Mitchell Johnson: Cooper Wood’s stunning admission shows the mental challenge of elite sport

When Cooper Woods stood at the top of the mogul course before his final run, there was noise everywhere: crowd, commentators, the buzz of an Olympic final.

But inside his own head? Probably the opposite. Silence. Doubt. Questions.

After the first day of qualification in the men’s moguls, Woods admitted he’d spoken to his sports psychologist and said he felt “pretty lost as an athlete”. He felt he’d skied as well as he could in that moment, but the result didn’t reflect it.

Read that again. An Olympian, days before a final, questioning whether he belonged.

That right there is elite sport.

We see the polished highlights. The backflips. The fist pumps. The medals.

What we don’t always see are the daily battles, the early mornings when confidence is low, the nights lying awake wondering if you’ve done enough, the sessions where nothing clicks. Injuries that take you back a few steps and send you into panic.

Being an Olympic athlete isn’t just about physical preparation. It’s about managing your own mind when it tries to turn against you.

Self-doubt isn’t weakness. It’s part of the journey. The difference is what you do with it.

Woods did it the hard way. He didn’t cruise through qualification looking untouchable. He had to grind his way in. There’s something powerful about that. Sometimes it sharpens you. Sometimes it forces you to stop chasing perfection and simply be present.

And when he dropped into that final run, that’s exactly what he looked like. Clear. Composed. Free.

Moguls is chaos disguised as rhythm. Two massive jumps. Tight, unforgiving turns. Judges scrutinising speed, control and execution. There’s no hiding. You either attack it or it exposes you.

Woods attacked it. He didn’t ski like someone hoping to win. He skied like someone with nothing left to lose. Every turn aggressive but controlled. Every jump clean. It was fast, fearless and the run of his life.

When he crossed the line and the score came through, he was speechless. That made perfect sense. Because in that moment, it wouldn’t just be the last 30 seconds replaying in his head. It would be everything. Every failed run. Every crash. Every rehab session. The quiet drives home. The belief from family when he may not have had it himself. Coaches, mentors, teammates. The grind no one sees.

It would’ve felt like a dream, one of those moments where someone needs to tap you on the shoulder and say, “Mate, this is real”.

And it was real.

What made these Winter Games even more special for Australia was that Woods wasn’t alone.

Josie Baff in the snowboard cross was phenomenal. Different discipline, same mindset. Snowboard cross is chaos in a different form, elbows out, split-second decisions, jumps, bumps and rivals inches away. One mistake and you’re done.

But Baff didn’t look like someone carrying fear. She looked like someone who had decided to go for it. No hesitation. No overthinking the occasion. Just instinct, courage and execution when it mattered most.

I’ll admit it, I’d actually fallen asleep before the final. But I was woken by cheers and shouting in our house. The family were up, yelling at the TV as Baff charged down that course. I dare say plenty of Aussie households looked the same. Kids jumping, parents yelling at the TV for Baff to keep going. That surge of pride when the result lands.

That’s the beauty of the Olympics. For a few minutes, we’re all invested.

What has really stood out about Woods’ and Baff’s gold medals is the lead-in. There wasn’t the heavy hype. There wasn’t the constant talk about them being “expected” gold medallists. They weren’t walking into the Games with the weight of a nation already draped over their shoulders.

Contrast that with athletes like Jakara Anthony and Scotty James, who carried enormous expectations. Both have proven themselves on the world stage. Both came in as genuine favourites. And when you’re labelled a “should-win”, the narrative shifts. Every run is analysed. Every mistake is magnified. That pressure is real.

Anthony and James did their best on the day, as elite athletes always do. But you can’t ignore the possibility that expectation adds another layer to manage. It doesn’t mean you shy away from it, that’s part of being at the top. But it does change the landscape.

The Olympics have a way of reminding us of something important, you don’t get handed a medal because of your name. You don’t get gold because of what you did four years ago. The slate is wiped clean in a final. Rankings, reputation, past performances, none of it counts once you drop in.

You start again. And that’s where clarity matters. As an athlete, you have to find a way to quiet the noise. To not let the moment get bigger than the task. To have a crack, to trust your training and to accept that once you’re in the final, everything before it is done.

Baff and Woods did exactly that.

On the biggest stage, they left it all out there. They didn’t ski or ride cautiously. They committed. They embraced it. And when it paid off, they didn’t look entitled to it, they looked grateful.

Now they sit among Australia’s great Winter Olympians. Their gold medals weren’t just about technical brilliance. They were about mindset. About handling doubt. About embracing opportunity without being suffocated by expectation.

So keep backing them. From lounge rooms, from schools, from local clubs. They feel it more than you think.

And remember this, sometimes the quiet achievers, the ones without the hype, are the ones who shock the world.

Because when the moment comes, they’re not thinking about headlines.

They’re just ready.