Why I Choked Up Over A Michael Phelps Commercial

Okay. Okay.

I choked up over a Michael Phelps commercial.

There. I admitted it.

But I’m not ashamed. Let me give you some background.

It came out months before the Olympics even began. It was the latest in a line of commercials Phelps has done for the burgeoning sporting goods company, Under Armour. Attempting to “redefine what it means to be successful in training”, Under Armour unveiled a campaign of commercials respectively featuring the United States Women’s Gymnastics team, Jordan Spieth and Steph Curry.

But it was the Michael Phelps commercial that jarred me (watch it here)

At first, it is quiet. The darkness of an Olympic lap pool in the ungodly early morning hours comes into view. The surface is serene, glass, untouched…until it moves. For underneath, a swimmer has just pushed off the wall for what seems the millionth time. It is home for him. Home. These waters are almost a place of origin. And destiny. Then, softly – mournfully – three chords of a piano begin rolling back and forth, back and forth as we see this swimmer pierce the water’s surface to begin his endless strokes in the seemingly endless pool.

And then, the lyrics began.

It’s the last goodbye, I swear.
I have no regrets for the past is behind me
Tomorrow reminds me just where

As the music plays, the swimmer swims on. Steady. Strong. Dedicated. Sure. Like Robert Frost’s rider through woods on a snowy evening, he has miles to go before he sleeps. As the swimmer swims, we are granted glimpses of the rest of his life – a life devoted to this steady, but grueling path between lane ropes. But this glimpse is hard – painful – to watch. From impossible exercises to exhausted sleep, from shocking ice baths to uncomfortable hot cupping therapy, from eating enormous meals to sleeping in altitude chambers, from coaches yelling to personal frustration. And all the while, we are returned again and again to the swimmer swimming in the ever-growing pool.

Can’t quite see the end
How can I rely on my heart if I break it with my own two hands?

But in the midst of the sweat and exhaustion, the vomiting and the grimacing, there is one scene that especially haunted me. It places a chilled Michael Phelps, bearded, brow furrowed, wearing a hoodie and carrying a backpack of swim gear, as he looks over a backyard pool in autumn. Brown leaves speckle the water’s surface and an indecipherable momentary whisper emerges from the background.

And this is where it dawns on me. This is where I choked up.

This dream, I realized, this effort by Michael Phelps and all Olympians is not only difficult, but extraordinarily isolating. The backyard pool, a place of frivolous play and memory, sits sadly neglected. An aging autumn replaces a vibrant summer as an aging Olympian considers his past. (There’s the music again, It’s the last goodbye, I swear). Here, in this moment, the isolation is sharp. The early mornings and late nights. The exercises and drills and laps accompanied by pain and nausea and frustration. The missed friendships. The dislocation from family. The singular focus risking stupendous success or daunting failure. The confrontations with coaches who always want more, want more, want more. The restless sleep which can never turn it off. Never. As I watched, I found the romance of the Olympics desperately, harshly shaken only to leave standing the naked, grueling reality. It seems only appropriate that the scenes of this commercial were largely tinged with darkness. Sometimes the glaring lights of Rio seem to obscure the shadows athletes work under every day to arrive there.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not an inveterate downer. The Olympics are glorious. And the athletes clearly dream big, tap into deep strength and find great satisfaction in doggedly pursuing their goal. By and large, they are determined, not sad.

But, if you ask me, the greatest stories of the Olympics are great because of their humanity (please see my piece Michael Phelps’ Greatest Conquest). Like our extraordinary faith, the best stories are happy because they are, in part, sad.

I heard all you said don’t say anything
It’s the last goodbye I swear

When Under Armour founder Kevin Plank brought Michael Phelps and his fiancee, Nicole, to his house to show them the commercial, they sat in almost stunned silence at its close (see here). As Nicole discreetly tried to brush away tears, Plank asked her, “What do you think? What are you doing there, Nicole?”. With a broken voice, she answered,

“It’s knowing what he sacrificed and being able to see it on the screen. It’s cool. It’s really cool.”

And Michael, tearing up, responded,

“I think being able now just to not be afraid and to understand everything, what I am doing and…to understand that I can’t do it alone. I think that commercial – I mean, you saw us we’re in tears – that commercial shows a lot of amazing things about me that probably the world has never seen…The world is going to see the real Michael Phelps and that’s what I’m excited for.”

Given all that Michael Phelps and so many Olympic athletes have been through, all they have sacrificed, all they have hoped, for, this commercial is profoundly raw, emotional and true. Perhaps it is not by accident that the concluding Under Armour slogan is