Protect Your Own Set
I caught up with my friend David Keohan for a couple hours; whiskey, lifting stones, music, the whole thing. David is an Irishman, a Master of Sport in Long Cycle, a former champion who has, by his own honest accounting, ticked every box he ever set for himself in this sport. So I trust him on this one. And the thing that stuck with me most from that whole conversation had nothing to do with technique. It was about energy. Specifically, the energy you give away.
Here is the story David told me. He went to his fourth World Championships. Five of his teammates were lifting that day, and most of them went on before he did. So he did what a good teammate does. He chalked bells, he roared, he carried, he gave everything he had to every single one of them. He was lit up just to be there, watching his people lift on a world stage. And then, hours later, it was finally his turn.
He was already empty. Emotionally drained before he ever picked up the bell. He hadn't eaten right, hadn't hydrated well, had been on his feet pouring himself into other people all day. He went out and he came fourth. And he knew, dead certain, that if he had hit the numbers he was hitting in training he would have come first.
I felt that one in my chest, because I just did the exact same thing to myself.
The empathy tax is real
I lift with my team. Same plan, same sets, weights and pace that fit me, but the same work. I do it on purpose so I know, in my own body, what I'm asking of them. That's a good thing and I'd defend it all day. But it has a cost, and I learned the cost the hard way at a recent competition.
I had five athletes lifting that day. One of them, her first crack at Biathlon, was in the flight right before mine. She asked me, "Don't you need to be warming up?" And I told her no, your set comes first, I don't care if I miss my number. And I meant it. I was fully prepared to lift worse to be there for her.
What I was NOT prepared for was how much it would actually take out of me. In training I was consistently hitting twelve to fourteen reps a minute on the double 20s. My target was 130 reps. I went out and hit 109. No warm-up, sure. But the bigger thing was something quieter than that. I care so much about how my athletes are doing that I get the adrenaline rush AND the adrenaline dump from THEIR sets. I ride every rep with them. By the time I stepped on, I'd already paid for five performances with my own nervous system before I lifted a single bell.
David has felt this for years and named it better than I could. He once lost three nights of sleep before an athlete competed online. The day of her set he literally walked off his job, paced the floor watching her lift, and was so wrecked afterward he had to go sit in his car for ten minutes. From WATCHING. That is the empathy tax. It's real, it's physical, and if you don't account for it, it comes straight out of your own performance.
How to guard your tank
So here's the principle, and it works whether you compete, coach, or just show up for the people around you: be Mr. Team AFTER your set, not before it.
David built a simple fix. The next year, he didn't even walk into the stadium until about 45 minutes before his lift. He came in, put the music in his ears, did his warm-up, hit his prep, and lifted. THEN he went back to being the loudest guy in the building, chalking bells and roaring for everyone the next day. He flipped the order. Take care of your own thing first, give it all away second.
For a coach who also competes, that's the discipline: stay in your own pocket as an individual lifter right up until you've lifted. Do your warm-up. Eat. Hydrate. Don't stand around for two hours absorbing everyone else's nerves. It feels selfish in the moment, especially when someone you love is on the platform. It is not selfish. You cannot pour from an empty cup, and an empty lifter hits 109 when their body had 130 in it.
This is the part nobody tells you. The little things make a massive difference. At a high level there might be one rep separating first from fourth. Did you sleep? Did you eat? Did you give away too much before it was your turn? Those are not small questions. They ARE the result.
I'm not a sports psychologist and this is a general principle, not a personal prescription; if you've got real performance anxiety or burnout, work with someone who can see your whole picture. But the lesson is clean enough to use tomorrow, and it scales way past competition. The teacher who has nothing left for her own kids at the end of the day. The parent who's everyone's rock and never refills. You have a finite tank. Protect the set that's yours to lift.
Be there for everyone. Just lift first.
Listen to the full interview here.
If you've been pouring yourself into everyone else's progress and wondering why your own has stalled, that's exactly the kind of thing I help people fix. Come work with me; I've never turned anyone away over money, and I'd love to help you build something that lasts.
Vokse eller dø. — Coach Jordan