Beneath the Surface

by Phelps, Michael; Cazeneuve, Brian; Costas, Bob

  I will also never forget jogging with Peter on the Great Wall. We looked to our left and right and for miles we saw nothing but The Wall. We celebrated afterward by going to McDonald’s and practically buying the place out of burgers. David Schwab was the surprise appetite champ of the meal, downing three Big Macs. I wonder if that was a PR?

  When I got back to the States, we did a cool commercial for Matsunichi in which I jumped into a pool, swam a lap and then, with the help of some special effects, kept swimming right through the wall at the end of the pool, actually swimming my way up until I stepped onto a roof. Then, as you see me listening to my MP3 player, you hear me say: “The power of music by Matsunichi.”

  In the lead-up to Beijing, I filmed spots for other companies and TV networks. ESPN produces some of the most clever commercials around. Since I’m a SportsCenter junkie, it was a lot of fun for me to be in a commercial of my own. In my spot, I walk into the ESPN offices and ask Stuart Scott, one of the network anchors, if I can borrow his computer. I’m wearing a wet bathing suit and after I start to work, sparks start flying and the computer shorts out because of the moisture that drips into the keyboard. In a second commercial, I have my cap, goggles, and medals with me in their office. Jay Harris, another one of the announcers, grabs one of the medals and uses it as a coaster for his cup of coffee. After I stare at him, he looks back at me and says, “It’s only a bronze.”

  In October, I officially gained a brother-in-law. After the wedding, I remember looking at some old pictures of Whitney and me together. It was hard to believe the older sister who used to make me breakfast was actually getting married.

  Back in Michigan, I was taking just a psychology class, keeping my course load light, and I joked afterward that if nothing else, the class helped me figure out Bob a little better. He and I started making some needed changes to my training. It was probably a good decision to be careful with my back all year, but it was no fun being stuck in what felt like competitive quicksand.

  I started running again. Although just a couple of miles, it was enough to confirm that my legs were still better suited for water. I also began incorporating weight training into my program, something we’d put off because of my poor back. Lifting weights didn’t really work earlier in my career when my bones were still developing, but now my body was stronger. I had grown another inch since Athens to 6’4” and I wanted to do everything I could to be stronger at the ends of races. I started with some basics like bench presses and machines rather than free weights. We still did dry land training, medicine ball work, and plyometrics, gradually building up to three hours a week. It would take me a good year to really understand what I was doing, but I really enjoyed it. The workouts were good breaks from the laps in the pool. I could also feel how they made my muscles burn afterward and, more importantly, how the training was impacting my swimming. I wish I had been able to do this earlier. I was ready for a better 2006.

  Unfortunately, more bad news was in my future: my grandmother passed away. Gran was a fighter who did things on her own terms, including her fight against cancer. I can almost hear the doctor telling her she had so many months to live, and then Gran’s response: “The disease will have to wait until I’m good and ready.”

  I went back for my grandmother’s funeral in Western Maryland. Seeing so many people who knew her brought back random memories of Gran. We used to play cards together, usually Kings and Rummy, and I could never seem to beat her. Maybe that’s why I’ve taken to Texas Hold ’Em. It isn’t Gran’s game, which, therefore, makes it a game I have a chance to win. I made sure to leave two cards with her at the cemetery.

  As soon as she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, she made it a priority to follow every event I entered. Doctors gave her six months max, but she beat that max by a multiple of seven and was able to watch my Olympic races from home. That was Gran. She went out the way she lived: on her own terms. I think about her every day. She was very sharp, but she often used her age to her advantage, because she would always say whatever she wanted as if she couldn’t be held responsible for her words. She used to brag about me to her friends in the nursing home, and she would show off the full-sized poster of me wearing a Speedo on the pool deck. Before Pan-Pacs, I promised I would break a world record for her at some time during the year.

  Although we knew Gran’s time was short, nobody expected the tragic news that hit the Michigan swim family in January. Eric Namesnik had gone from being a great Wolverine swimmer to an Olympian to a member of the Michigan coaching staff. One morning, we got word he had been in a nasty car accident on an icy stretch of road on his way to practice. Doctors induced a coma to reduce swelling around his brain, but unfortunately he never woke up and died four days after the accident. He was only 35 years old. I first met Eric when I was 11 and remember him giving me a hard time about my limp handshake, something my dad told me to avoid. He had a great wife, Kirsten, who also swam at Michigan, and two kids, Austin and Madison, who will no doubt be hearing stories about how awesome their dad was for many years. Snik had friends everywhere.

  Snik’s favorite saying tells his story: “Dream no small dreams, for they have power to move the hearts of men.”

  31

  REBUILDING

  After a disappointing year, Bob wanted me to take time to build myself up. I didn’t compete again until February, at a low-key, short-course, world cup meet in East Meadow, Long Island, outside of New York City. I won four races over two days, saving the best test—a 200 free in which I trailed Italy’s Filippo Magnini until the last 30 meters—for last.

  Soon after, I went to Torino with my mom to see the Winter Olympics for the first time. I really enjoyed going to watch Apolo Ohno skate in person. Short track skating is cool, a little like roller derby. You have to pass the other skaters while keeping the tightest turns possible. Collisions happen all the time. Of course the next night my mom dragged me out to see ice dancing. I’m sure there’s more to it than I realize, but, Mom, you’re on your own next time. It was actually a trip of superlatives even without the sports events. I saw the biggest snowflakes I’d ever seen and I went for one of the best meals of my life at a local restaurant. Just how many antipasti can one swimmer eat?

  I got a huge boost in April, when Erik Vendt joined our group in Michigan. Erik is awesome to train with. If I’m not pushing every day, he’ll kick my butt in practice. Erik doesn’t fit the prototype of a great swimmer. Most elites are supposed to be tall, with long wingspans that shoot us through the water like rockets. Erik is listed at 5’11”, which seems a bit generous. The man makes up for any size shortcomings with an amazing work ethic. Somewhere along the line, someone must have suggested he wouldn’t be as good as he is, because he trains with a healthy chip on his shoulder.

  We also got word that Kaitlin Sandeno would be joining us in May. Kaitlin has four medals over the last two Olympics and we were excited about adding another Olympian to our pool. I wasn’t in full competition mode yet for the season, but already I was starting to feel that I was leaving 2005 behind.

  Because of Bob’s travel schedule and his obligations to both the college and club swimmers, he couldn’t always be with me for each meet and training session. Still, he’d always find clever ways to keep me motivated, even when he wasn’t there to watch. One day, he left behind some notes for a workout he called the Tour de FRIM (short for freestyle IM), a takeoff on the Tour de France bike race. We assumed this would be a pretty dull session, but it became pretty spirited because of the way he structured it. To begin with, a FRIM is a freestyle individual medley in which we swim IMs, but replace the butterfly strokes with additional freestyle strokes. Bob broke the day into six stages, the way they do in France. Erik won the first 1,600-meter stage and we started to get competitive. At one point we looked around for a yellow cap to be worn by the leader, just as the Tour de France leader gets to wear a yellow jersey as long as he keeps his lead. I outlasted Klete on the final stage to win the unofficial Canham
“Bowman is Nuts” Tour de FRIM title. It was a proud moment.

  Bob upped my competition schedule as we drew closer to Nationals in Irvine, California, and Pan Pacs in Victoria, B.C., the big meets during the season, and each one made me feel stronger. In May we had a meet in Ann Arbor to honor Eric Namesnik. I swam six races there, but the most meaningful were the 400 IM, which was Eric’s event, and an 800 free relay, which I asked Bob if we could arrange with Peter and Klete, the Wolverines who won the relay with me in Athens. We hadn’t planned it, but Bob understood we all wanted to do it for Snik, and the crowd reaction was pretty tremendous.

  I continued to make progress at events in Charlotte and Santa Clara. I was right where I wanted to be, with world-leading times in both IMs, an improved freestyle, and a lot more stamina than I had at the same time a year earlier. I was also making significant strides with my weakest stroke, the breaststroke. Now I was keeping my shoulders up closer to my ears, holding my hands flat when I shot forward, and putting my fingertips up once I shot forward.

  All the extra work was starting to make me feel the way I did in Athens, where I thought I was ready for anything. Of course, that wasn’t the case outside the pool. A week before we left for Nationals, I had another household incident when my smoke detector started blaring. Fire? Where’s the fire? I’m not cooking. There are no matches around. The stove is off. What could possibly be on fire? I called Bob, the answer man, for answers.

  “Michael, when was the last time you changed the battery in that thing?” he asked.

  “Oh, um, you need to do that?”

  “Well, if you don’t want the Ann Arbor Fire Department camped out in front of your place, you might look into it.”

  Considering all the times Bob lit a fire under my butt at practice, this was pretty ironic.

  I went to Nationals in Irvine hoping I’d be able to break my first record since 2004, so I was a little disappointed to come away without one. Still, my three wins did give me a piece of history. I entered the night tied with Adolph Keifer, a swimmer during the 1930s and ’40s, with 28 national titles, the most by a U.S. male swimmer. I knew of Keifer, who was still alive at age 88, because he manufactured a lot of swimming equipment we use. I never swam in his nylon tank suit he designed 50 years ago, but I still use his kickboards.

  The next night I had another showdown against Ian. He always seems to bring out the best in me. Neither one of us swam our best in Irvine, but I managed to pull ahead with 25 meters to go and barely edge him at the finish. We knew we’d see each other again at Pan-Pacs. I came back to win the 200 IM, barely holding off Ryan, who had blossomed into a versatile swimmer. Afterward, a reporter asked me what it felt like to have a young gun going after me. Okay, I thought, but Ryan is actually a year older than I am.

  I still had a bad taste in my mouth from the bad turns at Nationals. I hadn’t set a world record in two years and the 1:53.93 I swam for the 200 fly in Barcelona was still standing. I wasn’t looking at it as a world record anymore; I was thinking that this was supposed to be one of my best events—maybe my very best event—and I hadn’t set a personal best in three years. The lack of improvement at this stage in my career worried me. I also wanted to break a world record for Gran.

  I was disappointed that Ian Thorpe wouldn’t be competing in Victoria, since I really wanted to face him in the 200 free. Without Ian, Bob and I agreed that on the first night I would skip the 200 free to be completely fresh and go after the record in the 200 fly final an hour later. I felt good when I jumped in and was .16 ahead of record pace at the 50. Then I lost pace a little bit, partly by design, so I could really come back strong at the end. At 150, I was behind Japan’s Ryuichi Shibata, but I knew I had a lot left. After finally nailing the last turn, I passed Shibata and started to hear the crowd get louder. I had a good feeling as I touched the last wall. It had seemed like forever since my last record and I almost didn’t want to look up to see my time. Okay, so I looked. The scoreboard read 1:53.80. “Yeah!” I screamed, holding up my arm and tossing my head back. That’s what I’m talking about. I felt the burden and frustration lift off my shoulders.

  I felt great about the result, but even more than that I felt psyched about how hungry and passionate I was in the days and hours leading up to the race. If the post-Olympic 18 months had been a giant wake-up call, I was finally awake—and still hungry. It took a while for me to get through interviews and drug testing.

  I won two more gold medals the next night, in the 400 IM and 800-free relay with Ryan, Peter, and Klete. This wasn’t anything like the relay in Athens. Our team led wire-to-wire, beating Canada and Australia by more than seven seconds. Our final time, 7:05.28, was just off the Australians’ world record. We were nowhere near that record a few years ago. We were just trying to find a way to give the Aussies a race, since they had kind of taken over the event. But a relay record wasn’t far off.

  In fact, the next night was definitely a record night. First I had to swim the 200 back against Aaron. When he’s on his game, Aaron may be the best ever at this event. Even though Bob didn’t assign me an experiment as bold as the 400 free this year, the 200 back isn’t one of my better events. It’s a good challenge and a way to improve the backstroke part of my medley swims. Aaron’s technique is just about perfect and it looks like he could swim the back in his sleep. This was one of those nights. Aaron led from the first wall and broke his own world record. I was more than two seconds back. When Aaron saw the results, he reached into my lane and slapped me on the back, but I was already thinking ahead to our 400 free relay half an hour later. I was leading off with Neil, Cullen, and Jason to follow. I gave us a lead and we pretty much stayed ahead of pace the whole race. Jason swam a great anchor, touching the wall in 3:12.46, seven-tenths ahead of the mark the South Africans set when they stunned us in Athens.

  The last big race in Victoria was the confrontation with Ryan in the 200 IM. Ryan really pushes me every time we compete, and this was a great race. I was under world-record pace after the fly when I really wanted to make a statement. Ryan didn’t back down and he took over the lead, under record pace, after the breaststroke, leaving me with the freestyle leg to catch him. We both looked at one another as we came up to breathe and I definitely felt that one of us was going to break the record. I caught a glimpse of Ryan four strokes before the finish, enough to feel scared I was going to swim a great race and still lose. When I touched I thought I’d won and broken my record, 1:55.94, but I had to look up to be sure: 1:55.84. I put up two index fingers and went over to hug Ryan, who finished in 1:56.11. I really have to thank Ryan for that record. The fear of losing is worth an extra tenth when I need it most.

  Afterward, I choked up when I told people I had dedicated the race to Gran. “She’s definitely watching down,” I said. I’m guessing it was the kind of day when she was winning at cards, too.

  After no world records for almost two years, I had two individual and one relay record in a week. Yet the best part of the whole week was the feeling at the end that there was more work to do.

  32

  OPTIMISM ABOUNDS

  The same week I finished with Pan Pacs, my mom opened a new chapter in her life as principal of the Windsor Mill Middle School, a school she helped get off the ground. The student body at Windsor, about 500 in all, is more than 95 percent African-American. Many schools in the Baltimore area were overcrowded and this was the first middle school the county had built in 22 years. My mom really put a lot of effort into making students feel comfortable at Windsor. The hallways are bright, the windows are big, the walkways are large. It feels like a great place to learn without a stuffy school feeling. If I can gain energy, passion, and inspiration as I get older in a similar fashion as my mom, then I may swim for another seven or eight Olympics.

  I had another surprise waiting for me when I got back to Ann Arbor. After years of talk, anticipation, signs in the stands in Barcelona … this needs a drum roll … I got a dog! After some consultation with Mom,
Peter Carlisle gave me a great gift, an English bulldog, exactly the breed I wanted. His name is Herman. He has black and white patches randomly spotted all over his body, and when they adopted him, they must have left his energy in the shop. Herman is allergic to anything strenuous. Most dogs like to run around and tug at their leashes, like they want to explore the world, or at least take over the neighborhood. Herman stands at the corner, looks up at me and pokes his nose in the direction of the front door. Sometimes he’ll try to pick up a stick, and when he can’t get the stick in his mouth, he’ll look up at me as if to say, “Hey Mike, little help!”

  I may be a good sleeper, but Herman is the champ. When he’s in the zone, or I guess, when he’s out of it, a bulldozer can’t wake him. There seems to be some sort of magnetic attraction between Herman and my couch. Sometimes I look at him and think, Herman, why don’t you just get up and move a little? But that involves the two things he hates the most: getting up and moving. Doctors say sleep is good for a long life, so Herman should be good for a few hundred in dog years.

  Herman even got to be a star in a pre-Olympic ad for NBC. They interviewed me in my home in Ann Arbor and at one point showed a graphic that read: “Herman. No medals.” Then they had footage of him lying on the couch with me and separate footage of him doing what he does best: snoring. I never met Herman’s parents, but I’m sure he’d make them proud.

  In March, Whitney gave birth to a daughter named Taylor. How does Uncle Michael sound? Taylor is adorable. Whatever issues I used to have with random people asking me to hold their babies for pictures don’t apply to my niece. I feel completely comfortable as an uncle. Taylor is really ticklish. If you nuzzle her cheek, it’s hard for her to stop laughing. She also does some very creative things with her food, which only occasionally finds its way into her mouth. I guess I’m easily amused, but she gets this look when she tosses a piece of cheese onto the floor that just cracks me up. It’s a very different look from the one Whitney has that seems to say, “Michael, stop encouraging her.” Sorry, but I just can’t help myself.