When the power of athletic superstitions is as real as the game itself

Forty-five minutes before he steps onto the court, Rafael Nadal must take a frigid shower. "It’s the point before the point of no return," he says. “Under the cold shower, I enter a new space in which I feel my power and resilience grow."

He places his water bottles in front of the chair to his left on the sidelines, neatly in front of each other with the labels facing the same way, diagonally aimed at the court. He won’t step on any of the straight white lines that frame the doubles alley, nor anywhere else on the court. Before serving, he tugs at his shirt, brushes his hair back and wipes his face. Only then can he thwack the ball toward his opponent. 

For Nadal – the Spanish tennis player, 22-time Grand Slam champion and current Olympian at the Paris Games – these practices are synonymous with other, more conventionally anticipated aspects of elite performance, such as proper hydration, sleep, and strategic training. 

"Some call it superstition, but it is not," Nadal wrote in his 2011 autobiography, “Rafa.” "If it was superstition, why would I keep doing the same thing over and over, whether I win or lose? It is a way of placing myself in a match, of ordering my environment to match the order I am looking for in my head."

For those outside the athletic community, it may seem hokey and illusory. After all, an icy shower does not an Olympic champion make. But for many athletes, the sense of mental security engendered by these superstitions is as real as the game itself. 

It’s a sentiment I understand well. As a longtime competitive runner, I’ve assembled my own menagerie of talismanic objects and superstitious routines over the years, all of which I felt were directly correlated with my success and speed. And unlike black cats or opening an umbrella indoors, these superstitions are rooted in the reality of performance.  

I wore the same crew socks for every race, a practice I know I share with at least three friends from collegiate running days. They were emblazoned with shamrocks on the inner and outer ankles – the fabric of the left sock was singed from a time my mom over-ironed them while trying to quickly dry them for me before a morning cross country race. Several weeks later, the day before a showcase meet in Rhode Island, I realized I’d forgotten my lucky socks at home. My parents, who were arriving the morning of race day, got to quick thinking. Ever wily and ever aware of the mental stronghold that my shredded shamrock socks had over me, they managed to secure an identical pair, even burning a hole into the side of the left one for good measure. “We found them!” my mom said smiling as she met me at my team’s tent, where I was furiously rolling my legs and meditating. As I slid the socks over my bare feet, cold and white in the brisk November air, I immediately knew they weren’t my lucky ones, which were far more threadbare than these plush imposters. 

I understand how ridiculous this may sound. It’s only one example of many in which I found myself beholden to a set of superstitious rules born out of my own mental concoctions. When I ran my personal record at a notoriously difficult course, I modeled my future races off everything I had done leading up to that one. I wore the same sports bra, drank a 32-ounce lemon-lime Gatorade and ate a sleeve of gummy chews. Even now, far removed from the days of high school and Division I running, I still wear the same gray, checker-patterned sports bra anytime I approach the starting line. 

"I would say that most athletes have very strong superstitions," four-time Grand Slam champion Naomi Osaka said, per the Games’ official website. "It could be one thing, it could be two things. For me, it's definitely the lines and the logo. Also, I need my water bottles to be completely straight. I'm not sure why that is.”

Italian high jumper Gianmarco Tamberi made headlines in Paris late last month when he shared a heartfelt tribute to his wife after losing his wedding ring in the Seine River during the Games’ opening ceremony. But what Tamberi is best known for — aside from his position as the reigning Olympic, world and European champion — is his visually striking facial hair. The athlete opts to compete in qualifying rounds with a full set of whiskers before shaving them into a half-beard for the finals. 

American high jumper Vashti Cunningham readies herself by channeling the energy of a katana-wielding killer and Jesus all in one. "The night before the competition, I watch ‘Kill Bill’ and then the pre-competition is just me and my dad doing a Bible study before I go out and get ready for warm-up and jump," Cunningham told PEOPLE in 2021 during the Tokyo Olympics. 

And it would be hard to forget the image of American swimmer and decorated Olympian Michael Phelps reaching his impressive wingspan around his body and slapping his back three times before diving into the pool. I used to do something similar while waiting for a relay handoff, jumping three times in quick succession to jolt my legs with energy. 

It’s somewhat tricky to elucidate the “why” behind athletes’ fixation on superstitions, given that the method and madness are both subjective. In some ways, it mirrors the influential belief systems that underpin religiosity. It’s hardly a surprise that so many athletes are hyper-devout — attributing one’s talent to something (or someone) is often easier than assigning it to the individual.

Some experts have surmised that it has less to do with a set of imagined beliefs or practices and more with the sense of routine that is innately bound up in Olympic-level sports — mental fortitude and fastidious training both require diligence and consistency. After all, athletes by nature are creatures of habit.

“I think of things less in terms of superstition and more in terms of a routine,” the Director of the University of Kentucky’s Sport and Exercise Psychology department, Dr. Marc Cormier told KYTV. “So like, what is it that you need to do to make sure that you can dictate the behaviors that happen before a performance?”

For me, it’s always been about control. I’ve historically dealt with anxiety by harnessing it into an actionable activity, quelling my concerns by doing something that I can manage. It’s part of why I was once plagued with skin-excoriation problems, creating lesions on my face from “pimples” that were barely there anytime I felt a surge of stress. Picking was a control-seeking mechanism that brought me relief and a surge of serotonin. In elite athletics, ritual and superstition function the same way, soothing nerves and bringing a sense of familiarity, comfort, and confidence to an otherwise high-stakes situation.

Therein, though, lies the drawback of hinging one’s ability to succeed on objects and practices. 

“Superstition is more of a belief system that if a certain set of events happen and those events don’t necessarily have anything to do with the person, and that can become problematic because as much as possible you want athletes to kind of take control over what they’re doing,” Cormier adds.

When the superstition is tethered to something concrete and external, losing control of it invites a decided amount of chaos. If a special pair of swim goggles goes missing, or the grocery store only carries the blue raspberry version of a sports drink when they need fruit punch, it can send an athlete spinning. Imperiled by their own mind, they are at risk of forgetting all the training they’ve done — which would hold up with or without these items — and focusing on the wrong thing.

"I have too many superstitious rituals, and it's annoying. It's like I have to do it and if I don't then I'll lose,” four-time Olympic medalist Serena Williams previously told “The Evening Standard,” per PEOPLE. "And I'm not losing because I didn't play well, I lost because I didn't tie my shoe the right way and it's totally ridiculous because I have to use the same shower, I have to use the same sandals, I have to travel with the same bags."

So why do we still engage with our ritualistic quirks? Simply put, because they work. The power of a psychological placebo effect, especially as it relates to sports — and on a global stage like the Olympics — cannot be underestimated. Just look to Suni Lee, a member of Team USA’s women’s gymnastics team who struck gold in Paris during the team competition before earning a bronze medal in the individual all-around. Her checklist of pre-competition items includes taking a nap, doing her own makeup and only affording one try to the person who braids her hair. “I always say it will dictate how my meet goes!” she told Forbes last month.

Suffice to say, Lee was right.