Search This Blog

Loading...

Friday, 29 July 2016

Olympic blog 2: My precious

Olympic Blog 2. My Precious 


"We wants it, we needs it. Must have the precious!"
Gollum, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

Come games time there is a haze that wafts in and captures all involved in delivering an Olympic or Paralympic team. It is as if the BFG or a dastardly version of him, who only comes out to play with his special games time hazy contagion, is at play once every four years. No we’re not talking about the press whipping everyone into a ‘it wont be ready’ state, no we’re not talking about workers inability to snag an Olympic village - we’re talking about something unexpected, something that flies under the radar, but is more powerful, more intoxicating, more infatuating, that can bend behaviour with a mere mention of it...KIT!

Kit, precious kit, we wants it, we needs it! (well, you can keep those trunks, I think Tom is best wearing those bad boys)

At this time of the year, athletes are branded (not literally that would be harsh) winners or losers, but for support staff, there are those who have kit and those who don’t. Generally, it is a binary status. But for staff at games time they might actually fall into a few more categories - this is where the inner conflict can begin. 

It starts with selection. Any time between January and July of a games year you get an indication of whether you are;
  1. ‘GOING+’ (properly going, have a central role, in the village, full accreditation, full kit)
  2. ‘GOING’ (in the Olympic city, have an important role, can get day passes or have a job to do in the city, full kit)
  3. ‘NEARLY GOING’ (travel to the country/nearby for a holding camp, have important role in the preparation, probably wont go near the games, no/half/full kit)
  4. ‘GOING BUT NOT GOING’ (travelling with the team, have an important role, probably at the holding camp, might go to the games, will make their own way, no kit)
  5. ‘NOT GOING’ (not travelling, had an important role in preparing athletes, might take a call or two at most during the games, no kit)

At worst A, B and C will watch the official kit launch, their eyes widening with lust, “That’s mine. Mine. All mine, MWAHAHA” (strokes cat, swivels in chair, flairs nostrils). Oblivious of the pending wardrobe capacity issues, they will be summoned to a kitting out experience, where they will be indulged to their hearts content. They will get bags and bags of official Stella McCartney t-shirts, shorts and caps, sunglasses, napkins, stress balls - all sorts of paraphernalia. Generally, too much stuff than is needed, but hey it's the games so they are having it!

For E, they are not involved and whilst they might liked to have travelled they are not ‘in the mix’, they can put their feet up with the occasional studious glance at a textbook or interest in testing out a new bit of kit, to show they have something to show for their summer’s efforts. They have done their bit, time to be content in watching a lot of sport. they will probably have a pang when the athlete they work with perform, especially if they win.

D and sometimes C, will be on the periphery. Yes they got a ticket, yes they were part of the critical dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. But in a weird way they are not fully included. There is a high risk that they will have a continuous knotted feeling in the stomach, a look of uncontrollable envy, a low level of permanent inferiority. Why? Because they haven’t got the kit! As much as it sounds gossamer superficial, it is a potent and vigorous miasma that all can succumb to. 

The famous experiments of Henri Tajfel exploring social identity theory shows that even when "complete strangers are formed into groups using the most trivial criteria imaginable”, for example flipping a coin to decide the group they are in, people were more positive about their (arbitrary) in-group members and more negative about the out-group.

This is what it feels like if you wear non-Olympic kit at the games!


I have been to four olympic games and at two I had kit and at the other two I didn’t. Arguably the two I didn’t I had a more influential and important role. I recall vividly, in one of my ‘no kit’ Olympic experiences, ’not getting the memo’ that tomorrow was going to be a white t-shirt day. I turned up to breakfast that morning wearing a red, non-official t-shirt, met by a sea of white, Olympic branded people. The rush of anxiety that flooded through my veins in that instance was palpable. I spun on a sixpence, went straight back to my room and put a white non-Olympic t-shirt and went back to breakfast, slightly happier that I was wearing the right colour but still in high-envy status from not having kit. At one holding camp, I recall finding a ‘no-kit’ (D-type, above) member of staff trying to hack into the kit cupboard, just to get one t-shirt, that they said they “wash every night”. This wasn’t a regular criminal, used to resorting to crooked ways*. This was someone subjected and falling foul of a powerful social identity exclusion, and they just couldn’t stop themselves from obsessing about it. They wanted in! 

Tajfel tells us that the in-group force raises self-esteem. Robert Cialdini found the number university t-shirts worn on campus after a football game was higher after a loss - presumably to re-energise self esteem. So the effect of common apparel, clearly helps a team galvanise and prepare for the rarified exposure experienced by athletes and coaches in the Olympic cauldron.



Kit is like the RING in Lord of the Rings, slip it on and everything feels dreamy; spot that someone else has it, but not you and you can feel persecuted. 

Whatever your kit, here’s what I suggest;

Ghana's simple possessions!

  • For those not included in-the-group remind yourself of the important role you play, you are part of the overall team effort. Be like Ghandi - eschewing these material obsessions*.
  • For those who are well and truly kitted out, enjoy it, you will undoubtedly earn it with 15+ hours of work per day. Though, I share with you a story of the GB boxing team pre-London. The team leader got all the staff and athletes to pool a portion of their kit (on the basis that you get more than you actually need) and they gave a small but significant gift to the C, D, E type team members that had spent 3.99 years working towards the shared goal. Classy! Give a try, it’ll make you feel good.
  • For the powers that be - invest in enough kit for all staff in your system!! Why wouldn’t you exploit this infectiously unifying team effect and embrace everyone to feel part of the team effort.
  • For athletes focussed on your performance in a week's time - there’s nothing to see here - go about your business!

* though these days you can just buy it, if you desperate enough, but bear in mind your precious will be pyjamas or gardening kit by the end of the year! http://shop.teamgb.com/stores/teamgb/en/c/replica


Friday, 22 July 2016

Olympic blog 1: Games time! Not a time to play games!

Games time! Not a time to play games!


"I cannot trust a man to control others who cannot control himself."

Robert E. Lee


With days to go the the almighty ‘sports day’, what is going on behind the scenes for the biggest show on Earth? This blog and a few others over the next few weeks aims to share a few insights about 'how it works', 'the challenges', 'the opportunities' to 'Support a Champion'.



For a host of scientists and medics in the privileged position to work with Olympians and Paralympians, truth be told the bulk of the work is now complete. 99% (+/- a little bit) of the effect of athlete preparation, coaching and applied science has now been had and the main focus should be on executing the plan. However, there is a golden opportunity to get the last percentage points by tapering well, travelling well and generally not over-cooking the recipe. A coach, attending their first Olympics, once asked me 17 hours before the Olympic final, “Shall we change the warm-up for tomorrow?” This was a coach who was under pressure, looking desperately for something to give an athlete, unlikely to perform to their best, an edge. It was too late. We had a discussion and they came to the conclusion that performance was best supported by the warm-up they were comfortable.

If these need carrying - do it!


Pre-games is a time for calm, keeping things stable and being assured that the plans you have tried and tested are damn good ones. Alternatively, you could get your elbows out, create a hullaballoo and try to get up an in the face of the coach in the attempt to have a last minute effect. However, if you do, then you should know you will ‘spook the horses’ and may find you don’t have a job in a few months’ time. This is not the time for new ideas - just take it easy – there is enough to do anyway. The best support staff are the ones, providing some positivity, carrying bags, putting an arm (metaphorically, unless consent is provided) around someone who is struggling, carrying more bags, telling the coach they are doing a great job, diffusing situations, carrying some more bags, getting the odd beer in, etc. 

Be good, be eggy!


Reputations are forged in the heat of the games environment and in my experience they are strengthened if you have been a good egg; but they crumble if you have been needy, noisy and negative. Mark Bawden, a legend of sport psychology, likens the best support staff to a Samurai warrior (do not confuse with Inspector Clouseau's Kato). They are in the background, quiet, equipped and calm – but when they act it is decisive and effective.

Cool, calm, collected (and dressed in special kit) - channel you inner Samurai



Chose to be a good egg or a Samurai – whichever suits you, either way your Olympic colleagues will thank you for it. Support staff, at games time need to be just that – a support!


***To read more about 'what it takes to support a champion, take a look at my best-selling book; How to Support a Champion: The art of applying science to elite athletes.***

Tuesday, 21 June 2016

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of 'How to Support a Champion: The art of applying science to the elite athlete'

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of 

How to Support a Champion

Performance Immersion



On first meeting with Sirs Matthew Pinsent (Four time Olympic Gold medallist) and Steve Redgrave (Five time Olympic Gold medallist)

----


It was some time in July 1998. It was probably Tuesday 7th July, but I can’t be sure. I know roughly when it was as I started my new job on 22nd June. I’d missed the first opportunity to meet Steve Redgrave the week before. He’d cancelled his appointment for physiological testing with us up at Northwick Park Hospital, Harrow owing to a minor injury niggle. On that day I had the pleasure of meeting his other half, Matt Pinsent. I was 24 years old at the time and in utter awe of these totemic legends of British and Olympic sport. It would be an understatement to say that I had rehearsed the encounter at least a thousand times in my head, over and over, day and night, several times per hour. I did a lot of pacing up and down in the summer of 1998 to stave off the stomach-churning nerves.

The introduction with Matt went okay. The double doors to the laboratory crashed open, not because of an overly aggressive door opening attack from Matt, but the hinges having been called into rapid and unrelenting action under the pressure of the sheer mass of human entering the room. Matt has more than ‘enter the room presence’ he has ‘enter the room magnitude’ and it would give any half alert human a jolt. However, just as rehearsed, I strode over, held out my hand for a shake and rolled out my pre-prepared line, “Hi Matt. I’m Steve, your new physiologist” (Don’t knock it, it took me ages to come up with that). I received a cordially curt, response of, “Nice to meet you, Steve. Shall we do this then?” The intro’ now over and with no notable tongue-tangles or brain farts I jumped into the routine step-by-step process of taking him through the full rigours of their regular MOT – the physiological test.

My recollection of meeting Matt is stored clearly as a ‘flash-bulb’ memory. It was significant, pronounced and important enough for my brain connections to be super-charged into retaining the images, my feelings and the events in my version of high-definition.

Fast forward nine days later to Henley-on-Thames. I’d arrived and hour and a half early, just in case I needed to divert via Wales and parked up in my Citroen Saxo at the back of Leander Rowing Club car park. With my special Olympic-themed apparel suitably adorned, just so anyone going about their daily business would know I was ‘with the Olympics’ I made my way to the boat-house front to meet up with the team again.



Steve Redgrave undertaking a physiological test.

The rowers tended to arrive en-masse at 7.59am ready with plenty of time for the 8.00am session. Sure enough, the giants arrived. After several re-greetings of rowers from the week before, I spotted a moment to make my introduction. Steve Redgrave broke away from the chit chat, presumably to make his way to the boat and this seemed like the ideal moment to make the move. First, I did the walk-over (Excellent, no trips), then I put my hand out (All going well, I had managed to lift my hand out in front of me. Superb stuff!) and now here comes my tried and trusted introductory line (which I couldn’t manage to refine further from the Matt Pinsent intro’). “Hi Steve, (This is going really well, we have the same name, we are going to get along just fine), I’m Steve your new physiologist” (And relax this is basically over. All the words were said in the right order. Pat on the back time!).

If meeting Matt Pinsent was a flashbulb moment, then this was a simultaneously synchronised, paparazzi-style cacophony of strobe-lighting, police helicopter spotlights, heaven is calling, aliens are landing, New Year fireworks climax, bright-lighting extravaganza, all while the sun was eclipsed by Steve’s massive deltoid frame! His response, was plain and simple and should have been anticipated, but it wasn’t,

“Hi. Are you going to make me go faster?” he fired back.

In a singular instance Steve sent an exocet missile at point blank range to my brain, taking everything I had ever ‘learnt’ in science and either knocking it out or turning it upside down.

The flurry of thoughts going through my mind in that millisecond of neuro-processing was at storm level of confusion. Where should I start? Maybe I should mention my interest in breathing mechanics? No, this chap doesn’t look like he lacks for lungs! How about my interest in muscle soreness and growth? No, this man-mountain doesn’t look like he lacks hypertrophy skills. At the same time, I stand at 174cm and should probably not mention growth to this man 22cm in excess of my crown. What about my thesis on overtraining? Yes, that could be a good place to start, but it would be a bit negative and I don’t know if he has ever over-trained. Well it is better than any of the others, so you could start there… Oh hang on a minute, who was one of the most referenced experts in the area? Dr Richard Budgett! Redgrave won his first gold medal with him in 1984. Alright. Well if not this, that or the other, where to start?

Hang on a minute. What did I actually learn in my course? What did I learn that is going to be useful now in this moment under this spotlight, while the helicopters are still hovering overhead? What fact or nugget had I been taught that would enable me to kick start this relationship? I don’t remember the class on prioritisation! In fact, I don’t remember the class on recalling information while adrenaline is bathing my heart and driving me to flee!

My knee-jerk reaction, albeit privately in my head, was to start with knowledge, searching for something useful I could state. My mistake was to think that facts and knowledge can be traded for recognition and status and can act as a pass into their world. Somehow I had left my undergraduate studies in a state of knowing. All I could think in the summer of 1996 was, “I know stuff”. I also knew that I knew stuff which most certainly exuded as narcissism. “Look at me, people in the street. Look at me with my degree. Would you like to know some facts? Perhaps you would like to know my degree grades? I did especially well in my third year Environmental Physiology module, you know.”

I was almost certainly suffering from the Dunning-Kruger effect where someone fails to assess their competence appropriately [1]. In the early years of experience, confidence is disproportionately high. The devilish irony being that it is one’s very own incompetence that steals away from their capability to make a fair and reasoned judgment of their competence!

The mismatch between confidence and experience from, “Unskilled and Unaware of it: How difficulties in recognizing one's own incompetence lead to inflated self-assessments.


For scientists the Dunning-Kruger effect is demonstrated by their tendency to turn to published work. To many this is sacrosanct, to some it is everything, i.e. if it is not published it does not exist. In the vast majority of cases scientists quote articles, as a symbol of their competence, handing them out like greeting cards at Christmas or food to the needy. I have worked with over a thousand athletes and I can think of only one who actively wanted to see the literature. Therefore, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for me to say in 99.99% of cases this does not work with athletes, not elite athletes, not club level athletes, nor anyone in the middle.

Standing there with Steve on that day in July 1998, I was certainly on the left-hand aspect of the Dunning-Kruger model. Fortunately, I was not ascending the confidence line, I was descending steeply into the pit of appreciating that I might actually have absolutely nothing to offer.


-----


For more,  click here for 'How to Support a Champion: The art of applying science to the elite athlete'