No Limits

by Michael Phelps

  This, he thought, is the guy.

  It took two months to hold a meeting, as Peter was just too busy looking after his stars from those Winter Games. He was director of Olympic sports for Octagon, an agency based outside Washington, D.C., that had acquired his independent agency the year before. His home base was in Maine, where he grew up.

  “So,” Peter said to me at that first meeting, “what do you want for your future, Michael? What are your goals?”

  I said the first thing that came to mind: “I want to change the sport of swimming.”

  In Australia, swimmers were on billboards, in commercials. Kids grow up there wanting to be swimmers the way they grow up in the United States wanting to play quarterback. In Australia, swimming was often the lead topic on the nightly news—not just the sports segment, the entire news show. How often was swimming even shown on a sports highlight show in the United States?

  I was still sixteen years old. I wasn’t trying to be overbearing. I truly did not think I was that full of myself. I had been asked a question and was trying to answer it honestly.

  “I want to change the sport of swimming, I want people to talk about it, think about it, and look forward to seeing it. I want them to want to jump in and do it. That’s my goal.”

  I signed up with Peter that summer. He negotiated a deal with Visa that put me in line to make me one of the athletes it would feature in the run-up to the 2004 Olympics. And then he waited.

  Peter has a guilty pleasure: reality television. He was fascinated by the dynamics of Survivor. What does the winner of Survivor get?

  A $1 million check.

  The first meet of mine that Peter saw in person came in the summer of 2002, the summer nationals in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. The meet, the U.S. qualifier for the 2003 Worlds in Barcelona, ended with me being the first man since Spitz to hold four American records. The next year, in Barcelona, I became the first swimmer to lower world records in different events on the same day.

  While in Barcelona, the time had come. Peter asked to meet with Speedo’s executives. He said, we need to renegotiate the contract, for all the right reasons.

  What, they asked, do you want?

  He said, a million bucks. If, in Athens, Michael matches Spitz’s seven golds, you pay him a million bucks.

  There were other details—a base salary, smaller bonuses for some lesser number of medals in Athens, and so on—but the million was the nut of the deal. Think, Peter told the company’s executives, of the publicity this would bring not just Michael, but Speedo.

  Incentive deals are common in pro football and baseball. You make the Pro Bowl, you get an extra $100,000. You make baseball’s All-Star team, here’s $50,000. Or whatever. This simply extended an idea that had become commonplace in other sports to swimming.

  Carmelo Anthony went to high school a mile away from where I did. He spent one year in college, leading Syracuse to an NCAA championship. Then he was drafted by the Denver Nuggets. In July 2003, the Nuggets signed him to a four-year, $15.1 million contract. Five days later, I dove into the water for my first heat in the 200 fly at the Worlds in Barcelona. If I was in swimming solely to make money, I was in the wrong sport.

  And this: Carmelo was going to be on television dozens of times that fall. Swimming wasn’t going to be seen live on any American television network during all of 2003.

  My Speedo deal, with the $1 million bonus, was announced in November 2003 and, from then on, I had to navigate a balance.

  It wasn’t until the Fort Lauderdale meet the year before that Bob had even allowed himself to think I might have the capability to reach for seven medals.

  In fact, it had been such a nonstarter that, asked about it early in the meet by a reporter from the Colorado Springs newspaper—the U.S. Olympic Committee is based there, and so what’s written by the local paper, the Gazette, gets noticed by Olympic insiders everywhere—Bob almost snorted. “You can compare Michael to Mark Spitz in that he swims a lot of different events in different strokes at a high level,” he said. “Now can he win seven events, seven gold medals? That’s very difficult to do in this day and age.

  “…I can’t imagine right now we’d try an event program that would be that ambitious.”

  Still, Bob said, “I’m not going to rule it out.”

  I had told the same reporter it might be fun to aim for. “It’s harder now than it was back then. If you can do it, wow!”

  Bob was having no more wow talk. As soon as the thought of seven came up, he shoved it right back down. The way to think about seven medals wasn’t to talk about it. It was to train.

  The bonus, predictably, generated enormous publicity. That was good. But complex.

  It was essential never to be disrespectful of any of my teammates or rivals. Not that I ever would. I simply had to be aware of the dynamic. Each of them had goals, too.

  It was key to be respectful in everything I said and did about Mark. That was easy. What he did was amazing. It deserves enormous respect. He has, always has had, mine.

  It was also critical to separate myself from Mark. I wasn’t trying to be him. I was me. And what I wanted, what I was after, was to do something no one else had done. That’s what I set my mind to, and that’s what I was going for.

  It’s not a lie that I wanted to beat the record. It’s not a secret. I just wasn’t going to come out and say it. Why would I? The only person who could help me accomplish my goals was Bob. No offense to anyone in the media, but is a reporter going to help me swim faster? A reporter going to help me win any medal of any kind? That’s why I kept everything to myself. It wasn’t necessary to share my goals with anyone but Bob. So I didn’t do it.

  If I was asked, can you beat Spitz? I might say, you never know what can happen. I would then go on to say, the only person I can worry about is myself. If I can prepare the best I can, that’s all I can ask. If I go in and still get beat with my best time, that’s all I can ask for. I can’t say yes or no.

  To answer, well, of course I want to beat him and I think I can, would be impolite and immodest. It would be trash-talking. Not my way.

  My goals were my goals, and they were to win as many as I could win. If everything broke right, I could win a number that, as it turns out, rhymes with the word “fate.” Bob and I planned it. He said: You have the ability to swim these events at a high level. Show the world what you can do. Never mind the world. Show yourself.

  We called it Plan A.

  • • •

  To see Plan A to its completion, I had to swim relays.

  A major international swim meet lasts eight days. Even so, there are only so many individual events that it would be possible, even in theory, to swim, because race finals are sometimes scheduled one after the other, sometimes within minutes.

  If I was to break into the 400 relay, that meant I had to, among other things, start swimming faster in the 100 free. I was told in Barcelona, and this was by one of the guys on our team, you’ll never break 50 seconds.

  I didn’t say anything back. Everyone would learn, eventually, that, aside from losing itself, nothing made me more determined than when someone doubted me.

  At the 2003 summer nationals in College Park, Maryland, just down the road from Baltimore, I won the 100 free in 49.19. Six months later, in Orlando, at the spring nationals, I won again, in 49.05, even though my reaction time off the blocks, 1.21 seconds, was awful, and I was dead last at the turn. In Santa Clara, California, in the spring of 2004, Jason and I raced head-to-head in the 100; I won.

  I did not compete in the 100 free at the 2004 Trials. Jason won, in 48.41, ahead of Ian Crocker, in 49.06. Gary Hall, Jr. was just behind Ian, in 49.16. In fourth: Neil Walker, who for years had been one of the most reliable American relay guys.

  In seventh place at those 2004 Trials: Garrett Weber-Gale.

  Because I didn’t swim in the 100 free at the Trials, of course there was some tension that revolved around whether I should get to swim in the 400 relay in Ath
ens. It surfaced immediately in Long Beach.

  I didn’t swim the race at the Trials because I didn’t have to. The fact is, any member of an Olympic team can be used in the relay. My 49.05 in Orlando was faster than Ian had gone at the Trials. I had beaten Jason in Santa Clara.

  Obviously, though, if I swam, someone else was not going to.

  At that point, Gary had eight Olympic medals. He had experience and pride. Having been beaten by Thorpe in the 400 relay final in Sydney, he was naturally seeking another chance. His point, as he told reporters, was, “Somebody swam the 100 free and earned a spot on that relay. You’re talking about a lifetime of work. I’m supportive of Michael and his goals. I want to see the relay win gold. It’s only fair for the individuals who earned a place on the relay to swim in the Olympics. Four of us are swimming for one spot if Michael’s there.”

  The answer came from Eddie Reese, the U.S. men’s coach. Our American men hadn’t won a major international relay since 1998. Eddie, like Gary—like me, like all of us—wanted to win in Athens. When we got there, he said, somebody had to swim a split time of 48.2 or 48.3, roughly equivalent to a sub-49 time in an individual 100 free, to grab one of the spots in the final; a 48.2 or 48.3 relay split would trump the 49.05 I had done in Orlando. If fewer than two did so, I would swim with Ian and Jason, who by virtue of going one-two at the Trials had clinched two of the spots.

  “I want Michael Phelps in as many events as possible,” Eddie said, “and in as many as he can do well.”

  When we got to Athens, Neil swam a 48.16 split in the prelims. He got a spot in the finals. Gary went 48.73. He did not.

  I know Gary didn’t like not being on that relay in the finals, but you’re not going to like everything that happens in life.

  Ian, Neil, Jason and me, and I asked to swim leadoff. Bob asked that I swim leadoff. That’s where I would feel the most comfortable.

  Two reasons: I like being able to get an early lead, and I thought I could.

  Also, for the guy going second, third, or fourth, the timing of leaving the blocks is an intricate thing. The ultimate goal is to time the dive so that you’re horizontal to the water surface, but with your feet still in contact with the blocks, as the swimmer in the water is making his touch.

  The coaching staff went with a different order: Ian, me, Neil, Jason.

  Ian went first. He was fifth at the turn. And then he just didn’t have it. He touched in 50.05, dead last, and what turned out to be the slowest time of any of the thirty-two guys in the field.

  I swam 48.74. That got us into sixth. Neil went 47.97, the fastest split of his career, to get us to third. Jason swam furiously and for a moment we were in second. But he was passed in the closing meters by Pieter van den Hoogenband of the Netherlands.

  The South Africans won in world-record time, 3:13.17. The Dutch came in second, in 3:14.36. We finished third, in 3:14.62. It was the worst American showing ever in an Olympic 400 free relay.

  “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. It’s my fault,” Ian said.

  “Dude, this is one race,” I told him.

  Gary did not even show up to watch. Word was that he stayed in the village.

  Eddie, meanwhile, apparently did not know that Ian, who had swum in college for Eddie at the University of Texas, was sick, with a runny nose and a sore throat.

  That race, which came on just the second day of the meet, abruptly ended any notions of going beyond seven gold medals in Athens. At the start of the Games, I had watched the movie Miracle, the story of the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team. Now, it looked as though I might need to call on a miracle of my own if I had any hope of seeing Plan A through; I would have to win all six of my remaining events, and in some of those events—the 200 free, in particular—I would not be the favorite.

  But that’s not why the walk off the pool deck that night was a long one. It would be a long four years until we could again claim that relay gold for the United States, where it belonged.

  • • •

  The time I put up in Omaha in the 100 free prelims at the 2008 Trials, 47.92, tied Garrett’s winning time in the Trials finals. This time around, there wasn’t any question as to whether I was deserving; there would be no controversy about whether I ought to be one of the four swimming the 400 relay finals at the Olympics.

  Garrett, after that seventh-place finish in the 2004 Trials, had steadily been improving, training in Texas with Eddie, whom Garrett’s dad calls the “Zen master of swimming.” For years, Eddie has been telling Garrett he has the gift of the kick. Eddie would keep telling Garrett: Kick! Kick! It wasn’t until the Beijing Olympics were in sight, in the spring of 2008, that Garrett finally got it. Going into the Trials and then onto Beijing, you could tell Garrett was mentally just right there. Garrett is something of a foodie—he loves restaurants and collects recipes for dishes like smoky salmon jerky—but had been working all year with a nutritionist and had been on a low-sugar, low-protein diet. He kept saying that the rigorous diet was in part to help train his mind; he said it made him feel like he had an edge and was ready to go. If you don’t expect to do well, he kept saying at the Trials, you’re not going to swim fast. In Omaha, Garrett won both the 100 and the 50. He was swimming fast, even setting an American record of 21.47 in the 50, after which he treated himself to dessert for the first time in nearly three months: one raspberry sorbet.

  Jason was swimming fast, too, going 47.58, also an American record, at the Trials in the 100 semifinals. And Jason was thirty-two years old. Just to compare: At the Trials, Garrett was twenty-two, I turned twenty-three during the meet, Cullen was twenty-four, and here was Jason, at thirty-two, still bringing it strong. Jason and I had been hanging out together on national teams since Sydney, but there was something different about him this time around. He was more relaxed and more social this year than I had ever seen him before. Not that he wasn’t relaxed or social before, but it was obvious that he was appreciating what we had this time, an unbelievable sense of team and of camaraderie.

  At the Olympic Village, I was put into a six-person suite with Lochte, Jones, Shanteau, Vendt, and Gil Stovall. Shanteau had made the 2008 team in the 200 breast; Vendt had made it for the prelims of the 800-meter free relay; Stovall was an up-and-comer in the 200 fly. Jason would come into our suite at the village and hang out while we were playing card games; Lochte and I would be taking on Cullen and Shanteau in spades. Jason would just soak it all in, would sit there, a big part of it all, all of us laughing and appreciating the moment and each other.

  The sense of togetherness on this 2008 U.S. men’s Olympic swim team will forever be one of my great memories from Beijing. In the pool, we had to compete. Outside of it, we were not just teammates but brothers. Every single one of us.

  Before the Olympics started, we held an athletes-only meeting. No coaches. Some of us who had been at prior Games told the new guys about those memories. About how some of the best moments come away from the pool. About how being on the American swim team is one of the biggest honors anyone could ever have. About trying to savor not just the competition but the experience.

  And about some of our goals for the Olympics, one of which was crystal clear: Take back the 400 relay gold.

  Jason, in particular, was tired of losing. He swam the third leg on the 2000 relay, the anchor in 2004. Silver and bronze. He wanted gold.

  And now comes Bob, the morning of the race, to say the French are trash-talking? They’re going to smash us like guitars? Gary’s words from 2000, now thrown in our face?

  When I heard that, it was like a switch flipped in my body, like, you really want to do that? We didn’t need any more motivation. But we had just gotten it.

  I said to Jason at breakfast, you hear what the French are saying?

  He just smiled.

  Bob and I saw Garrett on his way back from breakfast. Hey, guess what the French said?

  I don’t want to hear it, Garrett said. We’ll take care of business when we get out to the pool.
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br />   We got to the pool pretty fired up. And then we got fired up more.

  In the hallway outside the ready room, the four of us got together in a football huddle. The talk immediately turned raw and emotional.

  Jason said he had been on losing relays before. I’m not, he said, going to let it happen again. This, he said, is not a 4x100 relay, four guys each swimming a 100. There’s nothing here about swimming a leg individually. This is a 400 relay; we’re all together. We’re all going to be one. He said we have to prepare ourselves and go out there and kick it.

  We were like: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bouncing up and down. Ready to rock. Fired up.

  Out on the deck, in introductions, nobody said a word. Nobody had to. We drew next to each other and raised our hands up in unison. A team. Together.

  This was obviously going to be a super-fast race. Six of the eight teams in the final had gone faster in the 2008 prelims than the South Africans had done in winning the 2004 relay in Athens in a then-world record 3:13.17. Including the South Africans, who were back with the same four guys.

  The Australians had Eamon Sullivan, the world-record holder in the 50 and a complete threat in the 100. They were for sure going to swim fast.

  The French had three guys who had come on in the last year, one of them Bernard, the 100 world-record holder with that 47.5. He had broken the 100 record twice in March. They would swim fast.

  Bring it on.

  We were ready to rock, ready to swim fast, too.

  Faster.

  Until this moment, five guys in the entire world had gone under 48 seconds in an open 100 this year. Bernard, Sullivan, and three Americans: Garrett, Jason, and me.

  The pressure had to be on the French. They had never won a medal in the event. They were trying to win France’s first swimming relay gold.

  I got up on the block, above Lane 4. My guys behind me were calling, come on, Mike! Come on, Phelps! Lead it off! Step it up! Let’s go! I started to get chills.

  The beep sounded.

  I knew the French guy, Amaury Leveaux, second-fastest ever in the 50, was going to be out quick. The plan was to stay with him. He was in Lane 5, to my left. Sullivan, the Australian, was to my right, in Lane 3.