In the Arena

Stress isn't the problem. How you deal with it is.

It had been over two years since I’d been to a tour event, and even longer since I’d actually caddied. That said, a home event for Kristyna was a good reason to dust off the cobwebs and get back on the bag for the LET Access Tour. It was a hilly course, to say the least, so I was quite happy to have a trolley for the week rather than carrying the bag, little wins!

A caddy’s job, properly done, is mostly invisible. You’re there to support and then get out of the way. She is a better player than I ever was; she knows more about her own game than I ever will, so my job wasn’t to coach from the bag, it was to add the 1% if it was genuinely there to add, and otherwise just stay out of the way! I’ve made the opposite mistake before: too much chatter, too many opinions, trying to be useful by talking rather than by being quiet and present. This week I was conscious of that. One thing I quickly realised: knowing your own shortcomings, and having the discipline not to offer them up as if they were strengths, is its own skill… and not one I always get right.

It was also interesting watching the week through a slightly different lens. Almost three years into studying sports psychology now, you start noticing different things: less swing and strategy, more behaviour and atmosphere. Looking around, what struck me was the professionalism of some of these young players, several straight out of college or even still studying, yet already operating to an exceptionally high standard. Their warm-ups, their course prep, their pre-round routines already looking flawless.

But while these details are important, when it is your home open, one thing above all else is necessary…. Composure… Playing in front of a home crowd can hit differently, with more pressure and more desire to do well. It’s never easy, especially if things don’t go your way. And often it didn’t! Day two, we saw 5 or 6 close calls that “Should have gone in”, and had they, would have put us well ahead. I suppose it’s the old adage “shoulda, coulda, woulda”. And in the past, this may have been frustrating, and in all honesty, it probably was this time too, but she didn’t flinch. Poker face, waiting patiently for the round to come to her rather than forcing it. I was impressed; she looked like a winner. That’s the part I thought about the most, because it’s not always a natural thing; it’s a skill that has to be learned, practised, and constantly worked on.

The interesting thing about stress is that regardless of the situation, pressure, crowd, or stakes, roughly the same physical response shows up in most people: heart rate up, senses sharper, an edge to everything. What differs is how each person interprets it. One person feels it and finds it exciting. I’m ready. Another feels the identical symptoms and thinks this is too much; I’m in trouble. Same input. Completely different experience. That gap, between what’s happening physically and how it gets interpreted, is most of what separates someone who thrives under pressure from someone who folds under it.

You can’t always see how someone’s interpreting things on the inside, but controlling what’s on the outside, body language, attitude, the face you show after a bad break, is at least a first step you can actually take.

Roger Federer is a good example of this, not being something some people are just born with. Early in his career, he was, by his own account, a nightmare on court, racket-throwing, swearing, in tears after losses he should have won. He’s pointed to a specific defeat in Hamburg in 2001 that embarrassed him enough to decide, deliberately, to stay calm from then on. Years later, in a commencement speech, he admitted he’d spent years “whining, swearing,” and throwing his racket before he learned to keep his cool. That’s not a natural temperament; it’s a skill he built on purpose.

Tiger Woods is reported to have used something similar, but more mechanical: a “ten pace rule.” After a shot he didn’t intend, he gave himself ten paces to be annoyed about it, then it was done, and he moved to the next one. Not suppressing the reaction, not pretending it wasn’t there. Just putting a fixed limit on how long it gets to run.

It’s not only about how you appear to others, either. Posture and expression feed back into how you actually feel. Slump after a bad shot, and your body tends to confirm the slump internally. Stand tall and reset after that same bad shot, and you give yourself a better chance of staying in a useful state. It’s a small lever, but it’s one of the few you have full control over in the moment, regardless of what’s actually going on underneath.

A 5^th place finish was a solid end to the week, and with 9 holes to go, a chance to win. At that point, all you can do is give yourself a chance to win and let the cards fall where they may. The process we ran all week was sound, and that’s worth more than a leaderboard position suggests. Above all else, it was fun for both of us!!

By Sunday night, I was properly tired, the kind of tired that comes from being switched on for five straight days, carrying some of the tension of someone else’s tournament as if it were your own. And the strange thing is, within about 48 hours of getting home, I missed it. Not the result. The actual feeling of being in it. The risk, the stakes, the focus a week like that demands, and the fact that none of it is guaranteed. You don’t miss things that only threatened you. You miss things that lit you up while they were hard. That’s the arena. It’s exhausting, it occasionally hurts, and I’d genuinely rather be in it than not.