The Stoic Mindset

The Stoic Mindset Plot Summary

Introduction

Twelve years. I've trained twelve years for less than two minutes of speed skating. It's February 2010, and in two weeks the Olympic Games are starting in Vancouver. My Olympic Games. I've missed them not once, but twice—in 2002 and 2006. I'm twenty-nine years old, and this might just be my only shot at Olympic glory. In the two weeks leading up to this all-important race, all kinds of questions run through my head. What if I fail miserably? What if I've been training all these years for nothing? What if for the rest of my life I'll be forced to look back on this day with regret? These questions might sound familiar if you've ever put significant time and energy into something meaningful—a career, a relationship, a personal goal. They inevitably arise when taking on challenges, though they rarely help when performance matters most. It was during those tense weeks before the 2010 Olympics that I first encountered Stoic philosophy. Whether I have it to thank for my gold medal, I cannot say with certainty. But since then, I haven't stopped reading about and applying Stoic ideas. Developing a Stoic mindset has made me both more relaxed and more driven—a seemingly paradoxical combination that has served me well not just in athletics, but in business, parenting, and navigating life's inevitable ups and downs. Through these ancient yet timeless principles, I've discovered how to find peace amid chaos while maintaining the drive to pursue what truly matters.

Chapter 1: The Olympic Journey: Twelve Years for Two Minutes

Twelve years. I've trained twelve years for less than two minutes of speed skating. When I walk into the Olympic speed skating stadium in Vancouver in 2010, the stands fill with Dutch supporters. The royal family sits in the place of honor, and cameras capture every moment. The world is watching. I can see the tense look in my competitors' eyes and feel the nerves myself—these are the Olympic Games, unlike any other competition. I missed the Olympic 1500 meters twice in a row: in 2002, I lay exhausted at home on my couch due to overtraining, and in 2006, a major mistake during qualifiers cost me a ticket to the Games in Turin. In the weeks before this race, countless questions flashed through my mind: What if I fall? What if I come in 30th? Or worse, fourth? Was all this sacrifice worth it? These thoughts are natural but hardly helpful right before a performance. That's when I recalled what I had learned from the Stoics—particularly Epictetus, who taught that we can only control certain things in life. What my competitors do, what others think of me, whether the ice is good or bad—all that is beyond my control. I intentionally push the thought of winning gold from my mind. Instead, I shrink my world in my head and focus solely on what I can influence—the first few strides after the gun goes off. If I want a chance at winning, everything needs to be right from the start. The rest is noise. This becomes my entire world. Win or lose, no regrets, no complaints or excuses. A more powerful idea doesn't exist in my mind. I can perform to the best of my ability by not worrying about winning gold. And because I'm calm, I'm also precise. One minute, forty-five seconds and fifty-seven milliseconds later, I win gold. The Stoic mindset helped me channel my drive in those crucial moments, and it continues to make me calmer, more effective, and more successful in life beyond sports. Stoicism focuses on a power hidden within every person—not the external factors, but getting the best out of yourself and doing good by others. This ancient philosophy remains relevant because it touches on natural values deeply rooted in us as human beings. It teaches us that we can find peace in the present moment while still striving for excellence, a balance that serves us well in any endeavor.

Chapter 2: Embracing Adversity: When Setbacks Become Fuel

Just three months before the 2002 Olympic Games in Salt Lake City, something goes seriously wrong with my body. I'm sick and severely overtrained, similar to burnout in everyday life. While the Netherlands wins eight Olympic medals that year, I'm not there. On the couch at home, I can barely muster the courage to turn on the TV. Although it pains me, I watch as others achieve what I had dreamed of. I hear the commentators in the speed skating world saying it's the end of the road for Tuitert. As a young talent, you've only got a few years to make your breakthrough. My dream is falling apart because I worked too hard for it—a nightmare. If only I'd known then about Stoicism, a philosophy that never would have existed without adversity. It began with Zeno of Citium, a wealthy merchant who lost nearly all his possessions in a shipwreck near Athens around 300 BC. Instead of giving up, he turned this catastrophe into an opportunity, saying: "Now that I've suffered shipwreck, I'm on a good journey." He went on to found the Stoic school of philosophy. Similarly, Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius used the setbacks he faced—including the deaths of nine of his fourteen children and betrayal by his most valued general—as fuel for personal growth. In one of his texts, he wrote: "This is not bad luck, but rather it is my good luck that, although this has happened to me, I can bear it without pain." While my teammates dazzled at the Olympic Games and others speculated about the end of my career, I tried to make sense of what happened. My curious nature helped me dive into books about training theory, psychology, and philosophy. I discovered many athletes had made the same mistakes I had—pushing too hard and ignoring warning signs. I read biographies of athletes who had to go through deep lows before winning competitions, as well as entrepreneurs who fell flat before scrambling back up. These stories gave me hope and taught me that there's no nicely paved highway to the top. Eventually, I recovered and learned to picture potential setbacks in detail so I would never be shaken up, no matter how challenging the situation. I discovered that I have the adaptive capability to grow both physically and mentally through adversity. Don't get me wrong—I still get disappointed by setbacks, and if I had the choice, I'd do without them. But if you want to raise the bar and learn, you need to take risks. And when you chase your dreams, there will inevitably come a time when things don't go your way. A setback is a signpost, not a stop sign. Through this perspective, what once seemed like my greatest failure became the foundation for my later success.

Chapter 3: The Power of Judgment: Emotions and Perception

As a child, you don't expect your parents to divorce. Yet around 1999, just as I was making my breakthrough in speed skating, it happened to mine. Sadness, love, incomprehension, and pain created a crazy cocktail of emotions between my mom and dad. I particularly butted heads with my father, taking my mother's side and eventually breaking all contact with him. It was a severe decision, but at that moment it felt like the only right one. I didn't want to be at the mercy of emotions that constantly got out of hand. It's a common misconception that Stoics strive to ignore their emotions. Emotions are part of human nature—we can't switch them off. According to the Stoics, emotions are the result of our judgments about events. An emotion is fundamentally neither good nor bad; it's a reflection of your judgment and thoughts about a situation. Stoics try not to act on immediate emotion. Instead, they endeavor to understand the thinking behind their emotions to make better decisions. They ask: "I'm furious, that's a fact, but why is that?" This self-reflection is one of our great attributes as human beings. Five years after breaking contact with my father, I realized that if I wanted to become a better skater, I first had to become a better person. At twenty-five years old, in the prime of my life, I should have been at the top of my game, yet I hadn't placed for an individual event at the 2006 Games in Turin. I figured out that what was behind my disappointing performances had nothing to do with my skating technique but everything to do with my judgments and choices affecting other parts of my life. I resolved to call my dad. I waited until I was far from home, standing next to an ice rink after a training session. My father's reaction wasn't what I had feared—he was happy I'd reached out. Time had healed some wounds. Real freedom was much closer than I could have imagined. The last puzzle piece wasn't the right trainer or a perfect training program. Real freedom lay in myself—or rather, in examining my judgments. My judgment about my father had never progressed beyond that first emotional reaction of anger. As Marcus Aurelius wrote: "That all is as thinking makes it so—and you control your thinking. So remove your judgments whenever you wish and then there is calm." After this conversation with my dad, I realized where my anger came from and how it was affecting my performance. From that moment on, I was able to focus all my energy on my goal. I felt more energy and peace after jettisoning my previous judgment. And four years later, during my Olympic race in Vancouver, my father showed up and, finally, cheered for me from the stands.

Chapter 4: Control What You Can: The Olympic Gold Mindset

Everybody wants to do well, to succeed, to win. Winning feels great and is addictive. But if you're obsessed with winning, professional sports is really not your best option. A simple calculation shows that the chances of disappointment are much higher than those of success. Out of all the top athletes who participate in the Olympics, only one can win each event. Such a deeply cherished desire for victory can transform into fear just before a competition, with the understanding that wishes don't always come true. All kinds of things can go wrong, and this can drive you crazy. One of the foremost principles of a Stoic mindset is that you can divide things into what you can control and what you can't. Epictetus, a Greek Stoic who was born into slavery, knew what he was talking about. He experienced firsthand that he didn't have control over many situations that we, being free, take for granted. He managed to stay calm even when his master broke his leg in a fit of rage. Protesting or getting angry was pointless. By controlling his own reaction, he maintained power over himself—the only thing he truly could control. According to the Stoics, your health, body, living situation, whether you are rich or poor, fail or succeed—ultimately none of these have influence on your peace of mind. With a Stoic mindset, you separate happiness from external circumstances or goals. Experiencing happiness becomes completely independent of external factors. That's why Stoics focus all their energy on making the right choices, because unlike outcomes, you have full control over your decisions. Frustrations about not achieving goals, bad luck, or chance—they get set aside. Stoics make the radical choice to not waste energy on what's not in their hands. The Stoic analogy of an archer wanting to hit their mark fits nicely here. The only thing the archer can ensure is that they shoot as straight and as accurately as possible. They can tune their bow perfectly and learn how to control their breathing, but as soon as that arrow is let go, what happens next is no longer up to them. The ultimate goal isn't about hitting the bull's-eye—it's about becoming the greatest archer you can be. When you apply this Stoic mindset, your life becomes more manageable and focused. You set aside what's outside your control, creating clarity and peace. By thinking in this way, your chances of achieving your goal actually increase. You win by not focusing on winning.

Chapter 5: Duty to Others: Why Community Matters

At the beginning of my speed skating career, I was a true all-rounder—not a specialist, but pretty good at everything. I trained with both sprinters and distance skaters, always trying to one-up each other. We weren't just teammates; we were also competitors for the same medals. That goes for sports as well as working life—we have our sights on the same jobs, clients, or budgets, though without cooperation we won't achieve anything. There's a reason speed skaters skate in a single-file line. By blocking the wind, you help one another reach a higher level. But there's a trap: when individual egos start to outweigh team interest, the willingness to help one another falls by the wayside. One skater might skate so fast that no one can keep up, giving themselves a pat on the back for being the best that day. The result, however, is that within no time everybody will be skating on their own. No one will block the wind for anyone else anymore. Their egos might get stroked, but the overall performance suffers—and the enjoyment is gone. Given that someone with a Stoic mindset focuses on personal development and character, you might think that Stoicism is geared toward the individual. And while it's true that having a good rapport with yourself is important, it's equally vital to have a good rapport with others. According to Chrysippus, an early Stoic philosopher who was also a passionate runner, a runner should do their utmost to win a race, though never by tripping another. It's the same in life: it's good to strive for something, as long as you don't do it at the expense of another. When you do something that's bad for the community, it's also bad for you. In professional sports, a hair's breadth can mean the difference between winning and losing at the finish line. But the real difference is made long before then. My Olympic 1500 meters lasted one minute, forty-five seconds, and fifty-seven milliseconds—a little over 105 seconds. The four-year run-up to the Olympic Games consists of 126 million seconds. To perform at my very best in that final stretch, I needed to improve a little each day with my team. Day in and day out, I skated single file with world-class athletes who understood that the real test is in the competition, not in practice. Each month, each week, each day, we raised the bar higher together. It's what I find most enjoyable: working with a team to bring out the best in each other. Looking back, while standing on the podium and hearing the national anthem were wonderful, the greatest feeling was bombing around a curve at sixty kilometers an hour with the best skaters in the world, my teammates, day after day.

Chapter 6: Accepting Reality: Love Your Fate

Nobody wants to get sick, least of all athletes. Even the slightest cold can throw sand in the gears of training. In 2004, I wake up one day with a mild sore throat and feeling sluggish. I try to ignore it because there's a heavy training session planned—six seven-minute blocks of hard laps, crucial for preparing for the world championship allround, which I want to win. As the reigning European all-round champion and world-record holder, failing is not an option. I refuse to listen to my body and train all out. This only makes things worse: the cold turns into flu, making it harder to win and easier to be left home. Deep down we all know that when push comes to shove, we're better off humbly bowing to nature. Epictetus teaches us to make the best of every situation, and not just that—he teaches us to love every situation. It's foolish and pointless to wish things were different than they are. Friedrich Nietzsche, the nineteenth-century German philosopher, wasn't a Stoic, yet his life motto comes to the same thing as Epictetus's lessons: amor fati, or love your fate. The trick is not wishing things were different than they actually are. If you not only accept but even go so far as to love your fate, you'll be able to handle all of life. Obviously, we can keep fighting against the natural course of events. However, that costs a lot of energy and eats away at our peace of mind. We can find a shining example of courage and resilience in Bibian Mentel, a Dutch snowboarder. Just as she was reaching the top of the world rankings, she was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor in her lower leg. When it became clear that her leg would have to be amputated, she made a conscious decision to look into what she could do with a prosthetic. Four months later, she was back on her board. She not only succeeded in promoting snowboarding to a Paralympic sport but also won three gold medals. Even more impressively, she continued to live fully, even when she knew her life was coming to an end. If anyone had the right to complain, it would have been her, but she chose to embrace her circumstances. Wim den Elsen, an experienced trainer in the speed skating world, taught me: "See sick days as natural rest days." It's self-delusion to think I'll never run up against the flu. To keep resisting it is counterproductive. We're better off accepting illness as the natural course of events and resting. Often, however, we ignore it and push through. Apparently, it's hard to admit to ourselves that we need rest. In the winter of 2002, when I was overtrained, I learned to play the guitar. I wasn't allowed any strenuous activities, so I taught myself to noodle. Making music activates nearly every area of your brain simultaneously, improving cooperation between both halves. Unwittingly, I was training in another way—simply getting lost in the music with no right or wrong, goals or slumps. Accepting that life doesn't always go my way was hard, but I've learned that you can only find peace after realizing that fighting against your fate is actually fighting against yourself.

Chapter 7: Finding True Fulfillment: Beyond Success

As an athlete, you're happy when you win. At the 2010 Olympic Games, I made it onto the stage; the national anthem played for me; I received tributes from royalty. I was hailed as a hero, and the world lay, at least for a moment, at my feet. But once you've actually won, it's not long before your focus shifts to winning even more. And if you do win more, you're not just a medal winner; you're on your way to becoming a legend. That becomes the new ultimate goal. In the summer of 2010, after my Olympic success, I read studies about how long the "high" of a gold medal might last. The answer? About three months. After that, you return to a base level of happiness and look toward the next achievement. Sure enough, after three months, the world continued turning. I might get interviewed a little more frequently, but that was it. The euphoria had a limited shelf life, so that summer I grabbed my notebook to make new plans. How perfect would it be if I could retain my title? No Dutch person had managed to do that in the 1500 meters. That would be truly legendary and produce a truly lasting feeling of happiness—or so I thought. The Stoics observed not only themselves but also the people around them who achieved statuses many desire: emperors, wealthy businessmen, successful senators, and athletes. They described how miserable these people often felt despite their outward success. Seneca wrote about Emperor Augustus, who longed for an empty agenda as consolation for all his toil. There are countless Olympic champions for whom the gold medal hangs around their neck like a lead weight: something extra is forever expected of them. There are entrepreneurs who, after selling their businesses, have no clue what to do with their money and time. Stoics strive for eudaimonia, a state of inner calm and self-development regardless of circumstances. It's not about the absence of pain on one side and as much pleasure as possible on the other. Eudaimonia is about growth, flourishing, and finding meaning in life. It means growing precisely by overcoming challenges while maintaining the same state of mind under all conditions. That is a happy life in the Stoic sense. According to the Stoics, happiness is, in itself, a bad goal to aim for because we don't find happiness at the finish line but along the way. The more we have to fight for something, the more meaning we attach to it and the more satisfaction we get from it. In December 2013, just before the Olympic qualifiers for Sochi, I was struggling with my routine and failing to get results. On the eve of the qualification tournament, it crossed my mind: this might be my last race—I was miles away from holding onto my Olympic title. My coach, Gerard van Velde, opened my eyes: "Mark, you're thirty-three years old, already an Olympic champion, a father, and you've worked so hard to get here. Cherish that, and be proud of it. You have nothing to lose—enjoy the coming tournament." That day I drove home with tears in my eyes. He was right. The lessons I'd learned and the inner peace resulting from them felt like a state of deeper happiness. With this mindset, I started the qualifier with nothing to lose. I grew throughout the tournament and grabbed my chance in the last round of the last race, winning the 1500 meters and qualifying for Sochi. Happiness lies in rising to the challenge, in wrestling and growing—in improving, doing the right thing, learning, and through all this, finding inner calm. It's not an end goal but a byproduct of the journey.

Summary

The Stoic mindset offers a timeless framework for navigating life's complexities with both peace and purpose. Through the stories and lessons shared in this journey, we've seen how ancient wisdom can transform modern challenges into opportunities for growth. Whether facing career setbacks, relationship difficulties, competitive pressure, or simply the daily chaos of living, Stoic principles provide a compass rather than a map—guiding us toward what truly matters while accepting what we cannot change. Three essential insights emerge from this exploration. First, true power lies not in controlling external outcomes but in mastering our responses to them—focusing our energy exclusively on what we can influence while peacefully accepting everything else. Second, genuine fulfillment comes not from achievement itself but from the process of striving, growing, and contributing to something larger than ourselves. Finally, character development remains our most important lifelong project—the foundation upon which all meaningful success is built. By embracing these principles, we can find that rare balance of inner tranquility and outward drive that defines a well-lived life. The path isn't always easy, but it's worth walking. As Epictetus reminds us: "Wherever I go it will be well with me, for it was well with me here, not on account of the place, but of my judgments which I shall carry away with me."

About Author

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Mark Tuitert

Mark Tuitert won in 2010 Olympisch goud op de 1.500 meter in Vancouver en werd in hetzelfde jaar gekroond tot sportman van het jaar. Hij is inmiddels succesvol ondernemer, host van zijn goed beluisterde podcast Drive (60.000 luisteraars per maand), en veelgevraagd spreker en coach. Van zijn boek DRIVE: Train je stoïcijnse mindset werden al meer dan 50.000 exemplaren én de Engelse vertaalrechten verkocht.

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