The Motivational Perks of Cultivating an Underdog Mindset

Source: Orla/Shutterstock

Imagination may play a much more significant role in how the brain performs context-dependent valuations related to goal-directed behavior than previously believed, according to a study (Castegnetti, Zurita, & De Martino, 2021) published on April 7 in Science Advances.

The University College London researchers investigated how individual perceptions of usefulness "shape neural representations during goal-directed behavior" and how even an imagined change in perceptions of usefulness can trigger a "reorganization of the neural representation of value, enabling flexible behavior."

Their fMRI-based experiments suggest that using creative thinking to imagine that something of little value in most real-world contexts has significant value can instantly shift how the brain perceives its usefulness in an imaginary context.

Along this same line, using your imagination to pretend that seemingly useless goal-directed behaviors have more usefulness than generally assumed may also hack brain areas in the prefrontal cortex that make value determinations on the worthwhileness of pursuing goal-directed behaviors.

In a previous post, "Need Motivation to Achieve a Goal? Imagine Its Usefulness," I reported on the study mentioned above. This follow-up post filters Castegnetti et al.'s latest neuroscience-based research through my life experience as an ultraendurance athlete.

Christopher Bergland running through Death Valley.

Source: Kiehl's, used with permission

Cultivating an Underdog Mindset Can Make Small Wins a Big Deal

During my decades of extreme endurance training and competing in races like the 135-mile Badwater ultramarathon through Death Valley in July, thrice winning the Triple Ironman (7.2-mile swim, 336-mile bike, 78.6-mile run) done nonstop, and breaking a Guinness World Record by running six marathons in 24 hours, I learned a few things about goal-directed behavior.

The most important lesson I learned about sustaining my motivation to keep going when a little voice in my head whispered, "this is pointless" or "who cares about this stupid race" was the importance of using my imagination to reframe uninspiring or ho-hum situations in a way that gave me a sense of purpose beyond the task at hand.

As an openly gay athlete competing internationally on the Ironman circuit at a time in the 1990s when most professional athletes stayed in the closet, my innate underdog mindset stemmed from feeling marginalized. As a fledgling athlete, I felt the need to break gay stereotypes and show the world (and my high school dean in particular) that I wasn't a sissy. (See "I Never Needed to Be a Macho Man, but Don't Call Me Sissy.")

Nothing puts a fire in my belly more than the desire to prove naysayers wrong. Because of this, self-identifying as an underdog works like motivational rocket fuel for me. Regardless of how much success I've previously had, my mental toughness is fortified by viewing myself as a scrappy "comeback kid."

As a triathlete, maintaining my day-to-day motivation and determination to run, bike, and swim grueling distances (which could quickly feel like a daily grind) involved using my imagination to create scenarios in which I was the dark horse that nobody expected to succeed.

Within the arc of these romanticized storylines, my alter-ego is always the longshot outsider. The usefulness of feeling like an underdog is tied to framing any uphill battle or daily struggle in a way that makes "reaching the mountaintop" (even if it's just a molehill) seem more valuable and rewarding than if success is guaranteed.

"Starting from Zero, Got Nothing to Lose."

Day in and day out, I pushed against my psychological and physical limits while training for ultraendurance competitions. In the process, I curated a perseverant alter-ego who was constantly struggling to prevail against all odds and romanticized the blood, sweat, and tears that went into overcoming daily adversity using music and art.

In terms of sustaining goal-directed behavior as an athlete, using my imagination to romanticize the daily struggle made my monotonous and mundane daily routine seem more like an epic adventure à la Homer's Odyssey or a romanticism-era painting.

"The Storm on the Sea of Galilee" by Rembrandt

Source: Rembrandt painting/public domain

Coincidentally, the March 1990 art theft from Isabella Gardner's Museum occurred near the beginning of my athletic career. My father, who worked a few blocks from this museum, was a frequent visitor to its courtyard; he was profoundly upset when Rembrandt's "Storm on the Sea of Galilee" was stolen. For Christmas that year, he gave me a knockoff reproduction of this oil-on-canvas masterpiece that I thumbtacked into my bedroom wall.

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In unexpected ways, regularly putting myself in the shoes of the people in that Sea of Galilee boat played a role in shaping what Susan Krauss Whitbourne might describe as "the myths you hold about your personality" that become the lifeblood of your "life story" narrative (Whitbourne, 1985).

From a realist's perspective, I know that an athlete pretending to be on a quest for the holy grail when he's just trying to win a chintzy trophy is absurd. Nonetheless, this kind of magical thinking helped me transform the mind-numbing boringness of two-hour swims in the windowless basement of some gym or 100-mile bike rides around a five-mile loop in Central Park seem like part of something bigger that had usefulness in terms of sustaining my goal-directed behavior.

In my imagination, I wasn't just doing laps in a 25-yard pool or around a city park; I was facing tempests and typhoons on the Sea of Galilee or biking through a concrete "Jungleland." Bruce Springsteen songs from the '70s like "The Promised Land," "Racing in the Streets," and, of course, "Born to Run" played a pivotal role in formulating these imaginary narratives.

"Well, there's a dark cloud rising from the desert floor. I've packed my bags and I'm heading straight into the storm. Gonna be a twister to blow everything down that ain't got the faith to stand its ground. Blow away the dreams that tear you apart, blow away the dreams that break your heart, blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and brokenhearted." —Bruce Springsteen, "The Promised Land"

As another example of cultivating a comeback kid, underdog persona, I'd never envision myself as the braggadocious protagonist of the song "New York, New York" who is "A-number-one, King of the hill." Instead, I'd rather glom onto the mindset of the "little old ant" or the "ram who keeps buttin' that dam" in Frank Sinatra's underdog anthem "High Hopes."

The checkout clerk in "Fast Car" was also a role model for cultivating my underdog mindset. In this 1988 Tracy Chapman song, the protagonist lives in a small town and works at a convenience store. She manages to save up some money and aches to break free. "Starting from zero, got nothing to lose" is her mantra. When the only way is up, it's less scary to take risks.

In closing, cultivating an underdog mindset works for me because it takes the pressure off and makes small victories seem more useful in the larger scheme of my "mythological" life story. But I realize that constructing these myths and "life story" narratives isn't a one-size-fits-all prescriptive.

Surely, not everyone will find usefulness in imagining that their life story narrative involves being the "comeback kid" eight days a week. That said, give it a shot. Who knows? Maybe cultivating an underdog mindset will be like motivational rocket fuel for you, too.