Canoe Slalom is a strange sport. At first glance, it looks like a technical, physical, even artistic discipline. But anyone who practices it or coaches it for long enough eventually discovers that, in reality, it is a continuous exercise in decision-making under uncertainty.
Every run forces us to choose: one line or another, a more direct execution or a more conservative one, an aggressive line on the water or a more stable interpretation. To make matters worse, these decisions are not made under ideal conditions, but under pressure, with incomplete information, and with consequences that are sometimes wildly disproportionate to the mistake made.
This is where philosophy—and our everyday working philosophy—becomes a practical tool. I want to lay out what I believe are the core ideas required for a sound decision-making philosophy. Here they are, my friend:
My friend, remember 1: error is not the exception, it is the rule
One of the great self-deceptions in high-level sport—and slalom is no exception—is to think that error is something exceptional, something that happens only when “something has gone wrong.” Reality is exactly the opposite: error is structural. It is built into the system. I repeat: error is structural.
The water changes, the body does not always respond the same way, attention fluctuates… trying to design tactics based on perfect execution is building on sand. The problem is not making mistakes; the problem is what happens when the mistake appears.
My friend, remember 2: risk is not the same as ruin
This is where the distinction proposed by Nassim Nicholas Taleb in his reflections on risk becomes especially useful. Not all risk is negative. In fact, without risk there is no progress, no learning, no performance.
But Taleb introduces a key concept: ruin. Ruin is not losing a bit of time, nor making a small mistake, nor dropping a couple of places in the rankings. Ruin is being taken out of the game altogether: a major penalty, a total loss of the line…
In slalom, we constantly live with small, manageable risks. The problem arises when we treat as “acceptable” a risk that, with a single bad execution, can lead to ruin. And we often justify it with a dangerous phrase: “it’s unlikely to happen.”
My friend, remember 3: the unlikely also happens
One of Taleb’s most uncomfortable—and most useful—ideas is that a small probability is not the same as a zero probability. In sport, as in life, rare events not only exist; they are often the ones with the greatest impact.
In slalom, the mistake comes sooner or later: a stroke where it shouldn’t be, a poorly balanced body… Designing a strategy as if those events did not exist is a refined form of self-deception.
After all, who hasn’t made a mistake that wiped out all their chances in a section of the course that, on paper, had no difficulty whatsoever? Why was that section conceived as a zero-risk area?
The right question is not only “how likely is it?”, but “what happens if it does?”
My friend, remember 4: the illusion of the perfect line
There is an almost aesthetic fascination with the perfect line: the most direct, the fastest, the one that only works if everything clicks. But from a philosophical—and deeply practical—perspective, that line is usually fragile.
A fragile line only works under ideal conditions. A robust line, on the other hand, may not be the most spectacular, but it tolerates error, allows corrections, and makes survival possible when the unexpected appears.
Interestingly, when full runs, major championships, or high-level processes are analysed, the best results rarely come from heroic decisions. They come from decisions that are good enough, repeated consistently. Write that last sentence down, my friend.
My friend, remember 5: decide before deciding
One of the most important lessons to internalise as early as possible is this: the important decisions are not made on the course. They are made long before.
An athlete’s risk policy (and even a team’s, as part of its style guide) must be predefined, internalised, almost automated. Not as a rigid list of rules, but as a way of being in the competitive world. When the moment of execution arrives, there is no time to debate with oneself.
In that sense, philosophy is not there to make us think more, but to help us think less when thinking becomes a problem.
My friend, remember 6: antifragility on the water
Taleb uses the term antifragile to describe that which not only resists stress and disorder, but learns and improves because of them. Applied to slalom, an antifragile system is not one that avoids all mistakes, but one that does not collapse when a mistake appears.
An antifragile tactic:
- Reduces exposure to irreversible errors
- Tolerates variations in the athlete’s state
- Does not depend on extremely precise external conditions
- Prioritises staying in the game over “doing the perfect run”
It does not guarantee victory, but it maximises the probability of being where it matters, when it matters.
Conclusion for the athlete
One idea that is particularly hard to accept is this: in slalom, as in life, the winner is not always the bravest or the most brilliant, but the one who best manages their vulnerability.
Designing decisions that survive error is not a renunciation of ambition. It is a deeper—and more mature—way of competing.
Conclusion for coaches
Daily training is the context in which the foundations of a competition decision-making philosophy are built, and accompanying the athlete in this process is one of the coach’s most important missions.
Keep going.
