When I was 10, I sat in the bathroom and sobbed at the realisation I was never going to be an Olympic gymnast.

This was super silly. It was never, ever on the cards for me.

I was a moderately talented, if not very hardworking, competitor who often took gold in floor and beam – the “pretty” events, which often relied on technique and mental steadiness over power or the perfect body.

But limbs full of slow twitch muscles meant I would perform my Sukahara vault with my hands on my head, slowly rotating through the air to narrowly miss landing on my face…

I may have won an all-round competition or two. But Olympic material, I was not!

So, why, at such an inconsequential level of competition, did some coaches think my teammates and I were worth belittling, denigrating, and pushing onto harmful diets, all in the name of “helping” us improve?

And likewise, why do we allow similar harmful behaviours to penetrate workplaces in the name of “performance”, when we know it’s only a fast track to burnout and staff turnover?

The short-termism of fear-based motivation

This past week, the gymnastics world has been reeling from the death of Béla Károlyi.

Károlyi was a polarising figure, who undeniably helped to put U.S. women’s gymnastics on the map alongside his wife Marta, producing Olympic champion after Olympic champion.

But we now know they did so at enormous cost to the physical and mental health of thousands of young athletes in their care.

This year’s Paris 2024 Olympics were the second Olympics since 1999 that the gymnasts were not competing under the watchful glare of the pair.

In Tokyo 2021, the US team appeared to still be reeling from decades of verbal, physical, and even sexual abuse uncovered just a few years prior.

But this year, it was impossible to miss the glowing smile of the most decorated gymnast in the history of the sport, Simone Biles, as she finally stepped out onto the mat free of abuse entirely.

According to Biles and many of her peers, fear was the primary motivator of the US national team for decades before these Olympics.

And maybe it worked, for a short while.

Fear-based leadership taps into a primal instinct for self-preservation that can drive one-time or short-term behaviour changes. But the longer-term net effects are undoubtedly negative.

Take for instance the 1996 Olympics: US gymnast Kerri Strug stands at the end of the vault strip begging not to perform on an ankle with a third-degree sprain. Károlyi warns: “You better do it”.

That warning – nay, threat – was not made in isolation. It followed a decade of coaching techniques that can only be described as coercive control; something now legally recognised as abuse.

The US team won the gold. But Strug could no longer walk, and was forced to forgo her true dream of competing in the all-round finals.

She quit gymnastics immediately following.

And as it turns out, the team would have won without that vault anyway.

Obvious ethical issues aside, Strug’s story shows there is nothing sustainable about a fear-based or toxic approach to performance.

When motivation comes from a desire to avoid negative consequences, it’s not real motivation, and it’s certainly not lasting.

Eventually, either the fear will abate, removing the motivation, or the constant state of “fight or flight” will lead to burnout.

Multiple studies show that fear-based workplaces have higher occurrences of burnout, as well as aversion to risk-taking, fake loyalty, blame culture, mediocre performance and unrealised potential. Ultimately, they also tend to see an exodus of the people they’ve invested in.

But the opposite can also be true.

The case for longevity

The triumphs of the US Women’s team at the Paris Olympics had me squealing with jubilation, and my three-year-old giggling at mummy’s sheer delight.

I realised a large part of my joy came from knowing that finally the team had been emancipated from the prior ongoing and systematic abuse.

And the medals were raining from the sky.

Biles appeared healthy and happy as she led the squad to team gold, and pocketed multiple individual medals. At the end of the day, the team took home seven golds, a silver, and four bronze medals.

And it wasn’t just the metal that was sparkling – these women were positively glowing, too.

The camaraderie and joy was palpable. There was not a fearful face in sight. They’ve come up with a hilarious team name – F Around And Find Out – and are telling social media haters exactly where they can stick their armchair commentary.

They are still training harder than you or I could probably even comprehend. But they are also adequately rested and accessing mental and physical support when it’s needed.

Strug once said: “A gymnast’s career is pretty short. Most of them will peak at 15 or 16”.

But this empowered, healthy approach has opened the door for something entirely new in the sport: longevity.

Biles is the oldest Olympic gymnast to win the all-round event since 1952. She is the first to do so at two non-consecutive Olympics, and is the fourth-ever American woman to make three Olympic gymnastics teams.

The entire US team bar one new member, Hezley Rivera, has also returned from last year’s Olympics – an almost unheard-of scenario.

Biles likely would not have attended these Olympics under the former conditions. In fact, in her own words, after Tokyo she probably wouldn’t have returned to gymnastics at all.

A different set of possibilities

My first taste of corporate life was at Bain & Company, during my student years.

This company had an unapologetically collaborative work culture, and a zero-tolerance policy for competitive or toxic behaviour, including from its highest-performing employees.

I am forever grateful this was my first glimpse of a successful organisation: one full of talented and intelligent, but also kind humans.

Because abuse, toxicity, and ruthlessness are not prerequisites for achievement. This applies whether in a sporting arena or a professional one.

Rather, businesses turning a blind eye to this behaviour are actually harming both their people and their bottom line.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to my childhood and my gymnastics training, knowing what I know now.

Maybe I would never have had to take time off to rehabilitate from anorexia and bulimia in hospital? Maybe I would never have used the sport I loved as a weapon against my weary body; instead leaning into the lactic acid and incredible physical challenge as a source of empowerment and strength.

Because for some people, performing out of fear may yield results in the short term. But those people will never, ever thrive long-term in that environment.

Those performing out of internal positive motivation, on the other hand?

Well, the sky – or the podium – is the limit for them.