What Chess Taught Me About the Brain and the Body
On adjustment and the purple jacket at 10 degrees
I lost another game.
The day before that, I lost, and the day before that, I also lost.
I was fully in the grip of the Gambler’s fallacy and I was hoping for better outcomes, but they were not coming. My brain was giving up on me and I was giving up on it.
Searching for a clear answer didn’t seem effective because the question was wrong.
“Why can’t I win?”
I was not daring to ask:
“Why can’t I stop?”
“Stopping losing” starts with stopping
I was not a crazy professional player but I dedicated myself to training and studying the game, playing about 10 chess tournaments — and at least one European or World Youth Championship — every year.
On top of that, I was attending a demanding school with daily rigorous grading, weekly tests, and music school.
I was waking up at 6 to finish my homework, going to school at 8, getting home at 14 for lunch and 15 starting my chess class or playing a tournament. Getting home many times at 21 to do my 4-hour homework. Waking up at 6 to finish it and the cycle starts again…
I did this for about 10 years. Each year was different in challenges.
After those 10 years, I learned that my brain and body are key to who I am, but also sometimes unreliable advisors.
They were getting tired. I was getting tired.
So imagine how I was feeling when I was studying hard on my game, only to find myself losing day after day.
“Why?”
“What am I doing wrong?”
“Isn’t work hard, play hard the right way?”
And then I realized (not right away, I needed to get older for that)…
The brain and body cycle is unpredictable
You could be on a winning streak for days and suddenly you are in bed with a fever for two weeks. You think you did everything right and you cannot find a reason for this change.
There is only one thing you can do when this happens.
It’s to take note of it and adjust.
I have come to the conclusion that you can’t manage your brain in a certain way, but what you can do is create the conditions that are ideal, where you have found in the past it tends to flourish, and you create those conditions and you follow the kind of habits that work well.
— Vishy Anand (World Chess Champion)
I took note. I gave up on chess at least twice in my life. I took a break and came back to it. When I did, my performance increased. Did the break help? I don’t know. Correlation does not mean causation.
The point is — I stopped. And I felt better. The results do not matter as much as how you feel about yourself. So I learned that after every tournament I would let myself sleep 10–12 hours and do the bare minimum. Now, my life tournaments are my work, my family, my struggles. I take a break from them as well.
A boring game
Summers were always busy. While my friends were at a summer camp, I was at another chess tournament in Bulgaria. The beach was close, but I was in physical pain. I took some painkillers that day but I did not get any better.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to take a break; in chess, if you don’t show up for the game, you lose.
I decided to keep my strategy simple. My strategy was to keep things boring during the game.
Boring means not:
- trying something new on the board
- complicating things on the board
- focusing on winning
Boring means:
- playing the old thing
- simplifying
- focusing on playing
I was trying to avoid falling into overly complex situations that required too much calculation. I kept the game boring and familiar. My chances of winning were low, however my chances were already low considering the state of my brain and body.
This is the way you work with your brain. It tells you — “Not today buddy”, you take note and say — “Alright, got it. We’ll keep it simple.”
The wrong thing would be to ignore it and act like it’s another good day in your life. Of course, I also had plenty of experience in this area. And that started with the purple jacket.
The purple jacket at 10 degrees
It was August, a time of the year when in most of Europe you’ve got sun and it’s warm. But not in Norway, and not in the northernmost part. There, the temperature was 10 degrees! Rainy and windy 10 degrees.
What was I doing there at the end of summer?
I happened to qualify for the national team and the Chess Olympiad was in a not-summer mood. I was taken aback. I got sandals, some sneakers and my super thin purple jacket. In my defence, I was 17 years old at that time. Some days later I surprisingly got sick.
I was still in the midst of my casually painful period, with a throat ache and fever in August at a chess tournament that happens only once in two years.
My coach approached me and seriously recommended that I not play, to rest and stay in bed (at Chess Olympiads, you get a reserve who can play instead of you if you need a break).
But hey hey, I did not listen.
I disagreed and decided to play against an opponent with more experience, 300 points more than me, and who was not sick. I did not listen to what my brain and body were telling me. I thought I could circumvent that state by being confident in myself (one of those tricks you would read in a self-help book).
Confidently, I took my thin purple jacket that was not warm enough for the Norwegian 10 degrees in August, drizzling through the cold wind, went to the game, sat down, pressed on the clock, started the game and confidently lost in less than 1 hour.
Not only did I lose, but I hurt the team’s points, confidently lost my confidence, and got even more sick, with half of the tournament still in front of me.
In summary:
- I took too much unnecessary risk.
- That led to more risk (lack of second-order thinking from myself).
- I lost my confidence.
This leads me to my last point.
Do not “always” trust your brain
The brain has its own schedule. You may believe you’re always in control, but it can betray you.
There were days when I stared at the chessboard, unable to spot any good moves. My brain felt tired, despite having just returned from a vacation, and I couldn’t find a clear reason for it.
Here I am, facing an inherently logical game after a supposedly logical vacation, yet finding myself making illogical moves. How can this be logical?
Most of the time, you won’t find an answer. You just have to accept reality.
In the end, after more than 10 years, I gave up on chess. I am focusing on other things in my life.
There is a limit to how many things you can do.
There is a limit to how many things your brain can think of.
There is a limit to how many things your body can take charge of.
I’ve had my share of lessons and I am grateful for my chess experience for that.
Thank you for reading!
I am Olga, a Data Analyst and former chess player. Follow me here on Medium for more stories on how to make better decisions in life.
