It’s all in the mind: Brains vs. Brawn
By Celia Bryan- Brown
Monday 19th October 2009
Monday 19th October 2009
For years, I thought that reading quickly constituted a form of exercise. Whilst I could easily quantify the psychology behind intellectual passions, I categorised sporting obsession as other; a purely physical pursuit.
But now, in the hang-over of a lazy summer, I’ve developed my own sporting habit: I jog obsessively. It’s one foot in front of the other, over and over, and I realise that I’m attached not only to the chemical rush, but to the mental one as well. When I jog I feel clean. It’s an idea that got me wondering to what degree sport is after all an intellectual obsession of another sort; how that peculiar combination of the mental and physical makes sport so addictive. Whilst typical enthusiasms focus the mind externally, on the object of interest, sport focuses you internally, forcing a personal, physical realisation of the mind’s goals. I wondered to what degree fanatical sportsmen are aware of this dichotomy and talking to a couple quickly revealed a vocabulary of addiction and extreme egoism. They likened the act of partaking in sport to gambling, conducting an orchestra, using terms like ‘tunnel vision’ and compared winning to the latest ‘hit’. The most manic sportsmen are naturally at the top of their game: unable to trust their fellow players until they’ve proved themselves, though an obsession with control is not merely restricted to team players. A sailor acknowledged that a large part of the rush he feels is forcing his control on something as elemental and uncontrollable as the wind.
Indeed, the psychologies of the individual sportsman and the team player differ only slightly. A volleyball player freely admitted that, within the team, it’s every man for himself and that she chose the position of setter in order to touch every ball.
But as for the question of whether sport is an intellectual or physical pursuit, well, there is no one answer: it is entirely dependant upon the individual. Whilst one said that fitness and physicality were entirely removed from sport – that he approached it purely intellectually, another said that the best games were played instinctively, where familiarity and comfort within your square of the court were fundamental to the game (though there is still an intellectual basis here for physical success).
Cold turkey is a physical reaction to a physical addiction. However, users of less potent drugs which foster predominantly mental addictions experience withdrawal symptoms which are just as profound. Indeed, the power of the mind over the body is proven time and time again. Perhaps this explains why, even when physically you feel drained, you go to training anyway: the mind craves the release at a fundamental level. Perhaps it is only when this mental connection wanes that people whose very identity is their sport can walk away with seemingly no explanation. Once the mental ties are severed it can only be a matter of time before the physical addiction also wanes.
Yet, irrespective of how the connection is lost, it seems clear that sporting obsession is predominantly mental. And knowing that my mentality is stronger than my physicality, I understand now why when I see tarmac, I want to run.
But now, in the hang-over of a lazy summer, I’ve developed my own sporting habit: I jog obsessively. It’s one foot in front of the other, over and over, and I realise that I’m attached not only to the chemical rush, but to the mental one as well. When I jog I feel clean. It’s an idea that got me wondering to what degree sport is after all an intellectual obsession of another sort; how that peculiar combination of the mental and physical makes sport so addictive. Whilst typical enthusiasms focus the mind externally, on the object of interest, sport focuses you internally, forcing a personal, physical realisation of the mind’s goals. I wondered to what degree fanatical sportsmen are aware of this dichotomy and talking to a couple quickly revealed a vocabulary of addiction and extreme egoism. They likened the act of partaking in sport to gambling, conducting an orchestra, using terms like ‘tunnel vision’ and compared winning to the latest ‘hit’. The most manic sportsmen are naturally at the top of their game: unable to trust their fellow players until they’ve proved themselves, though an obsession with control is not merely restricted to team players. A sailor acknowledged that a large part of the rush he feels is forcing his control on something as elemental and uncontrollable as the wind.
Indeed, the psychologies of the individual sportsman and the team player differ only slightly. A volleyball player freely admitted that, within the team, it’s every man for himself and that she chose the position of setter in order to touch every ball.
But as for the question of whether sport is an intellectual or physical pursuit, well, there is no one answer: it is entirely dependant upon the individual. Whilst one said that fitness and physicality were entirely removed from sport – that he approached it purely intellectually, another said that the best games were played instinctively, where familiarity and comfort within your square of the court were fundamental to the game (though there is still an intellectual basis here for physical success).
Cold turkey is a physical reaction to a physical addiction. However, users of less potent drugs which foster predominantly mental addictions experience withdrawal symptoms which are just as profound. Indeed, the power of the mind over the body is proven time and time again. Perhaps this explains why, even when physically you feel drained, you go to training anyway: the mind craves the release at a fundamental level. Perhaps it is only when this mental connection wanes that people whose very identity is their sport can walk away with seemingly no explanation. Once the mental ties are severed it can only be a matter of time before the physical addiction also wanes.
Yet, irrespective of how the connection is lost, it seems clear that sporting obsession is predominantly mental. And knowing that my mentality is stronger than my physicality, I understand now why when I see tarmac, I want to run.