'Choking' in Elite Sport

The psychological phenomenon that causes some of the world's finest athletes to lose their cool at the crucial moment

Convulsing, crying, quivering for hours, and inconsolable for days. That is what missing a penalty in a local cup competition can do to a twelve-year-old boy — namely, me. The feeling of choking, of having let down friends and teammates, is something you never forget. Nor is the image of tears dripping into a milkshake afterwards. It felt like the end of the world. That is the power sport can hold. In some ways, it is unbelievably beautiful; in others, it is crushing.

Sport occupies far more space in our heads than it probably should. I have seen friends leave the Whey Pat after a last-minute Arsenal collapse and walk around town before going home, needing a few laps to process something entirely outside their control. Whether you are a fan or a player, it gets under your skin. The fear of choking is not confined to stadiums. It is blanking during a presentation, forgetting your lines on stage, or stepping up to a penalty and suddenly feeling your body move differently from how it did in training.

The most recent, very public example came with Ilia Malinin. The ‘Quad God’ had been undefeated in men’s figure skating for two and a half years. He had made quadruple axels look routine and had even gone viral for pulling off a backflip for good measure. He was the clear favourite. Yet, with the medals within reach and a five-point lead going into the final, he faltered. Tricks he had landed with ease in qualifying slipped away. To those watching at home, he did not look untouchable. He looked young. The expression on his face was not so different from my own at age twelve.

He was not the only contender to falter: Italy’s Daniel Grassl and France’s Adam Siao Him Fa both struggled in their routines. The competition opened up. You might assume that that would ease the pressure; instead, it seemed to place more weight on his shoulders. With rivals out of the way, the expectation grew heavier. Malinin pushed, and the routine unravelled. The image of him, face down on the ice, said enough.

There were murmurs about the quality of the surface. Yet Kazakhstan’s Mikhail Shaidorov, barely shown in the final broadcast because few expected him to feature, delivered a clean programme and scored 114.68 to Malinin’s 76.61. The difference was clear. Shaidorov did not attempt to match Malinin technically, as no one over the past two years has been able to. He skated cleanly. He did not fall. There were no costly deductions. His routine was not spectacular, but it was controlled. In judged sports, that often matters more.

Choking affects everyone. I have seen it on countless BUCS Wednesdays, when friends who calmly slot penalties in training send them closer to a rugby conversion than the back of the net. It is something I imagine almost everyone who has given a presentation, stepped on stage, or played a sport has felt, or feared.

Research suggests it is rooted in our fight-or-flight response. Under pressure, cortisol rises, working memory narrows, and automatic movements are endlessly overthought. The yips in golf. Dartitis in darts. The twisties that disrupted Simone Biles in Tokyo. Different sports, same feeling, the same pit in the stomach.

In the moment, choking feels defining. It feels as though it says something permanent about you. Usually, it does not. With time, most people learn to manage those situations better. The fear never quite disappears, but it becomes familiar.

Malinin said afterwards that, had he been at a previous Games as a seventeen-year-old prodigy, he might not have made the same mistakes. Experience of these high-pressure moments is vital. By 2030 in France, he may well return differently, with a more confident look on his face.

As for me, I cannot make the same claim. I will never take a high-pressure penalty again.

Photo taken from Wikimedia Commons