughts in many different areas of life. And what easier situation to experience these thoughts, to undervalue the importance of practice, than when you’ve got to get into the gym or put in the time to make a change?
Fortunately, steps can be taken on a personal level to escape this mindset. Luckily, practice is not bound to the rigid standards of logic. Taking a close look at one of the statements devaluing practice reveals the truth:
“The possibility of a significant change in this capability between repeated individual performances is nearly impossible.”
It is the existence of a possibility to improve that makes the notion of practice possible. It is critical to understand that the value of practice can be easily lost with a lack of effort or an unwillingness to grow and change. The logical truth stands: between individual repetitions, like playing a song on the violin, sessions of practice or competitions, and even long periods of time, practice is never guaranteed to deliver tangible results. Without this understanding, spiraling into the limitations of personal restrictions is not only possible, but expected. Yet, it is the possibility of even the smallest marginal improvement that has driven the greatest competitors of all time to spend thousands of hours perfecting their respective crafts.
The comparison of two NBA legends, Allen Iverson and the late Kobe Bryant (both pictured), can summarize the paradox of practice. AI, an old-school point guard with flashy dribble moves, a dynamic playstyle, and an outspoken off-court swagger, famously denounced practice in a May 2002 press conference.
“I’m supposed to be a franchise player and we in here talking about practice!”
Kobe Bryant, however, took arguably the opposite approach for his entire career, becoming known for his ruthless attention to detail and devotion to improving the smallest parts of his game. It was the accumulation of these practiced actions that characterized Bryant as one of the greatest competitors in sports history.
Iverson ended his career with 0 NBA championships. Bryant had 5. No matter how you frame it, the true value of practice will always reveal itself — but the right mindset can change your life.
My focus on this topic was galvanized by the tragic passing of NBA legend Kobe Bryant. The loss of his life corresponds not only with the loss of an individual who remained generous and personable in the face of superstardom, or a man unwavering in the sharing of his meticulous, loving wisdom with his daughters, but also with the loss of a piece of basketball’s magical history that only its most transcendent superstars have helped create. Practice, as a fundamental value, is not strictly applicable to basketball — fitting, as Bryant’s commanding presence and adept leadership shone in many creative endeavors beyond the game. Kobe’s unparalleled work ethic and dedicated approach to personal improvement are the tenets of practice’s gold standard, and will be forever.
