Playing chess against the commandos

Geoffrey Beattie discovers that Chris Boardman's switch to professional cycling has been a traumatic experience

At the Barcelona Olympics in 1992 Chris Boardman did something which no other Briton had managed to accomplish since 1908: he won an individual cycling gold medal. His victory in the 4,000 metres pursuit came on his revolutionary bicycle - a carbon-fibre model that virtually eliminates drag. The achievement and the bike, with its high saddle and low handlebars, made a big impression on the British public.

In 1993 Boardman went on to take the world one-hour record, riding 52,270 kilometres in 60 minutes. Then he turned professional. In his first Tour de France, he won the prologue time trial, holding the leader's yellow jersey for three days. However, he was forced to retire after 11 days, the victim of inexperience as much as fatigue and the intense heat. This year, in July, he crashed in the prologue time trial going downhill at around 50mph in the wet. He has two screws in his left ankle as a permanent reminder, but the cyclist is now fighting his way back with great resolve and determination.

But what was winning an Olympic gold really like?

"A bit disappointing really, which will be a surprising answer for a lot of people. For 10 years I was aiming towards one thing, and then, in a second, it was all over. It's 'Oh, that's it then. Right'. I didn't get the feeling of elation that I expected would go with it. I'd seen it on television and I imagined what it would feel like, but it was more of a sensation of shock. It's something that's been enjoyable, retrospectively, over a period of time. It just sort of sinks in, as opposed to being a single moment where you stand on a podium. So I did feel rather cheated if you like, because it just didn't turn out to be like that."

A common image, and certainly my own impression of his Olympic triumph, was of the bike itself - the bit of machinery that had somehow done the trick for him. Was he unduly concerned that many people consider the bike synonymous with that gold?

"Not desperately. There was a lot of hype about the bike, because a lot of the media don't understand cycling - it was easy to jump on the technology side. It became christened The Superbike. It certainly looked the part. We probably wouldn't have got a fifth of the publicity without that bike. The bike played its part, but it was a much smaller part than people gave it credit for. But that was OK by me, because in cycling, the Olympic Games, oddly enough, isn't the top. In the world I work in now, of professional cycling, they wouldn't necessarily be able to tell you who'd won the Olympic pursuit, because in my sport it's just not that big a deal. The Olympics is always something special, because everyone recognise what it is. So I knew I would be going on to do other things and if I was good enough, then the common denominator of success would be myself, because I wouldn't always be on the same bike. The next year I went on to break the world hour record, which is the blue riband record - the four-minute mile equivalent in cycling, on a completely different bike. I was the common denominator."

I suggested to Boardman that if you asked people which was the most demanding sport of all, they would probably say the marathon. But professional cycling in, for example, the Tour de France, can be compared with running a marathon every day for three weeks. Did he feel that the public failed to recognise the extreme demands of cycling?

"A marathon goes on for just over two hours and a top marathon runner may run four races a year. A professional cyclist, on the other hand, will ride on average 90 race days a year. Now, there's no other sport that does anything like that. Up to seven hours a day for three weeks in the case of the Tour de France. There's nothing else like it. I think it's quite barbaric."

Did he have an explanation for why the public, then, did not seem to appreciate the sport's demanding nature? Was it because of the technology involved?

"It's very difficult even for me to sit back at home and watch the sport going on and feel it. You cannot imagine the pain, the discomfort. You can see it, but you cannot imagine what it feels like. When somebody is climbing a mountain and they look good, it all seems to flow so naturally and it looks like a very euphoric experience. It doesn't look hard. But when you actually feel what it's like, it's quite a shock to the system. It's difficult for people to relate to. But I would challenge anybody to show me a sport that's as hard as professional cycling."

So then, psychologically what's it really like? How does the professional cyclist remain focused?

"Some of the portions of the race are so long that you cannot physically race flat out for that amount of time. It's just not a physical possibility. Therefore there is a lot of down time within the race. In addition, it's not consistent. It's not, for example, the case that you ride fairly slow for five hours, and then for the last two hours it is really quick. It can happen anywhere in the race - somebody lights the touch paper and then sets off a series of attacks. Then you have to respond to that until it dies down, or not."

So you have to be ready throughout the race?

"Yeah, it's quite a psychological battle, because you can be riding along just having a conversation with somebody, and it flares up. Then you've got to react to it, and it can happen any time. So I would imagine it's a bit like being in a war zone where you just don't know when you're going to get attacked. It's a similar thing."

This was an interesting metaphor. But how deep was the comparison being made here? If it was really like a war zone, did that mean that afterwards riders could experience a similar kind of trauma?

"No, the trick is to survive. When I entered the professional world, I thought I was going to be surrounded by a lot of highly strung nutters. But when I thought about it afterwards, it was obvious that I was going to be wrong, because to deal with this kind of lifestyle, which is so stressful and so intense, you have to be able to switch off and walk away from it."

Did he have any specific psychological techniques for switching off?

"I've worked with a sports psychologist for a number of years. He played quite a significant role in my winning at the Olympic Games, and in dealing with that amount of pressure. To go back to the Olympics, when you're sitting on the line, you're thinking 'There are 176 countries watching this live, and the next four and a half minutes can change my life completely, or not'. That's probably the most pressure that you ever get in life. At least I thought it was, until I moved on further in my career."

Boardman then said something which I found very surprising. "I actually don't like cycling. I am a natural competitor, and cycling is just the medium that I've chosen for that."

Had he always been a natural competitor?

"Sadly, yes." Even as a child? "Sadly, yes. It happened then as well - not to extremes, at least I hope not, but the people around me would be the best people to ask about that. I cycle because I get a tremendous amount of satisfaction from it. People very often confuse 'enjoyment' with 'satisfaction'. I don't enjoy going out in the rain and training for four hours, but I get a tremendous amount of satisfaction when I get back knowing that I've done that. I enjoy the satisfaction but I don't enjoy the exercise and it's the same with the sport itself."

How difficult was the decision to turn professional?

"It was a case of having no other option, really. There was nothing to lose. The opportunity was there, so I took that opportunity, and for the first couple of months it was very difficult. It was really difficult, it was extremely painful, unpleasant and dangerous. I was riding with 200 of the best blokes in the world and it was very much out of the pond and into the sea. I found myself, on occasion, getting left behind on a climb; a hundred guys rode away from me. This was very difficult to accept when I'd been the big fish in the little pond for a while."

And the fact that you were an Olympic champion counted for nothing? "Not in that world. The only similarity between the amateur and professional sport is that both sets of people ride bikes. The demands are completely different. You have to be a cross between a chess player, a commando and a top athlete."

Finally, we returned to the Tour de France. How was he getting over his accident? "It was an unusual injury for a cyclist and I fractured my ankle in four or five places. I broke my wrist. That's a major limb in my sport. It meant three weeks of immobilisation and well over two months before I could train. In a way, it was great, it was a really good time off which I needed. It had been very intense for five years, and I think it has been good in career terms to step back from that and take some time out. There is no way that I would have done that, other than by being physically stopped from doing it.

"It was really good to spend time with my family. When I'm with them physically, mentally I'm not necessarily there - I'm thinking about my sport and what I'm doing. But the family won't hang around and wait until dad's finished, they'll just carry on independently. It's a very big price to pay. Financially, it's rewarding to be a professional cyclist, but its very costly in personal terms. I started to question whether it was worth it, and I'd also started to go through the motions of it being my job. When you start thinking like that, then the need has started to waver. So my enforced time off has been good. I've enjoyed that time and we've used it in different ways, including looking to the future for security after cycling."

"I think," he added after a slight pause, "that my career will benefit as a result."

Geoffrey Beattie is professor of psychology at Manchester University. His series of interviews with leading sports personalities, Head to Head, continues with Chris Boardman on Radio 5 Live tomorrow at 8.05pm.