An assistant physician brought over Chen Yu’s diagnosis.
Bowman and Phelps were eager to see it.
"Wait a second."
Bowman remembered something and quickly stopped Phelps. "Let me take a look first."
Over the past two days, he hadn’t told Phelps the real reason for seeking treatment from Chen Yu. He’d simply claimed Phelps’s physical condition was off and that he was seeing Chen Yu for conditioning.
If the diagnosis mentioned "suffering from depression," it would be tantamount to saying Phelps had a mental illness, and Bowman was afraid Phelps couldn’t handle it.
Phelps hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
He wasn’t stupid. Chen Yu’s method consisted mainly of conversation and asking a lot of questions. It was clearly a form of psychotherapy. He had to know something was wrong with him.
Bowman got up and opened the file folder. To his surprise, there was only a single prescription inside.
He pulled it out and glanced at it, freezing abruptly.
"Coach, what’s Dr. Chen’s diagnosis?" Phelps asked.
Bowman handed the prescription over, his brow furrowing involuntarily.
’I can’t make sense of this diagnosis at all.’
Phelps quickly took it.
It was a prescription, but it didn’t state the diagnosis. It just listed three treatment recommendations.
"One hour in the morning: choose from activities such as playing video games, playing table tennis, watching movies, listening to music, or reading."
"One hour in the afternoon: same as above, choose your own form of entertainment."
"One hour in the evening: participate in various parties and recreational activities in the Olympic Village."
Over ten thousand athletes were about to move into the Olympic Village. Outside of training, this group of energetic competitors would inevitably engage in all sorts of recreational activities.
The Olympic Village also had plenty of entertainment facilities like bars, and there were many parties every night.
"What does this mean?" Phelps was a little confused.
’This has to be the strangest prescription I’ve ever seen.’
’Or rather, you couldn’t even call it a prescription.’
Bowman thought, ’I’m just as confused.’ He told Phelps to wait and went out to the balcony to call Chen Yu.
"Chen, what exactly is going on with Michael? And what’s the meaning of this prescription you sent?"
An hour in the morning, an hour in the afternoon, an hour in the evening—he had no idea what Chen Yu was planning.
On the phone, Chen Yu seemed to be shouting to someone else. He paused for a moment before answering, "Bob, Michael does have some psychological issues, but I think he’s okay. It hasn’t reached the point where he needs medicinal intervention."
After three days of conversation, Chen Yu felt that Phelps was already showing some early symptoms of depression.
But it wasn’t severe.
And Chen Yu had also figured out the general cause.
First, it was definitely related to his childhood experiences.
A troubled family of origin and a repressive upbringing had made swimming Phelps’s escape from reality.
However, with his mother’s proper guidance and the tolerance and affection of his two older sisters, this part of the problem wasn’t actually that significant.
The real reason, Chen Yu believed, was pressure.
Starting from age 11, eight long years of high-intensity training, day in and day out, had caused him to be wound too tightly.
Especially in order to combat his ADHD, he chose to control it with willpower.
More importantly, in recent years, he had become famous at a young age and shouldered a lot of pressure from outside the training ground.
There was pressure from his rivals, pressure to perform in competitions, and after gaining fame, the pressure of endorsements, commercial events, and money.
Bowman became his coach at age 11 and was incredibly strict. At the same time, however, he was also overprotective. He didn’t let Phelps get too involved in off-the-field matters, nor did he teach him how to cope with them.
He was the American prodigy, compared to Australia’s Ian Thorpe from an early age. He was like the next Jordan entering the NBA draft, being picked first overall by the Bulls, and then having everyone expect him to lead the Bulls to another three-peat.
Everyone had placed such high expectations on him, and those expectations themselves were an immense pressure.
But who remembered that he was just a 19-year-old teenager, who by age should have just graduated from high school?
At his age, he should have his own hobbies, his own friends, and his own life.
But he had none of that. For 365 days a year, every single day, there was only that cold swimming pool.
At first, he might have enjoyed the feeling of diving underwater, of being cut off from the world. But eight long years of being cut off was a form of torture.
This was also why Phelps said he felt incredibly uncomfortable whenever he dove underwater.
And yet, he possessed incredible self-control.
Repeating the same training day after day for years was simply inconceivable for a kid in his early teens.
So the more he controlled himself, the greater the pressure became.
In that case, the best choice was to relax.
Play games, watch movies, listen to music, go to parties, go wild with people his own age, and do the things a teenager should be doing.
His life shouldn’t be just about training. He must have his own life, a real life.
"Bowman, I assume you have children of your own? You should know how much of a handful and how rebellious they can be at eighteen or nineteen."
"Michael is a good kid, but he still has growing pains. And when those pains accumulate, they turn into immense psychological pressure."
"So just let him relax. You don’t need to worry. He has powerful self-control and won’t let himself go to waste."
"Oh, and having him find a girlfriend would be better than anything else."
Milicic’s relationship with Alex really solved a lot of problems.
Teenagers at eighteen or nineteen are at an age brimming with energy. To be honest, just bottling it all up can cause problems.
"A girlfriend?"
On his end of the line, Bowman was stunned. He couldn’t help but think of his own son.
Forget eighteen or nineteen; starting from thirteen or fourteen, his son had gone through girlfriends one after another, getting into all sorts of trouble and running wild.
And Phelps? He lived like an ascetic monk.
’Thinking about it now, he’s not like a kid at all. He’s more like a middle-aged man who has renounced worldly desires.’
But even a middle-aged man could go to a bar and complain to old friends about how tough life is. Phelps, however, could only swim frantically in the pool.
"Chen, I understand. Thank you."
Bowman let out a long breath, feeling a sense of sudden enlightenment.
When he first met Phelps, the boy was troubled by ADHD, had boundless energy, and was always causing trouble.
’What did I do back then? I deliberately channeled his excess energy into training, setting an unbelievable workload for him.’
’And for all these years, I’ve continued to do just that, demanding strict adherence to an incredibly high training intensity from Phelps.’
’Thinking about it now, it was probably this strictness and excessive control that caused his psychological problems.’
’If Chen Yu hadn’t noticed and reminded me, Phelps still would have become the best swimmer in the world thanks to his powerful self-control. But his life would have been completely ruined, and it would have been my fault.’
Chen Yu said, "Bowman, people like Phelps have incredible talent. They can achieve great things ordinary people can’t. But they’re still human. They have the same worries as everyone else, and they need to relax and have fun, too."
"Just like Jordan. His talent was astounding, his self-control was terrifying—almost exactly like Phelps. But his crazy obsession with gambling was, in the end, a way of regulating his own stress."
Bowman thanked him again and hung up the phone.
"Usain, one more time."
Chen Yu shouted to Bolt on the track.
Crouched at the starting line, Bolt shot forward as the starting pistol fired.
The electronic timer behind him immediately displayed his start reaction time.
0.139 seconds!
Beside Chen Yu, Mills sighed and said, "Chen, I feel like we’ve reached Usain’s limit. He’s so tall, after all."
Chen Yu folded his arms and said nothing.
Bolt had always had a problem: a slow reaction time at the start.
There were several reasons, such as his starting posture and insufficient explosive power in his legs.
But there were two main reasons. First was his height; he was taller than the average person, so his starting reaction was naturally slower.
This was a physical limitation that was very difficult to overcome.
Second was a slow neurological reaction.
Chen Yu had been making him practice this, and even came up with a quirky trick: having Mills sneak up on Bolt when he wasn’t expecting it and honk an air horn to startle him.
It later proved to be only moderately effective.
Moreover, Chen Yu had even applied the system’s training effects, and the final result was only an improvement from around 0.16 seconds to the current 0.14 seconds.
Of course, an improvement of 0.02 seconds was already huge.
A reaction time of 0.14 seconds now put him at the level of a world-class athlete.
You couldn’t compare him to a freak of nature like Liu Xiang.
"Alright. Maybe you’re right. He’s really reached his limit," Chen Yu also sighed.
A limit is a physical limit, a human limit. It’s not so easy to break.
Waving Bolt over, Chen Yu said, "It’s about time. I booked a French restaurant for lunch. Go get Liu Xiang. We’ll eat, and then this afternoon I’ve rented a yacht. We’re going out on the sea to fish and relax."
"Really?" Bolt’s eyes lit up.
Chen Yu nodded.
The past two days of conversation with Phelps had also served as a reminder for Chen Yu.
Just training wasn’t enough; there had to be a balance between work and rest.
Especially during the pre-competition phase. There’s a saying about sharpening your spear right before battle—even if it’s not sharp, it’ll still be shiny. But compared to cramming in some last-minute hard training, it’s better to relax and get into the right mindset.
An excited Bolt ran to call over Liu Xiang, who was training on the other side.
Watching him run off cheerfully, Mills shook his head slightly. ’He’s still just a kid, after all.’
"Chen, do you think he can win a medal this year?"
In training, Bolt’s fastest time was 19.51 seconds.
There was still a considerable gap from Michael Johnson’s dual world and Olympic record of 19.32 seconds. However, based on the results from this year’s major competitions, that time was good enough to win a medal.
Of course, there’s always a difference between training and an actual race, but even if he’s a little off, there’s still hope.
"Who knows? Or maybe I could give Shaun a call and ask if he’s willing to let Usain have the gold medal?" Chen Yu joked.
He was talking about Shaun Crawford, the famous American sprinter. Based on his results this year, he was the most likely contender for the 200-meter gold medal.
"No, that’s not what I meant. And I didn’t say gold medal. A medal—any medal—is good enough," Mills quickly denied, waving his hands.
After training with Chen Yu for a few years, Bolt had changed dramatically. He was built like an ox now, a world of difference from the stick-thin kid he used to be. But he was only 18, after all. Mills didn’t dare to even think about a gold medal.
Chen Yu clapped him on the shoulder and looked toward Bolt in the distance. "How is one medal enough? If we’re going for something, we go for gold. He’s no ordinary person, so he must do what ordinary people cannot."
A 19-year-old Phelps signed up for eight events at once, ambitiously aiming for several gold medals. So why couldn’t an 18-year-old Bolt go for one?

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