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How Science Turned a Struggling Pro Skier Into an Olympic Medal Contender

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Steven Nyman is poised at the starting gate, alert, coiled, ready. A signal sounds: three even tones followed by a single, more urgent pitch, sending Nyman kicking onto the Val Gardena downhill ski course. He pushes five times with his poles, accelerating as quickly as possible, stabbing the snow frantically. He skates forward with abbreviated strokes, neon green boots moving up and down, his focus on building as much momentum as possible. Nyman is feeling good. It was a clean start, and his confidence is rising. He turned in the ninth best practice-run time. In the world of downhill racing, Nyman, 30, is a grizzled journeyman, a fixture on the World Cup circuit who for most of his year professional career has been stuck solidly in the middle of the pack. In the wake of a season-ending Achilles tear in , Nyman embarked on a new training regimen. From wind tunnels to GPS, he has applied physics, fluid dynamics, psychology, nutrition science, and materials science to optimize his preparation and fitness. Nyman has embraced this regimen with the fervor of a new convert. The early results were promising — stunning, even, considering his mediocre performance throughout the previous decade — and raised an intriguing question: Could science make someone like Steven Nyman a legitimate contender for an Olympic gold medal? Hours in a Wind Tunnel Around four seconds into the run, Nyman goes into his tuck—knees bent at degree angles, back parallel to the ground, hands forward, head up. He holds the tuck through the first straightaway as he speeds past orange juice ad banners lining the start area. The fog that hampered earlier racers has lifted, and he can make out some variations in the all-white terrain, his legs pistoning like shock absorbers over bumps and dips, keeping his body as still as possible. He rounds the first corner, untucking just enough to keep his balance over a small drop-off. The upper section of most downhill runs is a balancing act between self-propulsion and aerodynamic efficiency: To accelerate fastest, you need to skate and pole, but these very actions present a wide profile to the oncoming wind, increasing drag and keeping you from reaching top speed. But then you have to rely solely on gravitational physics, because breaking form to push forward would jeopardize the aerodynamic gains. The key is knowing precisely when to make the switch. But unlike many other athletic maneuvers, perfected through thousands of attempts against fluid, ever-changing opponents, Nyman developed his tuck with data, the mathematical truths of aerodynamic physics. It was forged in a wind tunnel. Here, large wall fans and creative architecture funnel air through a small opening; when standing in just the right spot, you feel winds up to miles per hour. A monitor at your feet spits out real-time data, quantifying the aerodynamic drag and localizing its sources on your body. For Nyman, the wind tunnel data has unearthed a new world of hidden milliseconds and given him a sixth sense for shaving time from a ski run. But when the wind hit 80 miles per hour, the suit just started flapping, and the drag skyrocketed. With enough strength, body control, and concentration you can learn how to be a statue in a hurricane. Nyman has visited any wind tunnel that would grant him time, from San Diego to Buffalo to Ogden, Utah. Each facility has its own strengths—one simulates crosswinds best, another has a higher maximum wind speed—helping Nyman to hone his tuck to a state of sculpture-like precision. Most of the other skiers on the team who use the tunnels will tweak their position to get the lowest drag score—the stance with the least wind resistance—treating the experience like a video game. Many of his teammates see the exercise as a chore, but Nyman loves it and has taken it upon himself to understand the underlying physics. He spends more time in the wind tunnels than anyone else. It turns out that standing still is a skill that is highly amenable to training. Then there are the subtler lessons. For example, the wind tunnel sessions helped Nyman discover that keeping his hands forward and his elbows together consistently reduces drag. Steven Nyman on the Val Gardena downhill course in His larger mass results in more momentum, which helps him overcome the forces of friction and drag better than a lighter skier. Blood Work at a. The trick is to clear a series of three jumps all at once and avoid one of the most dangerous parts of the course. He strains to keep his skis aloft just a little longer. He catches a glimpse below as he passes over the landing tracks of previous racers. When he lands, Nyman is 53 seconds through his run and 0. The aerodynamic properties of ski suits. Flanagan — the coach from Australia, has boundless belief that science and tech can produce results. It was an embarrassment. The experiment worked, and at the Sydney games, Australia won 58 medals. By , Flanagan was ready for a change. Under his data-driven reign, everything is tracked, quantified, and run through statistical regression analyses in the pursuit of an optimized, personalized training regimen. The top brass at the USSA believe this science-based program gives them a world-beating competitive edge, and they may be right: American skiers were mired in mediocrity for most of the last few decades, with the occasional flash in the pan. But over the past several years, the stars and stripes have become a fixture on World Cup and Olympic podiums. Winning the Head Game At Now his skis are pushing against nothing but air, unbalanced and flailing. For a fraction of a second, the possibility of a crash pushes into his mind: In a flash he imagines slamming onto the ice, crashing sidelong into the red safety netting, torqueing his limbs into ragdoll disarray, trailing plumes of snow like a downed jet. This time, Nyman avoided disaster, but he has experienced his share of debilitating wipeouts during his 11 years as a pro racer. He has been periodically hobbled by back and knee injuries; in a November crash, he ruptured his left Achilles tendon and was sidelined for the entire season. With races hanging on fractions of a second and a scoring system that disproportionately favors the top finishers, the smart play in World Cup skiing is to go for broke. But it can be difficult, sometimes impossible, to go all out with the memories of past crashes lurking in your mind. You become intensely aware of exactly what could happen if you crash; wanting to avoid those devastating consequences, you slow down just a hair, well-founded fear trumping the craving to win. Nyman tries to regain balance and avoid a crash. Learning how to tamp down these fears is as crucial to success as perfecting the tuck position. Relaxed and avuncular, Keller explains that he emphasizes a relatively new approach known as positive psychology. It focuses less on the treating mental problems or weaknesses and more on the study and promotion of what makes us better, more efficient. The profusion of pop psych happiness how-to manuals The Happiness Project, The Happiness Advantage, The Happiness Trap , to name just a few underlines this shift in perspective across the field. Not everyone is able to come back from a traumatic injury with the same competitive spirit. On his own road to recovery, Nyman used visualization techniques, steeling himself against the moments of panic that would come with unexpected developments on the course. Eyes closed, hands gently clutching imaginary poles, torso rotating ever so slightly, he imagines the twists and turns of the course, playing out different scenarios. Once the fear of injury that was holding a skier back from all-out effort has been addressed, it frees him up to apply tremendous mental focus to the handful of things that will optimize his runs. In the past, Nyman chased new ideas, grasping for something that would stick: new ski designs, different cardio training approaches, regimented sleep patterns. It was the opposite of a clear, focused approach. With so many moving parts, it was impossible to see what was really working, and the mental burden was overwhelming. A session with his psychologist crystallized the problem for Nyman: 'He said, 'I want you to listen to music, watch TV, and read a book all at the same time and tell me what happened in all three,' and it really clicked with me, made it all simpler. Coaching via Satellite Now 65 seconds into his Val Gardena run, Nyman is holding it together, and he feels a mounting elation. The Ciaslat—a contorted, bumpy segment of the course that bounces skiers into the air at unexpected trajectories—is behind him, now his biggest foe is friction. Crouching into a gentle left turn, he prepares for the last two sharp rights before the straightaway to the finish line. He goes directly at the first turn The final corner Nyman after crossing the finish line. Alessandro Trovati. Some competitors cover more distance but have a higher-speed route; others take a more direct line but at a slightly slower speed. These are very practical kinds of questions. Sometimes it turns out that a rounder line is actually faster than a straighter one. Flanagan, drawing on his engineering background, pioneered the development of smaller, more sensitive devices called inertial tracking sensors. Instead of staying in constant contact with GPS satellites, these little guys use gyroscopes and accelerometers to calculate movement. The next step is to add instant feedback, perhaps even a set-up that would warn a skier of an inefficient line in real time through a wireless earpiece. The Finish Line Over the last jump at 86 seconds, Nyman nearly loses control again, saving the run by raising his arms as a counterbalance to keep his skis parallel to the ground. Two seconds later, he crosses the finish line, turning to look expectantly at the monitors in the deceleration zone to see where he has placed. Nyman celebrates. During the medal ceremony a few hours later, Nyman tries not to smile, but not even his hours of psychological training can suppress the grin that breaks out on his face. Beaming on the podium, he holds his skis above his head and lets out a primal scream of joy. Nyman grasps the arms of the second- and third-place finishers, Rok Perko and Eric Guay of Canada, inviting them up to the top step on either side of him. He takes their hands and raises them up in triumph, holding the pose a touch longer than his vanquished competitors might have preferred. Save this story Save. Perathoner Steven Nyman is poised at the starting gate, alert, coiled, ready. Most Popular. By Boone Ashworth. By Matt Burgess. By Carlton Reid. By Matt Kamen. Topics olympics skiing Sports. Rob Reddick. 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