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‘England axe was blessing' — how Joe Cokanasiga got ready for recall

‘England axe was blessing' — how Joe Cokanasiga got ready for recall

Times23-05-2025

The Principality Stadium has not been a particularly happy hunting ground for Joe Cokanasiga.
The Bath wing has played in Cardiff twice for England. He finished on the losing side both times, most recently in a warm-up match that sealed his exclusion from England's 2023 World Cup squad. Now he is being dragged back there for the second time in a fortnight for the European Challenge Cup final against Lyon on Friday.
'I've had a lot of history there,' Cokanasiga says. 'I've been there with England and last time I was there [with the national team] I didn't have a good experience.'
He had a happier experience there two weeks ago when, although an understrength Bath were beaten by Bristol Bears, their young side gave

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Man Utd confirm signing of Matheus Cunha in £62.5million transfer Red Devils reluctantly met release clause terms
Man Utd confirm signing of Matheus Cunha in £62.5million transfer Red Devils reluctantly met release clause terms

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Man Utd confirm signing of Matheus Cunha in £62.5million transfer Red Devils reluctantly met release clause terms

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Tom Daley looks back: ‘My management said if I came out, I'd lose sponsorship'
Tom Daley looks back: ‘My management said if I came out, I'd lose sponsorship'

The Guardian

time39 minutes ago

  • The Guardian

Tom Daley looks back: ‘My management said if I came out, I'd lose sponsorship'

Born in Plymouth in 1994, Tom Daley is Britain's most decorated diver. He was 13 when he made history as Britain's youngest competitor at the 2008 Olympics, and the following year became a world champion. He won gold at the Tokyo Olympics with his synchronised diving partner, Matty Lee, before retiring from diving in 2024. He is married to the screenwriter Dustin Lance Black, with whom he has two sons. The documentary, Tom Daley: 1.6 Seconds, is available to stream on Discovery+ from 1 June. I used to be obsessed with wearing tea towels. I'd make sure the fabric was completely lined-up and tucked in neatly. If it was in the slightest bit ruffled or messy, I would get upset and rip it off and try it all over again. This was the beginning of my perfectionism – and possibly the first signs that I might not be 100% straight. My mum says that as a kid, I was very sweet but I knew what I wanted. What did I want? To do the best I could at anything that I tried. That is still my mentality today. If I'm going to try something and it doesn't work out perfectly, I don't have tantrums any more, but I do get frustrated. That's the thing about being an athlete: being good is not enough – you have to be the best. It's not something you can teach, but every athlete who gets to an Olympic level has that same drive. We know our flaws before anybody else can point them out. I was seven when I started diving. I loved the water but found swimming up and down a little bit boring – diving was much more fun. I started out jumping off the side of the pool, then tried the one-metre. The first time I tried the 10-metre platform I was eight years old. I remember crawling to the edge because I was too scared to walk – the board seemed to reduce in size with every step and suddenly looked like a tightrope. I was peering off into the water, thinking: 'There's no way I can jump off this.' But once I was in the air, there was no going back. It was a surreal and euphoric moment – freefalling for 1.6 seconds. As soon as it was over, I knew I wanted to do it again. My childhood was brilliant. I was always outdoors, and we used to go for weekends away in our caravan in Newquay. I felt very safe, loved and cared for. Because I was so happy with my family, I used to hate travelling for competitions – I would get so homesick. It was terrifying to be on the other side of the planet from your parents when you're 10 years old – especially when everyone else competing was much older. I can't imagine how painful it was for my parents to hear their son crying on the end of the phone. My dad Rob was my biggest cheerleader. He would work all day, pick me up from school, take me to the pool and stay all evening until I finished training. He would be there for every competition. We were a team, and it was our dream together. He was great at teaching me about perspective: if I bombed out at a competition, he would say: 'You came 30th, but you're still the 30th best in the world.' When dad died [of a brain tumour in 2011], I went to training the next morning. I carried on competing without a proper break. Maybe it's a British thing, but me and my family wouldn't speak about his passing that much. It's as if we didn't want to upset anyone, or make them feel uncomfortable. I also felt that I had to be the strong one – the person who could support my family. It was only when I met my husband Lance, and he would ask why I didn't speak about my dad, that I allowed myself the space to grieve. And it still hits me now, especially when those major milestones happen. He missed me winning my first Olympic medal, my wedding, my first son's birth. Lance and I met at a dinner in 2013. We talked and talked until we both realised how similar our lives were. He had just lost his brother; I'd lost my dad. He had just won his Oscar; I had just won an Olympic medal. It was the first time I could complain about success to somebody who knew I wasn't really complaining about success. I was complaining about how to deal with what happens on the other side – the pressure and expectations. Knowing that nothing would ever compare to that feeling again. I met Lance in March and came out to the media nine months later. I don't think I would ever have said anything about my private life unless I had met someone like Lance. Once we fell in love, I knew I couldn't keep it a secret. It was absolutely terrifying, posting the video on YouTube, because my management at the time had not been encouraging, and told me that I was going to lose my sponsorship. It was a scary thing to do, but once it was out there I was glad. It took all of the pressure off. I could be me for the first time. Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion In 2024, I competed at the Paris Olympics, this time with my sons in tow. Being a dad was still my priority, so I had to deal with running on low sleep. I went to bed at 8 o'clock, because I didn't know how many times I'd be up in the night. I'd wake early for training but would make sure I was home to help Lance with bedtime. I always found it incredibly difficult to leave them for competitions, and I carried a sense of guilt with me. My husband is so supportive, and he's sacrificed a lot for me. But now I've retired, it's his moment. He's like: 'It's my turn to get my career back on track!' I have been an athlete for most of my life, so it's taking time to adjust to my new reality. 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The deadlift difference: is this the exercise you need for an active and pain-free future?
The deadlift difference: is this the exercise you need for an active and pain-free future?

The Guardian

time39 minutes ago

  • The Guardian

The deadlift difference: is this the exercise you need for an active and pain-free future?

One of the lovely things about getting older is realising there's always something more you should be doing to look after your body. Did I say lovely? Obviously I meant tedious. But how you feel about it doesn't change the facts. If you take the slightest interest in your health, and want to stay strong, mobile and pain-free in your 50s, 60s, 70s and beyond, you'll have to pay attention to the exercises that many of us avoid in our 20s, 30s and 40s. Or, in my case, until you're 61¾. The Guardian's journalism is independent. We will earn a commission if you buy something through an affiliate link. Learn more. Like deadlifts, which help with one of life's most basic tasks – bending over and picking stuff up. Training these also involves bending over and picking stuff up – usually a barbell, but sometimes a kettlebell or pair of dumbbells. 'Here's a few things deadlifts help with,' says Laura Kummerle, a Georgia-based physiotherapist and personal trainer (PT). 'Lifting your grocery bags off the ground on to the counter, lifting your laundry basket off the ground, lifting your kid/grandkid (especially out of their crib when you can't squat), lifting a piece of furniture or a heavy rock for landscaping … They work the hip hinge, which is a fundamental movement pattern for strength training, but more importantly for daily life.' 'If I could only do one exercise in the gym ever again, deadlifts are the one I would do,' says Cali Joseph, a PT based in Walthamstow, east London. 'They're the pinnacle of weight training.' That's because even though you're lifting the weight no higher than your thighs, the way you hinge rather than squat means they work everything from your hamstrings, quads, glutes and back to your core, shoulders and arms. They also make a lot of people very happy, and not just because of some kind of lifter's high. Mira Taylor, a personal trainer based in north Wales, began focusing on deadlifts five years ago and is now a British and European deadlift-only champion. 'I think it's pathological for me at this point,' she says. 'Obviously the sense of progression and hitting or chasing personal bests is intoxicating, but it's also the fact that you have to clear your mind completely when you're lifting a heavy barbell. That's very therapeutic.' Some people will tell you deadlifts are risky, especially if you're getting on a bit, but then some people will tell you running is risky, or cycling, or picking up anything more substantial than a golf club. 'Anything can be dangerous,' says Kummerle. 'Drinking too much water can be dangerous; stepping off a kerb can be dangerous. Everything we do has risk, but the benefits outweigh the risks of deadlifts, for sure. I'm not saying everyone should be maxing out their deadlift, but loading the movement with what feels like a light to moderate weight can reduce the risk of injury in daily life. That way when you go and pick up your kid or help a friend move house, your body is used to that stimulus.' It's also useful for rehab. 'Deadlifts are good for any injury to build back general strength once you're able to do the hip hinge pattern safely,' says Kummerle. 'They can be particularly helpful for knees, hips and backs, but I can also see them being useful for ankles, shoulders and even necks.' My own physio's definitely a fan. I'm recovering from a knee injury, and she had me deadlifting less than two months after surgery for my torn meniscus. Even as a beginner, and one who's careful to take things slowly, I've been deadlifting 50kg – more than half my own weight. More experienced lifters might aim to shift double or even treble their bodyweight. Taylor, who competes in the under-60kg category (based on what competitors weigh, not their barbells), lifted 170kg at last November's World Powerlifting Congress World Championships. But the heavier you lift, the more form matters. 'The problem with a deadlift is that you can brute-force it,' says Joseph, who has agreed to help me with mine. 'If you're strong, you can just get the bar off the ground and stand up – but that's how you ended up getting injured.' She's speaking from personal experience. So off to the bar we go – all 7ft and 20kg of it. Bars come in various lengths and weights, some more suitable for home workouts, but it's this 'Olympic' size that you'll find in most gyms. When people talk about how much they lift, that includes the bar, so if you're lifting 30kg, that means you've stuck a 5kg 'plate' on either end of yours. It's important that you set up correctly, Joseph says – the first step being to make sure you're in the dead centre of the bar, hands evenly spaced and about shoulder width apart. There should be markings to help with this. This may sound basic, but it's surprisingly easy to pick up a bar off-centre, especially if you're taking it from a rack rather than the ground, as we are today. If you're new to the game, or need to warm up for a session, you'll probably want to try a few lifts with just the bar. It's still 20kg, remember. I've already warmed up, though, and this is not quite my first rodeo, so we start with two 10kg plates, making a total weight of 40kg. The bottom of the plates is just resting on the ground, but this lifts the bar enough that I don't have to bend too much to get my hands around it in an overhand grip. If I had longer legs, or shorter arms, I might have had to raise it off the ground a little. I'll be holding it barehanded as the weight is light and I have a strong grip, but if needed I could dust my hands with chalk, or use lifting straps. There's no shame in giving your grip some help if it's all that's standing between you and a personal best. First, though, my feet need to be in the right position. For conventional deadlifts – which is what we're focusing on today – that's pointing forward (it's OK for them to be turned out a little) and roughly shoulder width apart. But only roughly. 'I always say you should be in your 'power stance',' Joseph tells me. 'If I said to you, 'Phil, for a million quid I want you to jump as high as you can', that's how your feet should be. You shouldn't be too wide and you shouldn't be too narrow, but the precise position will be different for different people.' You also want to be close to the bar. 'Feet in your power stance, laces underneath the bar. You want your shins to be almost touching it. We want the bar, the weight, to travel the shortest path – straight up and straight down. It's us that gets in the way or out of the way. The closer it is to us, the more easily we can control it, the more we can harness that power. 'Now,' Joseph says, getting into position to demonstrate, 'you start with a little hinge and push your bum back. Then you bend your knees as much as you need to reach the bar. For me, that's quite a lot – I've got short arms and short legs. At this point, your shins might touch the bar, but that's OK. As long as you're comfortable with that, that's fine. 'Then, when we're here, we need to build tremendous tension in our body.' And how do we do that? 'First of all I'm going to bring my shoulders towards the ceiling and lock out my arms as much as I can. Then it's chest up, shoulders back. And now my last little cue: elbows in. I internally rotate my elbows to take out the last bit of slack that I may have in my body.' This rotation has the effect of engaging your lats, or latissimus dorsi muscles, which sit below your shoulder blades and cover most of your back. That back, by the way, should be flat during your lift, or at least flattish. 'Don't get too hung up on the perfect-looking deadlift,' says Taylor. 'I used to spend hours poring over my videos trying to have a perfectly flat back. Now I'm a round-back puller. Deadlifts look different for everyone, depending on proportions.' That doesn't mean all the rules can go out the window, though. 'Take your time over your set-up,' Taylor says, 'and wherever you feel your hips should be, raise them a couple of inches. A lot of people seem to want to start too low.' And now you're finally ready for the lift. 'The only difference between when we're set up and when we're actually lifting the weight,' says Joseph, 'is the little push that we give to the ground to shift it.' The little push? Aren't we actually pulling the weight up? It might seem that way, but the conventional deadlift is a push and pull movement. It's a push from your quads that straightens your knees and gets the bar moving past them; then comes the pull, as you thrust your hips forward and your hamstrings, glutes, back and arms come into play. That hip thrust is a vital part of the deadlift, and the one that most clearly distinguishes it from the squat. But you can only thrust your hips forward on the way up if you have first thrust them back on the way down. One cue that PTs sometimes give, Kummerle says, is: 'Pretend your booty hole is a flashlight and shine it backward.' You'll also hear: 'Pretend you're pushing a car door shut with your bum.' There's no getting away from bums with the deadlift. From set-up to finish, Joseph sums it up like this: 'Bum back, bend knees, arms long, chest up, shoulders back. Then push into the ground. Push, push, push, push, drive hips forward – and that's the pull.' 'Every time you deadlift,' she adds, 'you give it your all. I don't care if it's your warm-up sets, or it's your heaviest: we lift with intent.' That's even the case when you're deadlifting a person, as she demonstrates when she picks me up for the sake of these photographs. As her human barbell, I can only say I'm glad she takes it seriously. 'Sometimes I have to have a mental battle to be in the right frame of mind to attack the bar,' says Taylor, though let's not forget that sometimes she's lifting almost three times her bodyweight. 'If you're not 100% committed to making it move, it won't. In case of emergency, banging music can help.' Once the barbell is up, you can either reverse the movement to lower it, or just drop it. If you're in a gym, you will almost certainly be using weights that are designed to be dropped. When the time comes for me to show how much I've taken in, the answer is: not as much as I should have. 'Get a bit closer to the bar,' Joseph tells me. And: 'Hip hinge … bum back, bum back!' And: 'Bend your knees, bend your knees, bend some more, bend, bend, bend!' And even: 'Tuck your chin!' At least, I think it's 'tuck' she says. It's like whack-a-mole – no sooner have I ironed out one fault than another pops up. The one that survives longest is shrugging my shoulders at the top of the lift – but even that succumbs when Joseph gets me to engage my lats properly. Apparently I need to imagine someone's trying to tickle me. Eventually I'm looking solid enough to play around with sumo deadlifts, where your legs go much wider and your arms go between your knees, rather than either side of them. It's enjoyable enough, but I feel I'm getting distracted from the conventionals just as I'm beginning to get the hang of them. So back we go to my 'power stance' and Joseph increases the weight to 80kg. This feels significant, as it's what I weigh, give or take a kilo. And as I struggle to lift the barbell, I get a glimpse of why this exercise means so much to so many people. As Taylor puts it: 'Heavy lifts feel like they take two minutes – and then you watch them back on video and it's about half a second.' However long the lift really lasts, this weird slowing-down gives you time to feel the strain, think about giving up as you push, push, push and pull, pull, pull, and decide to persevere. You have to commit and stay committed, so that when the lift works out it means something. I recently asked a few people why deadlifts matter so much to them. 'They make me feel like I own the world,' one woman told me. 'They're the first time I've ever felt strong,' said another. I think I know what they mean.

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