Blog Post

Birds of a Feather: The Power of Peer Modeling

Michael Ceely • Oct 09, 2017

How I learned to raise my expectations.

I was 15 when I met Tom Frueh, whose family hosted me at their home for the 1983 Pepsi-Lowenbrau Gran Prix, a seven day bicycle race in Central Wisconsin. Some of the best Junior riders (age 15-17) in the country were there.

The race organizers had a system where riders were randomly assigned to a host family. At the time, I didn't know how fortunate I was to be selected to stay at Tom's house.

Tom was a year older than me and a much better racer. My best finish all year was 10th place. I had never talked to him; only watched him beat me and my friends in races. What would he be like?

The shuttle bus slowed down and dropped me off. With my bags in one hand and my bike in the other, I awkwardly knocked on my host family's door.

Tom cheerfully greeted me at the door and asked if I wanted to go for a training ride before dinner. I accepted his offer, and off we rode into the humid Wisconsin afternoon.

Relaxed and confident, Tom rode no-handed and speculated about the next day’s opening stage: “It should be fast, Gordy Holterman is gonna be there.”

Gordy was probably the best Junior rider in the country at that time, but Tom’s tone of voice and was casual, almost over-confident. “I’m pretty fast too,” he said with a sly smile.

And fast he was. The next day, Tom ended up on the podium in 3rd place. Gordy won. I finished somewhere in the top 20.

As I watched the podium celebration, and Tom being interviewed by the local TV station, I was struck with the thought that maybe I could be up there too. After all, Tom was just a normal down-to-earth Wisconsin guy, you know... like me.

The next day, I warmed up on the race course with my usual group of friends. We had entered the Grand Prix with no aspirations, just hoping to finish respectably in this field of elite riders.

As we lined up on the start line, I looked around at the competition. Some of them I had only read about. In my head I thought about how good everyone else was.

The start pistol went off, and we rounded the first corner. Suddenly it got fast, really fast. Gordy took the lead, and pulled away from the field.

The field slowed and riders bunched together. Who was going to chase? Just then, Tom attacked up the side of the road. Another rider took off, then another.

But soon Tom and the others were reeled back in, their efforts to bridge up to Gordy had failed. Suddenly, Tom attacked again! “How is that possible?” I thought. He didn’t even have time to recover. I watched him ride away, his body writhing in pain.

Tom ended up on the podium again, in second place, with Gordy taking the victory. "So that's how Tom does it," I thought, “He creates the race himself.” Tom dictated the course of the race. He didn’t let pain stop him.

After the race, I hung out with Tom and Gordy and a few other racers who were "out of my league." We went swimming, went to Leon's Malt Shop in Oshkosh to get burgers, and basically laughed and had fun like teenagers do.

I didn't know it at the time, but I was experiencing something social scientists call homophily which essentially means people with shared beliefs and values tend to group together, you know, “birds of a feather flock together.”

Because I was selected to stay with Tom's family, I had essentially been given a free ticket to hang out with these guys. A backstage pass, if you will. Even though I felt out of my league, I was having fun. More importantly, I was beginning to feel like I belonged with them.

After a few more days of watching Gordy and Tom climb the podium, a discomfort began to grow in me. My meager results no longer felt acceptable. I wanted to be like my new friends. Unbeknownst to me, the power of homophily and my subconscious mind were already setting the stage...

The final race of the series was in a town called Fond du Lac. The course was a fast, four-corner, criterium-style race. Warming up with my new fast friends, I felt a sense of assuredness, like I finally belonged in their group.

The race was fast from the get-go. Everybody wanted to be up front because the tight corners made it difficult to move up. I got a great position at the start, and to my surprise, found myself at the front of the pack.

Like clockwork, Gordy attacked, followed by Tom, then another nationally-ranked rider from Philadelphia. The rest of the riders hesitated, looked around. Everyone seemed to be thinking, “who's got the guts to chase?”

Then, a curious thing happened. I attacked. Yes, me! I had the guts. I pedaled furiously, the lactic acid in my legs burning, my lungs on fire. I had never pushed myself this hard before. I looked back, and no one was behind me.

I began to see Tom ahead of me. I had to catch him. It was a must. I had to let him know I belonged in his flock.

Tom, Gordy, and the rider from Philly had slowed slightly, just enough for me to catch them. I was exhausted, but giddy. Like a kid who just jumped off the high dive for the first time and realized he survived.

Tom, Gordy and the Philly rider were riding inches apart with machinelike precision. I was out of my league but I didn't care. I pulled through to the front and pedaled my heart out.

When my turn was over, an angry voice grumbled, “get out of here, you little shit.” It was the Philly rider. For brief moment, I almost listened to him, almost believed I didn’t deserve to be there. Fortunately, I ignored him.

I was holding my own, but I was clearly running out of gas. My trusty Guerciotti road bike was spinning out its biggest gear.

Suddenly Gordy attacked. Tom gave chase, then the Philly rider. I was redlined. I could not respond. But I wasn’t about to give up.

As they drifted away from me, I glanced behind me. I still had a gap over the main field of riders. Five laps to go… could I hold it and get 4th place?

Four laps to go… three laps... two… I gave a final look over my shoulder and noticed one rider had broken away from the pack and was closing in on me. I put my head down and dug deep.

With one lap to go, the guy behind caught me. He looked exhausted, his face beet red. Then he attacked. No time to think, I chase him, leaning my bike hard into the next corner.

Flying down the backstretch, he pulls away. Next corner, I lean my bike, focus straight ahead. Final corner, finish line now in site. Quick glance over my shoulder, two riders closing in on me, then the pack.

The last meters to the finish are brutal. Time slows down. My legs are like lead. I hear the riders behind me breathing, closing in. My front wheel crosses the line, then the back. I calculate: 5th place?

Yes, 5th place. My best result of the year! Not quite the podium, but for a scrawny 15-year-old racing against 16 and 17-year-olds, I really pulled off a feat. Gordy won the stage, Tom second. And me, now part of the flock.

As I think back on this, now more than (30!) years ago, I realize that this race was a pivotal moment in my life. I gave myself permission to go for it, to take a risk, to challenge myself and not be afraid.

I also realize now the power of one's peer group. Through good fortune, I was thrust into a new peer group, one with high expectations. Naturally, my formerly low expectations got ratcheted up. I wanted to belong, to be liked.

But I raised my expectations not just for my new friends, but for me too. I had set a new normal for myself. The thought of returning to my former expectations felt stifling, suffocating.

This is the power of the peer group. The group has its own (often unspoken) expectations. Going lower or higher than these expectations meets with disapproval.

So, if you want to raise your expectations, start hanging around people who are "out of your league." This doesn't mean abandon your old group of friends, it just means that you want to up your game. Maybe you can even take some of your friends with you!

Whatever your sport, find people who are better than you, and start riding with them, running with them, shooting hoops with them. You might get disapproving looks, you might even be laughed at. But if you've got some talent and determination, you'll soon be flying with another flock.

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Outside of bicycle racing, I've always been a very competitive multi-sport athlete, but I did not win my first race until I was forty-one and then did it again three more times when I was forty-two (and have managed to win at least 1 multi-sport race every year since). How-- By adapting my training as I got older. Sure, when I was an elite category 1 cyclist in college I could ride 6 to 7 times a week, amassing hundreds and hundreds of miles in the process. I could stay out all night long and live on a diet of burgers, beer and cheese (a staple for one from Wisconsin). As my twenties became thirty-something and then the forties, my ability to recover changed. Gone are the days of being able to race daily for a two week cycling stage race. It now takes me a day or two even to feel normal after a 10k running race. What adaptations does the older athlete need to make to stay competitive? 1. Listen to your body and understand the importance of REST! This will likely mean LESS high intensity workouts during the week, LESS racing and more recovery time. In my twenties recovery came easy and rest days, well those were for the weak minded. In my forties it is not uncommon for me to string together back to back recovery days. I am also now much more in tune with my body. I take my resting heart rate and check my body weight every morning, looking for the early warning signs of not being properly recovered (perhaps bordering on obsessive-compulsive behavior). I used to become overcome with guilt for skipping a training day (even when I was sick) and lived by the mantra that somewhere someone is training and when you meet them in competition, they will beat you. Being older and wiser, I no longer feel guilty for missing an occasional workout, and realize that some of my best performances have come after a period of forced rest. 2. Learn from your own body of knowledge . After over 30 years of endurance racing at nearly every level, I tend to think I know what works in my own training and what doesn’t. As a cyclist, I know that I respond best from longer, medium tempo rides than a ton of high intensity workouts. However, this approach does not work for me as a runner. I have found that I need a few more structured intensity workouts to help me find my form. This is where keeping a detailed training log you can refer back to is key (mine go back 20 yrs). Had a particularly good race last fall? What did your training look like leading up to it? Were you heavier or lighter? How many hours of sleep were you getting (or not getting)? 3. Get back into the gym . The gym used to be a place I would only visit on the off-season when weather prohibited you from comfortably training outside. Never would I venture into the confines of a gym during those warm summer months, not when I could be logging miles outside on the bike! But as one gets older, less flexible, your muscles shrink. If you want to stay competitive, strength training needs to become an integral part of your year-round fitness routine. Yes, you will spend less time strength training in the heart of the racing season, but it should not be ignored. Devise a routine that can be done without elaborate gym equipment such as sit-ups, planks, push-ups, wall squats, etc. All you need is 20-30 mins a few times a week during the racing season to keep you on top of your game. 4. Watch the diet. As endurance athletes we like to think we can eat what ever we want - just look at the diet of Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps. As a twenty-something, this might be true, but as we get older and the metabolism slows it becomes even more important to watch what you eat. A proper diet of lean meats, fruits, vegetables and the right mix of carbs to protein will not only speed up the recovery process, it can also elevate your own performance. 5. 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In Part One of this post, we learned how an athlete's belief system can influence their performance. We also began learning about self-talk. Remember the exercise in Part One? You chose an error from a recent athletic performance, and wrote down the first words that came to mind. Then you made a list of positive words of encouragement about the error, much like a coach giving a pep talk. By reviewing these positive words every night for a week, you began a process of conditioning your brain to focus on the positive. Creating the Connection Now imagine you are a basketball player who associates the word “terrible" with missing a shot. Without your awareness, this negative word unconsciously reinforces feelings of frustration. This is what you DON'T want! What you DO want is to condition yourself so that missing a shot doesn't get you down. You want to link words of encouragement to the mistake. "Keep moving" or "good effort" will keep your head in the game more than words like "terrible." Where and When to Practice You don't have time to practice self-talk while competing, and you don't want to be distracted trying to remember complex phrases during your event. That's why you need to practice self-talk outside of competition. Set aside specific practice times to work on it. You want to condition yourself enough so that when you are competing, you automatically have a positive attitude. Finding Your Mantra Let's take the example of basketball again. Why is it that some players, even in the NBA, can't make a free throw? Remember Shaquille O'Neal? Shaq on the Line If you want to harness the power of self-talk, the free throw is a great example of an activity to practice. For golf, maybe it's putting. For endurance sports like cycling, maybe it's hill climbing. Whatever your sport, choose something you want to improve. For now though, pretend you are practicing a free throw. Choose a word - just one word - that encapsulates the mental state you want to be in. You are now honing your self-talk down to what we call a mantra. A mantra is three words maximum, preferably one. It is a "command" designed to focus you. Picture yourself about to shoot your free throw. You might choose a mantra like "smooth" or "focus," whatever works for you. Then breathe, say your mantra, and shoot the ball. You don't have to say your mantra out loud, just think it. Or visualize the word in your head. When you make the shot, repeat your mantra several more times. This will help link the mantra to positive expectations. If you missed the shot, choose a different mantra. Choose a simple word or two of encouragement, like "keep going" or "practice makes perfect." Repeat this mantra several times after missing a shot. Believe to Achieve As you can see, we're not working on shooting mechanics here. We're working on your responses to success or failure. You are training yourself to respond in an encouraging way to both events. Practice this enough, and come game time, you won't let a missed shot get you down. It's important that your self-talk is applied to a realistic situation. A long three-point shot that you can barely make is not a good place to practice self-talk. It will be a waste of time because you won't be getting the encouraging repetition of successful shots. My Self-Talk Discovery I wanted to share the story of how I discovered the power of self-talk. My sport is bicycle racing. Back when I was racing a lot, I used to get dropped on any significant hill. I became frustrated, and of course this had a downward spiral effect: the more nervous I was before a climb, the faster I got dropped by the other racers. One day after a race, my friend Matt Sarna, a very talented racer, pulled me aside and gave me some advice. Matt said to me: "you need to relax... really relax." "Before a climb, everyone's nervous," he continued. "You need to conserve your energy." What struck me most was what he said next: "Tell yourself something to calm you." During training that next week, I worked on calming myself before hills by repeating the word “relax.” I began to notice my climbing becoming more relaxed and focused. During my next race, as the first climb appeared, I noticed my anxiety rise. But because I had practiced Matt’s technique, I was able to shift fairly quickly into a relaxed state. My mantra, "relax," began to work: I was able to stay with the lead group of climbers much longer than normal. This result gave me confidence, and I began to really work on my climbing, and got better and better results in hilly races. For the Tool Belt Self-talk is just one tool you can use to improve your sport performance. Like any technique, it takes practice. You won't see results right away. But stick with it, and you should begin to see a positive change. Of course, when learning any new sport technique, it's best to consult with your coach before trying it on your own. My hope is that this article piques your interest about the power of your mind, and inspires you to learn more about sport psychology. Like this article? Feel free to share or leave a comment!
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