Sporting greatness is measured in what we leave behind
It is not quantified nor marked with numbers, trophies, wins and medals, but in care, pride and integrity
How do you measure greatness? Standardised tests? Numbers? Watts? Trophies? Titles? Points? Seconds? Minutes? Kilograms? Fame? Fortune. Notoriety? Adoration?
Is greatness measured in medals hidden in a safe? Is it being voted on to a hall of fame? Is that the count, the mark of the significance of an athlete’s worth to others? How do you quantify genius, calculate the value of litres of sweat, the quality of time spent training?
Is greatness driven by fear? By need? Is it an awareness of self? Or is greatness found in the times when athletes lose themselves in the moment, transcending into an other-worldly plane where instinct takes the wheel?
How great is Tatjana Smith? Are the tears she shed at the La Defence Arena after she went so deep and so late in the 100m breaststroke a mark of her greatness? Those tears of relief, joy and thanks, tears of the belief in self and the uncertainty of fate. We, and she, will remember those final five metres in the pool in Paris for ever, but will they define her and what she means to we who have had the privilege to watch her?
Smith, lest we forget, contemplated giving up swimming at the age of 19, when she did not qualify for the 2016 Games in Rio, missing out by one-hundredth of a second at the South African trials. She swam with an injury at the national championships in April this year with a groin injury that affected her kick. That is greatness.
Writing in the Guardian in January, Cath Bishop, who won rowing silver in the 2004 Olympics, says philosopher Rupert Spira articulated “what I instinctively felt but haven’t always known how to explain. When asked to share the best moment of my rowing career, others expect the answer to be a medal-winning race. But my mind always jumps to a few truly joyous moments on a training camp on a beautiful Italian lake surrounded by mountains where things suddenly clicked and our rowing boat took off, flying along seemingly with no effort even though we were rowing flat out.
“Spira explains experiences of fans and spectators who feel inspired by witnessing a greater force at play. He reinterprets that moment when the crowd feel deep joy as a goal is scored. He explains that our minds tell us that it’s because a goal is scored and so we associate joy with the scoring of a goal, further reinforced by commentators and others around us.
“But Spira reads that moment differently. Up to that point, we have been focused on waiting for a moment we want to happen, anticipating a goal. When the goal actually happens, it’s the release and relief from that anticipation that creates the joy. We are no longer suspending joy until something happens in the future. We can freely connect to the present moment. Through being so intensely present and connected, we lose a sense of being separate individuals and feel part of something bigger than ourselves. It’s powerful stuff, a world away from the typical sofa punditry we get.”
Kirk Mungo, the former American gymnast turned speaker, was once known as the “Lord of the Rings” for his prowess on the, um, rings. He says there are four characteristics that shape greatness: care, pride, passion and high expectations. It is “care” that resonates most for me, but I would add integrity and the ability to adapt.
“In order to achieve the level of greatness I am discussing here, an athlete must truly care about what they are doing. They cannot just look at this term, as so many do, as a word to be thrown around with little meaning.
“In this context, it is a deep seated feeling that brings with it discomfort when one is not doing well and motivation to find a way to do better the next time. It is a foundation for many things that without, an athlete is simply just going through the motions.”
Alan Hatherly did not go through the motions in the Olympic mountain bike race on Monday. He had a dream that would be realised through timing, belief and an understanding of his limits and previous levels, and a desire to move into the space beyond those limits and achievements. He became not only the first African to stand on the podium at the mountain bike race at the Olympics, but the first rider from the southern hemisphere.
Tom Pidcock, you would say, was born great and, indeed, had it thrust upon him. He is not afraid of greatness because he understands that it is not easily earned nor kept. His come-from-behind win in front of Hatherly was all the greater for the calmness he showed as his mechanic took an age to repair his fourth-lap puncture.
“As (the mechanic) affixed the new wheel, Pidcock simply took a slug of his gel, stared calmly out into the middle distance, reassessed his new hand of cards. This in itself is a gift as formidable as any of Pidcock’s physical talents. The ability to live off his wits, to exist entirely in the moment, to handle debilitating setbacks with an immaculate calmness.
“Getting Covid at the Tour two weeks before the Olympics wasn’t part of the plan. Breaking his collarbone two months before Tokyo wasn’t part of the plan. And nor was this. Forty seconds down and fuming, Pidcock simply levered himself back into contention at a murderous, menacing pace,” wrote Jonathan Liew in the Guardian.
“(Pidcock) keeps all his winning bikes, keeps all his jerseys and racing numbers, a measure of his preoccupation with history and lineage. This is why he wanted to defend his title, this is why a Tour de France contender still goes skidding up and down muddy hills, this is why a gold medal favourite calmly sucks on an energy gel while his race-ruining puncture gets fixed. Pidcock gets that true greatness isn’t just what you win. It’s the memories you make in the process.”
