The Olympic Games have come and gone, once again. I know a bit about sport as I was an athlete for much of my life (alongside my professional endeavours and spiritual journey). In fact, what I learned from sport about myself and my health, has proved invaluable ever since. I competed at international level in two sports - rowing in my teens and early twenties, which culminating in the Commonwealth Games 1986, and equestrian endurance more recently, which concluded when I sold my farm to embark on a new chapter of my life a few years ago. Both sports are brutal. It takes total discipline and focus to train day after day, for years on end. You have to optimise your skill, fitness, health, nutrition and hydration. And, on other the other side of the equation, your mind too, because it’s as much a mental game to deal with the pain and debilitating competition nerves that are inevitable.
During the Paris Games, I was riveted by the collective anxiety of the rowing competitors at the start of their races. I knew what they were experiencing as they sat there in those last few minutes – trying to stay in their bodies (rather than wishing to be anywhere but sitting in the boat at that moment). Anticipating how much it was going to hurt (knowing that every time they race they go through the pain barrier - the change from aerobic to anaerobic breathing and the point at which lactic acid accrues). Rehearsing the race plan in their head. Trying to stay relaxed so they don’t fluff the first stroke and lose the race before its begun.
Why do they put themselves through it? For many, high level sport is a proving ground to overcome a sense of inadequacy. It’s an opportunity to exert your power and prove something to yourself and others. This isn’t a bad thing because sport teaches you so much and, for me, learning about the power of thought and the art of visualisation was also the start of my spiritual journey. Few do such a tough sport for the joy of it alone. Joy comes in the full flow of exertion, when you achieve moments of ‘flow’, which is a form of active meditation. This is perfection of physical motion coupled with total control over your body and your mind. It’s even more challenging when competing in a crew. Just one member of a four or an eight who is not in the collective flow will be working against the rest and slowing the boat down. These moments are addictive and they keep you coming back for more. Achieving this state during races was always the most important goal for me. Essentially, I was competing against myself. If I could keep it all together and beat the opposition, then all the better. That was the real ‘gold’. Winning and not performing at my best; not feeling I had had the race of my life, felt like a hollow victory.
Equestrian sport is different. Many do it for the love of the sport which tests the horse and rider relationship to the max, and presents an enormous challenge of blending equine and human athletes at mental, physical and emotional levels. Jumping sports have an added danger factor – one small mistake can result in a punishing fall, and injury for both. Most top riders carry the residue of multiple broken bones and other injuries, but they keep on coming back. Riders at top level (like any sport) are extremely competitive. However, a horse and rider combination are unlikely to make the podium if they are not in a unified ‘flow zone’, so that is the first goal. In both rowing and riding, this requires a state of alert relaxation. It is the poetry factor. It is when you know you are witnessing perfection. The athlete has overcome nerves, pain and other obstacles to achieve a state of grace. Only a few manage this, even at the Olympics. It’s a joy to behold and to experience.
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Footnotes:
I am sure that my Nephew who competed in the mens eight in Paris would agree with you!
Wow! The GB men's eight took gold, didn't they. A great achievement. Kudos to him!