When the Lull Still Leaves Time to Act

To understand how an incident can develop into a crisis, let us follow a fictional character. The tone will occasionally be light. The consequences will be considerably less so.

At twenty-eight, Édouard earns his living from his talent: running. His name regularly appears among the favourites. He does not win every time, but the trophies in his living room confirm his place among the serious contenders.

Calm, considerate and methodical, his lifestyle is so healthy it could make a green salad feel guilty. His sponsors trust him. His fans like him. A promising career, a strong reputation, solid foundations. If he were a business, you would want to invest.

Now he is at the Marathon des Sables.

He has spent months preparing. Heat, hydration, fatigue, sand in his shoes: he has assessed the risks. His equipment has been tested. His pacing carefully practised. As we discussed previously, thorough preparation reduces exposure. It does not grant immunity.

The race is underway. Everything clicks. His stride is fluid, his footing controlled.

Then one foot lands in the wrong place.

A partly buried stone. His footing gives way. His foot catches, his body keeps moving, his knee buckles.

An unremarkable fall. Unmistakable pain.

Édouard tries to get going again. Impossible. The medical team takes over. His race is over.

This is the shock.

Calm returns. Certainty does not.

A few days later, Édouard is home. His leg is immobilised and propped up on cushions. Those close to him are looking after him. The pain is easing.

Everyone tells him to rest. He counts the competitions he might miss.

Because Édouard is a person, but also a small business in his own right. His body is his working equipment. His results generate income. His reputation secures contracts.

And his working equipment has just broken down.

He thinks back to the fall. Reviews the available footage. Examines how he felt. Was he tired? Had he noticed those stones? Was his equipment suitable? Could he have reacted differently?

He is conducting his own debrief.

This is precisely what a manager should do after an incident. In a hotel where a fire has spread, the sequence of events must be reconstructed. When was the alarm raised? How was it communicated? Did staff know what to do? Which equipment worked? What delayed the response? What, conversely, limited the damage?

Understanding requires a distinction between facts, assumptions and missing information. An explanation that seems obvious afterwards may not have been obvious when action was needed.

Édouard may blame himself for failing to spot the stone. That does not prove he could have seen it.

Learning from an incident should help correct weaknesses and preserve what worked. Our successes reassure us. Our failures challenge us. Both deserve examination.

Look back. Then look ahead.

Édouard also remembers a less impressive episode in his preparation. He received medical treatment after a cut became infected. His doctor told him to delay his return to training.

He felt better. He resumed training early.

That decision deserves discussion with the specialist. It does not, by itself, explain his fall. But his debrief cannot stop at the stone.

In a business, too, the review must extend beyond the final seconds before an incident. Were warnings overlooked? Was an instruction disregarded? Was a known problem left unresolved?

Then it is time to look ahead.

What consequences might still emerge? Who could be affected? What decisions should we prepare for?

Repairing a hotel room does not necessarily bring a fire incident to a close. People may still need support, installations may need checking, operations may need reorganising and partners may need information.

That is the value of the in-between: using the lull to understand and anticipate. How long it will last is never guaranteed.

Édouard, meanwhile, is already thinking about his comeback. Seeing him make plans reassures his family and friends. After all, he is young, fit and well supported.

Time must be allowed to do its work.

Unfortunately, time has offered no performance guarantee.

The second fall

At his appointment, Édouard places his test results in front of the specialist.

“When can I start training again, doctor?”

The doctor studies the scans. Several ligaments are torn. Surgery will be necessary, possibly in stages. Then a lengthy rehabilitation programme. A return to his previous level remains uncertain.

Édouard came looking for a date. He leaves with a question mark.

On the way home, he thinks about commitments to cancel and prize money that will never materialise. His expenses, meanwhile, show no sign of retiring.

On Facebook, messages of support keep coming.

Then a former clubmate writes:

“Édouard, I told you. Keep taking that stuff and this was bound to happen…”

No substance is named. No evidence is offered. But the man knows him. They trained together. That connection lends weight to the insinuation.

A family member responds:

“Nonsense! Édouard has never doped. He was receiving treatment prescribed by a doctor. Stop dragging people’s names through the mud!”

A sincere defence. A new detail.

Treatment? What treatment? Why mention “doping”?

The stone starts rolling

At this point, there is still a specific question to answer. Édouard knows what treatment he received and why. He can check the facts, explain what happened and take responsibility for returning to training too soon.

He could say:

“Yes, I received treatment after a cut became infected. My doctor had told me to wait before returning to training. I felt better. I went back too soon. That was my decision, and I acknowledge that it was unwise. The treatment was for an infection; I was not taking it to improve my performance.”

Such an explanation must be accurate and supported by evidence. It will not convince everyone. But it provides a concrete answer before speculation fills the entire space.

Édouard can then announce a next step and follow through: provide an update after his consultation, explain the decisions concerning his return or answer his partners’ questions. He could also involve his doctor to provide medical evidence supporting his account. This is where specialist expertise can contribute to crisis management.

Taking the initiative also means setting the pace for what comes next.

A stone starts rolling down a slope. The earlier you intervene, the less momentum it has gathered and the better your chances of stopping it. Waiting at the bottom gives it time to become destructive and dislodge other stones along the way.

For a business, the same approach applies: assess the warning, verify the facts, coordinate responses and monitor how the story spreads. An isolated comment and an allegation being repeated by customers do not necessarily call for the same response. That is the purpose of a team monitoring public discussion and influential voices, however small that team may be. This function is too often neglected.

The point is not to answer everything, everywhere. It is to make decisions rather than have events dictate them.

He hopes it will blow over

Édouard is tired. He is worried about surgery. He believes he has more urgent matters to deal with than a former clubmate’s insinuations.

He lets the allegations pass and plays down their potential consequences.

Nobody is responsible for monitoring the discussion. His family and friends continue to reply in their own ways. Explanations accumulate, sometimes contradicting one another and raising further questions.

Someone mentions the side effects of medication. Someone else confuses tendons with ligaments. A third person decides the injury proves something.

The diagnosis is in. The cause established. The trial underway.

His medical records have not even left their envelope. But the screenshot is circulating: “He was receiving treatment prescribed by a doctor.” The treatment becomes THE story.

His victories come under scrutiny. His recovery. His performances. Nothing has been established against him, but some are already calling him a fraud.

The in-between is closing. Time that could have been used to think is now lost time he must struggle to make up.

The shock is over. The crisis is here.

A sports website picks up the controversy. Another follows. His face appears in a television report. The careful qualifications in the commentary struggle to compete with the headline on screen: “Champion Under Fire”, or even “Champion or Fraud?”

His phone rings.

A sponsor wants an explanation. A planned campaign is put on hold. Another partner distances itself. The emails remain polite. The income becomes uncertain.

Édouard is still on his sofa, his leg elevated. He is no longer in danger out on the course. Yet his business is unravelling around him.

The shock affected his body. The crisis now affects his income, his reputation and his ability to plan for the future.

Like a business overwhelmed by demands for explanations from customers, authorities or the media, he spends his days responding to the consequences of the incident. Getting better is no longer enough. He must now account for his actions: what did he know? What did he do? Why? What can he substantiate?

The shock demanded action. The crisis puts those actions on trial.

An early clarification might have limited the escalation. Édouard let that opportunity pass. He must now speak under pressure, after others have already told his story.

How should he explain? What should he acknowledge? What should he challenge? With what evidence and what commitments?

This is where crisis communication and its management begin.