Q3: Under Pressure — Mental Health at the Olympics
Pressure can be crippling. Ask anyone who has ever sat an important exam, or had to speak in front of a crowded room of people. Sometimes it is fear of failure that ties our stomach in knots. Sometimes it is pressure we impose on ourselves. Now imagine what it feels like to compete at an Olympics with over 3 billion people worldwide watching, expecting you to win.
Would you crack under the pressure?
The decorated American gymnast, Simone Biles, withdrew from the Olympics this week. Her instagram post saying “I truly do feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders at times”. In a press conference soon after she added “This Olympic Games, I wanted it to be for myself but I came in and I felt like I was still doing it for other people. It hurts my heart that doing what I love has been kind of taken away from me to please other people.”
She has been widely praised for this act of self care and for prioritising her mental health over her obligations to others; sponsors, the IOC, her teammates and even her fans. Biles is not alone. Earlier this year the tennis player Naomi Osaka shared her battles with depression and encouraged others to accept that “it’s ok, not to be ok”. Her simple truth:
“It has become apparent to me that literally everyone either suffers from issues related to their mental health or knows someone who does”.
Female athletes are leading the conversation, with some men following. Dutch cyclist, Tom Dumoulin, took time out of the sport to battle his demons and returned to win Silver in the Men’s individual time trial in Tokyo. The USA men’s basketball team were missing stars like Stephan Curry and LeBron James who actively decided not to compete citing physical and psychological burnout after a gruelling NBA season. This marks a turning point. Never before have so many athletes spoken so openly about their psychological limits. But whilst many have praised Biles’s and Osaka’s bravery, they have also attracted criticism, and with good reason.
First, show no weakness
Superstars possess superhuman levels of talent, discipline, resilience and composure at critical moments. This is what elevates Novak, Roger, Cristiano, Serena, Naomi, Simone and LeBron above the rest. Their outsized rewards are commensurate with their exceptional ability to channel pressure in the service of winning, and their ability to repeat this feat again, and again. Cracking under pressure almost always amounts to losing in competitive sport — penalty shoot outs are a good example. Weaknesses are things opponents exploit to beat you, so to be the best means to show no weaknesses to your opponents, on or off the field.
Superstars are not always superhumans
But there are consequences to these expectations. The HBO documentary, Weight of Gold, cites the arresting statistic that 80% of Olympians experience depression at some point during their careers. The all time Olympic gold medal record holder, Michael Phelps, contemplated suicide after Rio in 2016. A singular goal, once achieved, leaves many feeling empty and lost. This also applies to athletes competing in team sports. The British Journal of Sports Medicine found that mental health symptoms and disorders in elite male athletes vary from 5% for burnout and alcohol abuse to 45% for anxiety and depression. Superstars are not always superhumans.
Biles, Osaka and Dumoulin have lifted the veil on their own mental health struggles and are setting an example to others by demonstrating how to set boundaries between professional expectation and holistic wellbeing, and emphasising the importance of self care. By doing so, they are rewriting the rules that have governed mental health discourse in professional sport since time immemorial. They are not only “raising awareness”, but taking control of the conversation by asking better questions of themselves. As Dumoulin put it:
“taking a helicopter view of my life, and deciding what I want and need”.
Checking in, before checking out
These athletes are checking in with themselves by asking three important questions:
- Why am I doing this? In the words of Biles, is it for me, or for the interests of others? Biles decided not to compete because of the toll it was taking on her wellbeing and safety. (A wrong move in gymnastics can cause serious injury and even be fatal). Sadly, examples abound of athletes who have burnt out by being beholden to the expectations of others. Tiger Woods is a particularly tragic example of an athlete who struggled to be a person, mostly because he became an instrument for others, including his own father.
- Am I enjoying this? As a professional athlete you need to enjoy the road as much as the destination. Many athletes speak of overtraining and “falling out of love” with the sport. Very few of us can imagine how monomaniacal professional sport can be. It is mostly sleep, train, eat, recover, repeat with very few opportunities to let off steam. The thrill of competing, and a love of training need to exist to endure, and be happy.
- What happens if I don’t do this? Maybe a few people will lose some money, and a few fans will be disappointed (although we have seen quite the opposite, fans have offered incredible support, not criticism). Mostly, there will be a media storm and you may lose a sponsor, but nobody dies. Bottling it up means somebody could die.
Although these questions are being asked by professional sportspeople they are also relevant to our careers, relationships and personal goals.
Nowhere To Run
When I think of an athlete who clearly suffered, but never cracked, it is always Cathy Freeman who runs through my mind. At the Sydney Olympics in 2000 a huge weight of expectation rested on her shoulders: the history of aboriginal oppression and injustice, and the expectations that go with being the poster girl and torch bearer for a host nation using the Olympics as an instrument for nation branding and soft power. When she crossed the line, winning a historic gold, she did not celebrate, nor did she punch the air in elation. Her visage bore the marks of emotional exhaustion, and relief. Her full body skin suit looked less like a piece of sporting innovation to eke out aerodynamic advantage, and more like an attempt to hide from the glare of the cameras.
The difference between Freeman and Biles is that the American athlete realises she has a choice, and a voice. Perhaps having 5.7m instagram followers also helps. As does the new found power athletes have to wipe off $4bn of enterprise value by moving a coke bottle. But I suspect it is more a mindset shift. Talking about mental health has been progressively destigmatized. In 2000, when Freeman was competing, we were not having this conversation. She didn’t have the option to back down, she was too far down the track, trapped by expectation. Where Freeman was stripped of agency and choice, a new generation of athletes have realised that these are forces they can master. As Michael Phelps said of Naomi Osaka, ‘[your stand] will 100% save someone’s life”. No vested interest, no matter how powerful, can dispute that.
