The other night I watched the women’s free skating in the Olympics. As always, I thought I wouldn’t mind seeing a few more of the skaters a little further down the ranks; even if they aren’t in the running for a medal, the fact that they made it to the Olympics means they are amazingly skilled. This sentiment was reinforced when a friend sent me a link to this interactive feature at the New York Times site, which illustrates aurally how very short the difference in time can be between a medalist and a non-medalist in various speed-based Olympic sports. Everyone who goes to the Olympics should be proud of having made it, regardless of how well they did, but I can see how that might be cold comfort if you lost out on a medal, or got a silver instead of a gold, by the merest sliver of a second, or made a small but costly mistake.
Then I heard this story on NPR about the emotions of silver and bronze medalists. Images of the faces of Olympic athletes immediately after an event were shown to volunteers who did not know how the athletes placed in the event, and the volunteers evaluated how happy the athletes looked. Bronze medal winners looked significantly happier than silver medal winners. They also looked happier when they were on the medal stand.
The difference could be the way they frame it. A silver medalist might be focusing on the gold that got away (the dreaded “if only,” one of the most painful thoughts that can torment the human mind). The bronze medalist, on the other hand, might well be thinking of the alternative of not getting a medal at all, compared to which a bronze looks pretty good. This is borne out by analysis of things the medalists said in interviews; bronze medalists used more statements expressing the idea of “at least I,” and silver medalists said “if only” much more often. I can’t say it’s all in how you frame it, but certainly the stories you tell yourself about the things that happen make a difference. Might as well tell yourself good ones.