Is There Such a Thing as The Sports Gene?

Travis Timmons takes a tour of current scientific research into athletic excellence in David Epstein’s The Sports Gene.

David Epstein’s The Sports Gene is a staggering tour through the scientific literature and related stories on the subject of athletic performance. The book catches us up on the large body of developing research that probes the origins of athletic success: is it nature? nurture? or a combination of both? Epstein’s book is an indispensable read for anyone looking to become familiar with the basic questions, talking points, and tentative conclusions concerning the intersection of sports and science (perhaps more properly, sports and genetics).

For readers expecting a brave new world of mad scientists cloning athlete drones in sparkling white labs, Epstein’s basic thesis is a welcome letdown: “[A]ny case for sports expertise that leans entirely on either nature or nurture is a straw-man argument.” Epstein cleverly develops this thesis with his overview of sporting tales and scientific research that confound any account, which – too reductively – attributes athletic success purely to genes or purely to environment.

In Epstein’s narrative, what emerges instead is a delightfully complex interaction between genes and environment. In a key moment (when discussing athletes dealing with pain) that illustrates this idea, Epstein uses a metaphor that can be applied to the broader subject of athletic expertise, which, as he describes it, “is a braid of nature and nurture so intricately and thoroughly intertwined as to become a single vine.” A braided vine. Perhaps not unlike that of a tree, like the ficus.

In this sense, The Sports Gene is a corrective to the Quixotic hunt for the “athlete gene.” The book’s title plays off this concept, but makes no promises of scientific pay dirt. Epstein baldly states his corrective to the “athlete gene” hunt at the end of a later chapter in the book:

“[A]ny notion of finding the ‘athlete gene’ was a figment of the era of wishful thinking that crested a decade ago with the first full sequencing of the human genome, before scientists understood how much they didn’t understand about the complexity of the genetic recipe book.”

However, debunking the Quixotic hunt for the “athlete gene” doesn’t discount that at any given time, nature or nurture can play the more punctuated role within any single story of athletic achievement (e.g. the fascinating case of Finnish cross-country skiing legend and three-time Olympic gold medalist, Eero Mäntyranta, who embodies this interplay with his body’s shocking capacity to produce red blood cells and his Finnish environment in which he skied as a border patrol agent).

Epstein’s own story of being a collegiate sprinter helps frame his book’s narrative, specifically the curious discrepancy he observed between himself and another sprinter, who simply seemed endowed with better genes, as his body always responded more quickly to training. This discrepancy—in bodily response to training—drives Epstein’s writing, as chapter-by-chapter he tackles territory in the wide world of sports that touches upon the athletic expertise debate.

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For my money, The Sports Gene’s strengths are two-fold: 1) the book is a sort of literature review of utterly fascinating research scientists around the world have done on athletic expertise and performance, 2) the book profiles stories of athletic performance that are compelling in their own right—the book could stand alone with just these stories—thanks to Epstein’s journalistic nose for good material. He pulls no punches in framing the stories, baiting readers in, then scrupulously linking these stories to the research questions at stake.

Although the stories are compelling in a narrative-sense, they are valuable because Epstein introduces (or reintroduces) athletes and sports that tend to get lost in the current of mainstream American sports (the NFL, the NBA, or even MLB). For example, a big-name American athlete like Barry Bonds is mentioned, but as a sort of the butt of the joke that is the unhitable pitching of Jennie Finch (in the context of research about the “occlusion test”). Athletes like Chrissie Wellington, Anthony Sandoval, Lance Makey, Paula Radcliffe, Eero Mäntyranta, as well as many Kenyan Kalenjin and Ethiopian Oromo runners receive Epstein’s attention.

How many of these names do you recognize? (I don’t know about you, but I have no excuse for not knowing of Sandoval, who is from the same general area of New Mexico where I was born and raised.) In academic-speak, Epstein’s selection of stories/examples “valorizes” these overlooked athletes and sports. His book serves a key purpose in this sense alone.

Epstein’s treatment of these stories combines pathos with a sense of suspense—e.g. the story of Mäntyranta’s red blood cells almost reads like a detective tale (of cellular proportions!). More importantly, these stories help mark the contours of the human body’s frontier. In my mind, this marking is one of the most compelling features of sport; it’s one of the reasons I’ll “flip the game on” mid-week; there’s always the hope of seeing a physical frontier breached.

Speaking of physical frontiers, Epstein’s survey necessarily collides with the political messiness and controversy surrounding genetic research, especially when racial issues are involved, not to mention sex differences and biology. Chapter 9 “(We Are All Black (Sort Of)”) dives into race and genetic differences, while chapter 4 (“Why Men Have Nipples”) tackles research on sex differences, biology, and athletic performance. In both chapters, Epstein comes off sensitive to the social and political controversies that accompany simply discussing this material (especially the attendant stereotyping and social consequences).

However, I’d argue that Epstein misses a golden opportunity with his treatment of the controversial material. Epstein glosses some of the troubled political and social waters, especially in chapter 11, yet without fully tackling the complicated history and racial oppression accompanying, say, race and genetics. For one, I would have appreciated a survey of the problem, as well as an investigation of what motivates the controversy. Given Epstein’s nose for compelling stories, I’m certain his treatment of the issue would have been compelling.

In Epstein’s defense, discussing this issue falls outside the scope of his book; however, I’d argue the book’s scope bypasses the necessary social and political ground that should be covered about the consequences and risks this research inevitably involves. The Sports Gene would have been improved with a stand-alone chapter devoted solely to the political and social elements mentioned above, especially given how prominently race and genetics is featured in the book. I find the omission of this discussion puzzling.

Indeed, an uncharitable reader could accuse Epstein of, on the one hand, paying “p.c. lip service” to the race and genetics issue, while on the other hand hinting at the nuisance of social/political concerns in stymieing the progress of scientific research; e.g. at the end of chapter 11 when Epstein reports that “[s]everal scientists” have purposely withheld key data on ethnic differences for fear of political repercussions. While I don’t doubt Epstein’s reporting, nor the unnamed scientists’ fears, I can’t help but wonder at how impoverished is our larger social conversation on racial issues.

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Another missed opportunity in The Sports Gene is a discussion on the impact the modern spectator (or fan) experience has on the science of extraordinary athletic performance. Simply put, without an audience watching these incredible athletes, none of this stuff matters. So I’d be curious to learn more about the expectations, cross-pressures, and demands fan cultures place on our athletes in relation to driving the boundaries of the human body’s frontiers. It’s not a coincidence that much of what we consider athletic achievement is closely correlated with the rise of professionalization in sports, which, naturally, coincides with the rise of the modern fan/consumer, whose spending (someone’s gotta buy those cable TV packages!) mostly fuels the whole athletic industrial complex.

Epstein only briefly touches on the impact fan cultures have on the athletic body; e.g. a couple fascinating moments in chapter 7 when he discusses the demand for certain body types or slowing of record-breaking in certain sports. I can’t help but think that—with spectators/fans—Epstein overlooked a key engine that drives and motivates his subject matter in profound ways.

However, I can’t really fault The Sports Gene too much for these omissions. The book effortlessly stands on its own as a valuable moment in the story of our love of sport. Epstein’s book is required reading for anyone who cares about what science is revealing (or not revealing yet) about the sporting human body. Epstein’s survey of the scientific literature catches us up on where things stand, while his selection and handling of individual athletes’ stories remind us that sport is so much bigger than our grinding mainstream American sporting scene and cycle would have us believe.

A version of this review first appeared at Sport Is Our Story.

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