Speaker
Miles Chamley-Watson
Appearances over time
1 episodes
Episodes
1
Podcasts
Quotes & moments
Miles estimates only 0.001% of the population reaches the Olympics, and an even smaller fraction wins a medal.
In 2013, Miles Chamley-Watson became the first ever Black American world champion in the history of fencing.
Roughly 65–70 years ago, fencer Smirnov was killed when his opponent's foil broke and pierced his eye during a dry (no-sensor) bout.
The inaugural World Fencing League event in LA sold out and drew over a million live viewers, surpassing the Olympics' fencing audience.
Miles's sister suffered a stroke at age 37, a healthy marathon runner, while Miles was in the middle of Olympic qualifying.
Miles went over 10 years without speaking to his biological father before calling him and choosing to forgive and move forward.
When Miles finally called his estranged biological father after 10+ years, the entire conversation lasted only about 45 seconds but represented a monumental emotional shift.
After meeting Kobe Bryant at the 2012 Olympics, Miles had Kobe's advice — 'the best athletes have the shortest memory' — tattooed on the back of his leg with Kobe's face.
Miles moved temporarily to Korea to train with Young Ho Kim, and upon returning won the first Grand Prix of the season — validating his unconventional approach.
Miles describes fencing as 'physical chess' where it is equally taxing mentally and physically, requiring explosive speed, reaction time, and in-the-moment tactical adaptation.
Miles's pre-competition strategy involves not analyzing opponents or even thinking about fencing until the morning of the event, keeping himself unpredictable.
Miles trains fencing 4–5 times per week, alternating between full sparring days and one-on-one tactical lessons with his coach.
Miles got his first tattoo at the 2012 London Olympics; it reads 'From London to London' and started his now-extensive collection of purposeful tattoos.
Fencing wasn't a choice for Miles — it was a punishment. Forced to pick between tennis, fencing, or badminton after being expelled from two schools, he picked up a sword and immediately found his calling. For a kid with ADHD who was heading toward serious trouble, the sport became therapy, discipline, and ultimately his entire life's purpose.
After finishing fourth at the 2012 London Olympics and feeling like he'd let everyone down, Miles ran into Kobe Bryant in the Olympic Village. Kobe told him: 'The best athletes have the shortest memory.' Miles got the quote tattooed on his leg with Kobe's face — and went on to win the World Championship the very next year.
Miles was picked last for team events despite being one of the best fencers in the room, received five unjustified red cards at his first Junior Olympics, and endured years of racial gestures from referees and coaches. His mother's advice was simple: just win, and then what can they say? He did exactly that.
Fencing is boxing, taekwondo, and a 100-meter sprint had a baby. It demands explosive power, lightning reaction time, and real-time tactical thinking — all simultaneously. Miles compares it to physical chess where you must anticipate your opponent while reacting to what they actually do, all while managing a heart rate that swings from 170 to the low 70s in seconds.
While in the middle of Olympic qualifying, Miles's sister — a healthy 37-year-old marathon runner — suffered a stroke, caused by domestic violence. Miles flew from Japan to Miami, found her on a feeding tube and breathing apparatus, and had to become the family's anchor while still competing. He made the Olympic team. He still doesn't know how.
Confidence isn't given — it's earned through competence. Miles and Jay argue that sport is the great equalizer: same sword, same mask, same rules regardless of wealth. For a generation of kids glued to screens, finding something they can genuinely improve at changes not just their sport, but their grades, their self-worth, and their trajectory.
In a world where male loneliness statistics are at record highs, Miles describes a friend group where men actually call each other, show up for each other's worst days, and want each other to win. His advice for lonely men: call someone, because your reaching out is therapy for both of you — and this emotion is never forever.
Miles brought his actual competition gear to the podcast: custom-molded foils, Olympic masks, and the foil he used to win a World Cup where the tip broke off on an opponent. Guard-heavy vs. tip-heavy balance affects attack strategy. The forearm muscle that grips a foil for 40-minute bouts is a thing of engineering.
The hardest training isn't in the gym — it's emotional. Jay argues that most physical and mental limitations are actually emotional blocks in disguise, and that unlocking forgiveness, courage, or vulnerability creates performance breakthroughs that seem impossible. Miles's phone call to his father is the living proof.
Most elite athletes obsess over opponent film. Miles does the opposite. He doesn't watch fencing, doesn't discuss tactics, and often doesn't even know who he's competing against until the morning of the match. His logic: if he doesn't know what he's doing, how can they possibly prepare for him?
Miles's debut World Fencing League event in LA sold out, broke records, and drew over a million live viewers — more than the Olympics. Watching kids who'd never seen fencing on television light up on the red carpet was, he says, the greatest day of his life. Not because of medals, but because a whole generation finally saw themselves in the sport.
Miles went over a decade without speaking to his biological father. Then, on a spiritual journey, he picked up the phone, said 'Dad, this is Miles — I don't care about the past, how are you?' The call lasted 45 seconds. It was harder than any training session, any competition, any Olympics. And it changed everything.
It's never a loss, always a lesson. The worst advice? Never show emotion. The best friend is someone who calls you wanting nothing. He's swapped valuing other people's attention for valuing their time. And if he could make one law: no matter the color of someone's skin, you give them a hug — because a hug can cure everything.
Countless incidents of referees and coaches showing racial bias — from unexplained red cards to being picked last despite being the best — could have broken a young Miles. Instead, following his mother's advice to just win, he transformed discrimination into a chip on his shoulder and became the trailblazer a generation of Black fencers never had.
Miles's first Olympics was all sacrifice — no friends, no fun — and he finished fourth. The next year he had dinner with a friend the night before a World Championship and won. That realization — that he needed to prepare as himself, not as a generic elite athlete — became his template for reaching three Olympics and building a legacy.
Analysis
What they talk about
- Sports 40%
- Society & Culture 27%
- Education 13%
- Health & Fitness 13%
- Business 7%
Connections
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