All language subtitles for The Weight of Gold 2020 (The Weight of Gold 2020) (ENGLISH)

As the novel coronavirus continues to
spread worldwide from its starting point

in Wuhan, China, the most reported
coronavirus deaths in a single day,

almost all reported just now, it shows a
record-shattering 6.6 million Americans be

it sporting contests
canceled or postponed.

The Tokyo 2020 organizers and
the International Olympic Committee...

The Prime Minister announced
2020 Summer Olympic

Games will be postponed
until summer 2021.

The summer of 2020 was
supposed to be the summer

of the Tokyo Olympic
and Paralympic Games.

More than 15,000 athletes from over
200 countries coming together, all of them

eager to realize the dreams they
had chased since they were kids.

The venues were built.

The tickets were sold.

The athletes were ready.

And then, all of our lives
were turned upside down.

And the Olympics were
postponed for the first time ever.

Now, the Games getting
delayed pales in comparison to the

tragedies that COVID-19
would cause all over the world.

But the impact will continue.

It wasn't just on
people's physical health.

It was also dangerous
for our mental health.

Fear.

Uncertainty.

Disruption.

Isolation.

All of that was very real
for millions of people.

Mental health was something
I'd been thinking about a lot.

Long before the virus hit.

With the 2020 Games
approaching, the first Olympics

I wouldn't be a part of
since I was 11 years old.

I found myself looking
back on the highs and lows.

And how close I
came to losing it all.

And then when the Games were postponed,
what I thought about was the mental health

of all the athletes who
had worked so hard.

And now had to pick up the
pieces with everything changed.

We should have all been watching the
Olympics together in the summer of 2020.

But instead, I'd like to tell you
about our journeys to the dream.

And how much more there
can be to all of our stories.

There and back.

You broke more than 25
national age group records.

You've got the World
Championships coming up.

What more do you
want to accomplish?

My long-term goal is to
win the gold medal in Athens.

And go on more than one event.

So, I mean, I have
a lot of goals, but I

think that I just want
to take it day by day.

When you're an Olympian,
you like to think that

your story is different
from all of the others.

But really?

Put your hands together!

They all pretty
much start the same.

I want to go to the Olympics
with an American team.

My goal is to, like, go to the
Olympics with an Olympic team.

And the goal that I wanted
to reach was to be at the

Olympics and really compete
with all the great skaters.

At some point or another, all
of us get this idea in our heads.

We can make it to the Olympics.

And everything
just goes from there.

I'd always watch the
Olympics and my parents are

like, wow, this is the
highest level there is.

That's how my mom
explained it to me.

My parents, my mom and
my dad, it sat me down.

They're like, this is, it doesn't
get any higher than this.

It's the Olympics.

That's it.

These athletes have worked
their entire lives for this moment.

And that's why they go to the
greatest lengths to try and win.

I just remember being
awestruck by that.

Growing up in a single parent household
and having the type of energy that I did,

whether you call it ADHD, you call it,
you know, just raw energy that can't be...

tapped in any capacity.

The only thing that my dad
saw that could potentially

redirect my energy into
something positive was sport.

And he was right.

Well, I was born and raised in Park City,
Utah, pretty much the Adventure Town, USA.

I started skiing when I was two
years old, which was pretty awesome.

I have pictures of it.

I don't remember my
first time skiing, but

winter sports has always
been kind of my thing.

I started skating
when I was eight.

We get on the ice and I
just kind of love it right away.

I didn't perceive myself as being like
amazing, really talented, but I was aware

that I was better than
like some of the other kids.

And it just really rapidly
snowballed from there.

He's caught a typical 15-year-old teenager
by his coach, except for one small detail.

Michael Phelps is one of the
fastest swimmers in the world.

None of us had normal
childhoods, per se.

26.00.

Boy, that first lap
was really good.

Nobody who is going to expend
that kind of effort to achieve

that kind of goal is going to
be just like everybody else.

I certainly think this
is just the beginning.

He's certainly not as strong as he's going
to get and we have limited his training,

so it's not even near
where he's going to be.

Now, there are good sides to
that and there are bad sides to that.

For me, I don't want to
say I would have done

anything differently if I
could do it all over again.

I was competitive.

I was hungry.

I loved it.

I chose it.

But the truth was that my focus got
incredibly narrow and intense really

quickly, which would have
ramifications later in life.

Arms forward.

Good.

Forward.

Even if it wasn't possible
to realize that at the time.

I don't think that's an
excuse for not learning a skill.

I didn't fucking say it once.

Go ahead.

Put that on the move.

Go ahead.

Put your attitude of
excellence right on there.

One.

You think and you operate as if
everything revolves around this sole focus,

and that sole focus
is the Olympics.

Everything else is secondary, so your
relationships, your school, your family,

your other friends, everything that's not
catered to you performing at the highest

level in sport is a
non-starter conversation.

For me, it wasn't a sacrifice.

Everything else in life was an
obstacle that I wanted to push aside.

I didn't want to spend
time with friends.

I didn't want to go to school.

I wanted to do everything I
could to be the best skater I could.

It's more of like a lifestyle.

It's how I lived.

Any little step I could take, anything
to get the edge or advantage over my

competitors and to win,
my world was based on that.

For sure.

I went five or six years
straight, 365 days a year.

The difference between
great and good, I think the

greats do things when
they don't always want to.

I think that's what
makes them great.

I've looked up
to Jordan forever.

That guy probably didn't want
to play basketball every day.

He's the GOAT.

Peyton.

He didn't have to study film for
thousands and thousands of hours.

He did it because
he wanted to be great.

Up!

Good.

When I graduated high
school, I remember working

out like crazy because I
wanted to be an athlete.

Everyone's like, oh my
gosh, you work out so much.

And I was like, it's nothing
compared to the Olympians.

When I first got into skeleton, I ended
up on my own at 16, being offered

a free place to live,
food and a potential

scholarship for whatever
school I could try to get to.

It was not really a hard choice.

Go to the Olympics.

Or go to college.

And I basically chose
sport over academics.

I started winning everything.

It was addicting.

It was fun.

I just got sucked in.

I didn't develop
outside interests.

I had a very singular focus on
my sport and on figure skating.

It was like a compulsion.

It was necessary.

Most of my career, I was
driven purely by a fear of failure.

Like a lot of athletes who
are driven by, I want to win.

I want to be the champion.

I was driven purely that I
felt that I was inadequate.

I wasn't the best
guy on the ice.

I wasn't the guy who was the most
talented genetically, physically gifted.

I could probably say I
was the hardest worker.

And I did the most
amount of time in the sport

because of my obsession
with it wasn't good enough.

Every day wasn't good enough.

For 15 years, I lived that life.

It was like I have to be here because
there's someone else on the other side of

the world who's younger than me,
that's better than me, that's just overall

is superior to me in
every single capacity.

So I have to find a way to win.

After all that time you put in, the
early mornings, the countless laps in

the pool, or around the
track, or rink, or whatever.

When you finally go to an
Olympics, I think the only

word that you can use to
describe it is overwhelming.

You've basically been training
your whole life for this one moment.

And you know it's not coming around
again for another four years, if ever.

That's absolutely
all in your head.

And then throw in the fact that it's all
unfolding in front of the entire world.

Like I said, overwhelming.

First Olympics, I was
extremely nervous.

It met my expectations in
the fact that I knew it was

the biggest stage that I
would perform in my life.

And just those overwhelming emotions, and
just completely was an amazing experience.

You felt like everything was special
and you're trying to take it all in.

As a track and field athlete, I had no
clue if I'd ever make another Olympic team.

Most track and field
athletes only make one team.

So I just wanted to make
the most of the experience.

My first Olympics, I was 19 and the
number one rank skier in the world.

And you know, Sports Illustrated
picked me to win the Olympic gold.

And I was beyond nervous.

I mean, it was paralyzing.

USA!

It's a whirlwind.

It's nothing like any competition
I'd ever been to before.

It was inspiring.

It was amazing to sit
with all these other athletes

around the world and
like eat your breakfast.

I mean, it was just like this glow,
this sort of vibe while you were there.

It completely blew my mind.

Flags from every country.

There was so much
excitement and buzz.

It was on no other level that I
can compare to anything in my life.

You get on an Olympic venue bus.

And you go to the
arena to compete.

And you have this kind of epiphany
that when you get back on this bus again

tonight, like your fate
will have been sealed.

Something will be written into history
that can never be unwritten or rewritten.

And it's just a bus ride, but
it's like the enormity of it is huge.

It's all they've done
for the past 10 years.

And now for the next 40 seconds of
our human lives, this moment will dictate

whether they have a gold...

or not.

Phelps, the greatest
of all time, iconic

figure, writes his way
into the history books.

Yet again.

So then, it's over.

Steve Holcomb is raced for gold!

And however it ends... There will be no
medals of any color for Jeremy Bloom.

The bigger point
is that it's over.

Everything you've worked
for in the rearview mirror.

And reckoning with that is something that
unites all Olympians, whether you ended up

on top of the podium
or in total disbelief.

I fell twice in the first 30
seconds of my long program.

I was shell-shocked.

I was devastated.

I was just, like, stunned.

And not only are you having all these
feelings, but you are having all these

feelings where all the entire
world is singularly focused on you.

And you hear, with
every fall, just the...

Or, like, just, like, the hush.

You already have all those feelings,
and then it's, like, the most dramatic

sound effects that are
laid down, the soundtrack,

to this, like, devastating
30 seconds of your life.

This was my Olympics, you know?

It was not the performance I wanted to
give, but I ended up with a silver medal.

It's very hard to know what you're capable
of, and sometimes circumstances in life

happen, and you have to do the best
you can, and sometimes timing sucks, right?

Unless you're an Olympic
athlete, it's difficult to understand

when you fail at the Olympics
what a big deal that is.

From an outside perspective, it could
say, oh, big deal, you're an Olympian.

Like, people have
bigger problems.

And that is true.

But for Olympians,
that's your life.

That's really what defines you.

In that 2002 Olympic 500-meter final and
men's long track, the difference between

gold medal, recognized, celebrated,
and fourth place is this difference.

Four guys just went
by in that time frame.

And you worked an
entire lifetime for that.

The difference is,
the guy who won, we

celebrate, we look to,
we love the guy in fourth.

You never hear from that person.

He disappears.

He dissipates.

He becomes a civilian.

It's gold and then what?

So with all the hype surrounding Bode
Miller coming in here to possibly medal in

all five events, he will
not have a medal at all.

Mainstream media, especially in America,
but really everywhere, they love that

feeling of building somebody up because
that gives them control over the situation.

You know, they pump
them up, pump them down.

They pump up expectations.

And then it's good news.

It's good content.

If they can chop their legs out from under
them and see a hero come crashing down,

it's good for everybody's ego.

Everybody likes to
read about that stuff.

This just in, ladies and
gentlemen, Bode Miller

has just tested
negative for gold medals.

And then to build them back up, then
you have this underdog, the hero reborn.

There's just a lot of
natural flow to that pattern.

Bode Miller, everybody!

I've gone through it enough times to
know what it looks like from the inside.

In 05, when I won the overall, I was
the golden boy, and even though I

was rebellious, and they knew my patterns,
they knew all my stuff, it wasn't like I

wasn't having fun or
partying or going out.

They sort of covered it up and made it so
they could refine the picture of the hero

on the top, and then they were setting
it up so that if I did well, they'd have

something else in the
Olympics, and instead I didn't

do as well as I could have,
and they cut the legs out.

Bode Miller is 0 for 5.

Failing to do well in
races always sucks.

I mean, it was my life, and I had a
huge opportunity there, and, you know,

that just is annoying
from a personal standpoint.

I think every athlete
would relate to that.

I was running the best races of my life,
the best times of my life, and I hit one

hurdle, and it cost me
the Olympic gold medal.

Lolo Jones has the lead,
but she hit the hurdle.

She hit hurdle number
nine, the next to last hurdle.

Lolo Jones hit the hurdle
and did not get a medal.

In my life, I've probably
hit a hurdle three times.

I'm talking about
training, races, practices,

and now I'm known as
a girl who hits hurdles.

She looked to have
the gold in her pocket.

I got ripped across the media,
like, oh, she had all these sponsors.

How could she not medal?

Like, she's such
a freaking flop.

It was so overwhelming,
and I had no one to talk to.

I would be washing dishes,
like, months later, and

I'd think about it, and
I'd literally be frozen.

Like, what could I
have done differently?

I'd be walking in the grocery store,
days going fine, and then someone would

come up to me, oh, I feel
so bad for what happened.

It was painful to see my family's reaction
to it and what they had to go through.

I think that's what hurt the most,
was seeing my image tarnished in their

eyes, that I shouldn't be allowed back
in the country, that I was, you know,

the most disgraceful Olympic
athlete ever in the history of the world.

Your Q rating is where they tell
a thousand people your name.

Do they recognize the name?

Do they have a favorable or an unfavorable
opinion of your brand or your name?

My Q rating was lower than Mike Tyson,
who had bit off Holyfield's ear, or O.

J.

Simpson, who at the time
had double murder and ran.

Could you imagine?

Like, let's say you get a divorce,
and then everywhere you go in public,

someone's like, oh, I feel so bad
for you, I heard you got that divorce.

Happened so many times, and I
had no one to help me through that.

It's nice to get home.

The celebration
kind of continues.

People are so happy,
they're so proud.

They show their support.

Fans lined York Road for
hours, ready to get an uptick.

A close look at their
hometown heroes.

He's adorable!

Look at the face!

I want to be just like him.

And then it kind of dies down.

Then you basically get in that
part where you're either like,

am I going to put myself
through this for four more years?

Or am I going to find
something else to do?

And we're lost.

I think that's where a lot of it really
comes from, is we're just so lost,

because we spent four years
grinding for that one moment.

And now we don't
know what the hell to do.

I think it's probably safe to
say that a good 80%, maybe

more, goes through some
kind of post-Olympic depression.

After the Olympics, the village
doors close, and then that's kind of it.

So all the media's gone.

All the exposure's gone.

Before the 2008 Games, I remember one
of the coaches, specifically on the dive

team, this was my first
Olympic Games, something

I'd dreamed of since
I was seven years old.

And he had said, don't be surprised after
the Olympics for the post-Olympic blues.

I was 19.

I was like, yeah, yeah, yeah.

I think I'm better
than that happening.

After every Olympics, win or
lose, I felt like a dramatic emptiness.

Just because your whole world is built
around this one day, and you're putting so

much on it, so much
expectation and pressure,

and interviews, and what
am I going to do next?

And you're plotting out
this course of your life.

After every Olympics,
there's this incredible crash.

Nothing really matters
as much anymore.

I go, I guess I can stay up all
night, because we're not competing.

You know, I guess I'll have
an extra slice of cheesecake.

I remember trying to compete
after the Olympics, and it was awful.

I had no motivation.

Like, well, what
does this matter?

Like, what does this compare to the
magnitude of what I just accomplished?

Just like anybody, if you travel the
world with a bunch of friends, like leaving

summer camp, whatever, you
come home and you're like, wow.

You know what?

Like, it's just like
quiet, and then you

kind of feel like, well,
what did I do wrong?

Like, what happened?

Is it, like, where
did everyone go?

You know?

Like, you're happy to be home,
but it's just this, like, isolated,

cut-off feeling.

Why do you think so
many of the athletes get

depressed when they come
home from the Olympics?

I think it's something that all
human beings are susceptible to.

And with athletes, it's
even more so, I think,

because we have such a
great ability to hyper-focus.

So if you are incentivized, and you're
focused on winning, or you're focused on

being the best you can at this one thing,
and you're putting all you have into that,

without any other balance, when
that ends, and then you're out of this

fight-or-flight mode of, like, I
have to perform, I have to perform,

get left wondering, like, what
do you do with your energy?

I feel like we forgot about
how human Olympians

are and the needs we
need as human beings.

It's not about winning.

It's not about performance.

Granted, that's all great, but
what about our mental health?

What about our families?

What about our education?

What about after sport?

And when you spend
all this time, and it ends,

it'd be really hard not
to become depressed.

Ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome Sean White.

So many things change
after an Olympics.

And the better you do, the more famous
you become, and the more your life changes.

Your two-time
Olympian, Lolo Jones.

And look at me.

Beauty.

But even if you become one of the
success stories, it all comes with a catch.

Because if your whole life was about
building up to one race, one performance,

or one event, how does that sustain
everything that comes afterwards?

Sure, you can chase it again.

Just go back to the grind
for another four years.

But ultimately,
that doesn't sustain.

And eventually, for
me at least, there was

one question that hit
me like a ton of bricks.

Who was I outside
of the swimming pool?

We are Olympic athletes, and we're
not really sure if we're anything else.

I think the die-hard skating fans or
Olympic fans will always recognize you if

you walk down the street,
you know, even if it's ten

years later, because you
were such a big part of it.

You're such a big part of their life, and
they're such passionate Olympic fans.

But I think for most of the public,
you know, they've got very busy lives.

They tune in, they're excited, they cheer,
and then they kind of forget, you know?

I'd say one Olympic cycle out from
your Olympics, you're pretty far removed.

I don't think a lot of athletes
understand that there's

always a whole line of people
waiting to be the next one.

You know, at the time, they think they're
irreplaceable, that they're breaking

records, they're, you
know, making all the

money, they're getting
praise from everybody.

And then when they retire,
they expect it to really be like

the sport misses them and
like, oh, man, like, there they go.

And in reality, it's like, bye.

And then there's, like, the
new dude basically rolls in.

I think that, from an ego
standpoint, hurts a lot of

athletes' feelings and
hurts their emotional stability.

It's almost like a conveyor belt of
athletes, that, like, you're doing really

well, you're doing really well,
they keep you healthy, but, like,

when you're done, you're
off the conveyor belt.

Like, that's, they just have new athletes
from every sport coming in all the time.

When you're a younger
athlete, they love you.

You're the new fresh face.

They want to promote you.

They want to put you out there.

They want everybody
to fall in love with you.

But after you've been to a few Olympics,
you know, you'll see, it kind of weans out.

You are in the business of finding
the latest, and the greatest athletes.

Extracting the best performance out of
them, and then going back to the trough to

look for the latest and greatest
athletes and doing it over again.

Time and time again.

It's so funny because,
the longer here, you

just, you're like, oh,
that's my replacement.

We got Sidney McLachlan, 19 years
old, marketable, social media is on fire,

and Lolo, that's your
exit, please go right.

Mother fucker.

Laughter.

I think the system is set
up for high turnover, one.

And two, the manner in which the funds and
services are distributed are incentivized.

So if you're a federation that
can win medals, you get funding.

If you're not, you get cut.

Not just the federation's funding,
but also the salaries and the coaching.

So it's hard, I think, for those people
then to see the athletes as individuals.

The reality of funding for athletes
in this country might surprise you.

Stipends for
training are minimal.

And so most Olympic hopefuls just try
to stay afloat while chasing their dream.

Like, for every athlete with a sponsor,
there are hundreds who need to take a

second job just to make
ends meet while they train.

I grew up watching the 96 Atlanta
Olympics, and I've watched the gymnastics

team, and you had the track
and field athletes in all this glory.

They're on every cover of
every magazine, and you're

thinking, they're financially
stable, they have to be, right?

And then fast forward to my future,
me trying to be an Olympic athlete,

and I'm living off
of $7,000 a year.

The whole thought that going to the
Olympics, and especially if you win a

medal, sets you up for
life, is such horseshit.

Even if you're in a marquee sport and you
do so well, you have a limited window to

capitalize on, and
to pay back training

bills, and, you know,
try to earn some money.

But for most athletes,
there's no money.

There's no money at all.

Let's only talk about Olympic
athletes from the United States.

How many golds do you have?

Because if you're silver,
you're not making money.

You're bronze, you're
not making money.

You didn't medal?

I don't even know
your name, pal.

Go back to the end
of the line, okay?

Out of the gold medals, how many of
those are actually being concentrated on by

corporate America to be hired by
speaking engagements or sponsorships?

You've got such a small amount of
people who are actually making money,

and that money-making
opportunity has a life cycle.

Lettuce, tomato,
jalapeno peppers.

You've got to try it.

I would say on average, unless your family
is funding you throughout this process,

which many do, you are
in debt every single year

you compete, even with
the amount that you make.

I'm in huge debt.

In the last quad, I
had to fund myself.

I had a small stipend,
but it's not sufficient.

Like $750 a month,
$1250 a month.

I've had years where
I can make a killing.

And then I've had years
where, I mean, bobsled,

my check was $725
for the whole season.

Tell me how I live off of that.

As an Olympic athlete, so I've
been a hostess at a restaurant.

I worked at Home Depot.

I think it was the most
shocking when I was working

at the gym, and I was
making smoothies for people.

And my track race played.

And I'm literally making somebody a
smoothie and they're like, is that you?

Like, why are...
they couldn't get it.

Like, do you see any football
player go compete and then

they're making smoothies for
people at a gym for $7 an hour?

I'll say I've been
extremely fortunate to

have a lot of support,
have a lot of sponsors.

If you're on the national team for
swimming, you get $1,700 a month.

That's supposed
to get you through...

training expenses, so travel, living
expenses, eating, car, all of the stuff.

It's hard.

I mean, if that's the only thing
that you have, it's almost impossible.

For me, I think I was most scared after
this year, and I didn't make the team,

and literally got an
email saying my health

insurance was going
to be cut a month later.

And I was like, are
you kidding me?

When your financial
security is so closely linked

to your success, the
pressure to perform adds up.

That pressure is just something else
that can take a toll on your mental health.

The USA bobsled and the US Olympic
Committee came to me and was like,

hey, look, you've never actually won
any sort of medal in bobsledding yet.

You're USA 1,
you're our top driver.

Going into this next season,
we really need you to do well.

If not, we just
can't support you.

All of a sudden now, the entire weight
of the program is on my shoulders.

I'd better do well.

Katie Ulander from the United States, 24
years old, out of Breckenridge, Colorado.

2008, when my father was diagnosed with
cancer, and I went on tour, which for a

skeleton, when we go
on tour, it's six months.

You are on the road
from October until April.

My dad understood, and he told
me to go compete while he was sick.

But I got these emails
from my mom, saying he

was not doing well, like
I needed to come home.

I turned to my coach every time and I
said, I think I might need to go home.

And he said, we can't.

And I said, why?

And he goes, because
you're the only one we have.

We need you to
make, to get medals.

Here she comes,
rocketing into 12.

So the first time I kind
of like didn't respond.

But then when I got the second email from
my mom saying, he wasn't going to make it.

I asked again.

And he gave me the same answer.

And it's really difficult in that
situation, because I love this sport.

My father understood,
but I wanted to go home.

And it was just becoming
so difficult to try to

convince myself and
them that I wanted to go.

But he did pass away
while I was competing.

And...

I don't think that I
ever got over that.

In my case, there were a lot of warning
signs that I couldn't handle the changes

in my life after my
success at the Olympics.

I definitely made
some bad decisions.

Just a few months after
winning Olympic gold,

Michael Phelps was
busted for drunk driving.

And then rock
bottom came in 2014.

And that put everything that
had come before, into perspective.

Michael Phelps, the
most decorated Olympian

of all time, has been
arrested again for DUI.

I get pulled over.

Go home that night.

I mean, I'm just a wreck.

A wreck.

Just sitting there in that room.

Didn't leave.

Didn't drink water.

Didn't drink anything.

Didn't eat anything.

Just sat in my room
basically curled up and crying.

I was like, well, this is everything
coming to an end in front of my eyes.

And that's why I was just
like, why don't I just end it all?

In the end, I was fortunate
to have some great

people around me and the
resources to get real help.

I checked into a treatment center,
turned my cell phone off, and spent the

next 45 days rebuilding
myself from the ground up.

And then when I came back
and found myself in a much

better place, there was
this other realization too.

That I wasn't the only
Olympian who felt the way I did.

Post 2008, I was so broken
down that I would be driving in

my car and I would just be
like, I just hope a truck hits me.

I just hope like a truck hits me and wipes
me out and they don't get hurt, but I do.

Like then I'm done.

I just would want to be gone.

I would fight suicidal thoughts.

I would fight sitting in my car, just
closing the garage doors with the car on.

Depression is once it kind of starts
going, it just puts you into a spiral and

you just start getting
deeper and deeper into

it and you just end
up doing crazy things.

I was like, what?

What's the point, man?

What's the point of going
to the Olympic Games?

What's the point of
sacrificing and training all of

these hours if this is
what I have to show for it?

That point I remember like, how do I just
make this painless, quick and end my life?

Came to a couple of different plans and
I don't think I ever got to the point where

I felt confident enough to act out
a suicide, but like hanging myself,

no, shooting myself,
no idea how to get a gun.

And my best option was driving so
fast, smoking myself on a telephone pole.

I won't feel a thing, but it's going to be
easier for me to be done with this life.

May 2017 is when I
really started thinking about

ending my life because
it was almost unbearable.

I had a good day if I got
out of bed before 11 or noon.

I washed my face, I brushed
my hair, I brushed my teeth.

And like I left my apartment.

I was like, I don't know what's on the
other side, but I think that that would

probably be better than
whatever I'm living right now.

The only reason I didn't kill myself
is because my twin sister Carly.

There's no way that I
would just leave her like that.

I was stuck in that weird place
between not necessarily wanting to die,

but like I couldn't
go on as I was going.

Because I really just
wanted to live again.

And like feel good
things and like see the

world again and like
be involved in my life.

It was like my life was a snow globe and
I could look in and I could see everything

that was happening but I
couldn't be involved in it.

There's just like this wall separating
me from the rest of the world.

I went downstairs.

I just decided, you know what?

This is the time.

I have an opportunity here.

That's kind of the
last thing I remember.

What makes it scary is after
the fact is you don't realize

all the people that would have
been crushed and devastated.

I didn't tell anybody.

In fact, even after we won the gold medal
in Vancouver, I still didn't tell anybody.

Nobody.

That was a moment between me and
God or, you know, just me in the bedroom.

And that was it.

There was nobody else would
get to know or find out ever.

And it wasn't until I wrote my book
that I decided people need to change.

People need to know.

And actually, one of the big motivations
was a close friend of mine, an athlete,

Jarrett Peterson killed himself.

At the time I was writing my
book and that's what triggered it.

It was kind of like, this is a
big, this is like an epidemic.

It's not just him.

There's a lot of people out there
that are suffering through this.

I grew up with Speedy.

Of course, he was
on the aerials team.

I was on the moguls team.

And we were the young guys.

I was on the team.

But I looked at him like a
carefree kid that had so much fun.

He was always smiling.

He was always happy.

And Speedy, how did
you get that nickname?

That nickname started when I was 11
years old when I went to my first camp.

I had a checkered
life jacket and a big

racing helmet that I
borrowed from my uncle.

And didn't really grasp the
concept of waiting in line.

And so I'd cut in front
of all the other campers

and get five jumps in
the time they got two.

Okay, so it wasn't a girlfriend.

No, no.

Probably.

She'd probably
be an ex-girlfriend.

It wasn't until 2009 when
we were in Lake Placid

at the Olympic Training
Center for a World Cup.

And he said, hey, can I
chat with you for a second?

And I said, sure.

And we went to the TV room.

It was night.

It was dark.

There was no one around.

And he said, you know, I want
to open up to you for a second.

And I said, sure.

What's on your mind?

He started crying.

And he said, most days
I don't want to be alive.

And I didn't know anything
about mental health.

at that point.

I was so off guard because
I'd think of Speedy as

somebody who's always been
so happy and so successful.

And I didn't know how to react.

And I just said,
Speedy, look at you.

You're so incredibly successful.

You're a good-looking kid.

You have the wind
behind your sails.

Like, you know, what's going on?

And, you know, he just
really opened up to me.

And I often think
about that moment.

I wish I could go back to it now because
I think I would have handled it a lot

differently than I did He
was horribly depressed.

When he was young,
he was sexually abused.

His roommate took
his life with a gun.

And Jarrett was witness
to that whole thing.

And from there on,
life was never the same.

And that was six months
before the Torino Olympics.

I didn't want him to go.

I begged him not to
go, but he insisted.

He was beside himself.

He didn't know where
to go, who to turn to.

He lost his identity.

He told me that he didn't think he was
going to be able to hang on for very long

and to not be surprised.

911, what's the address
of your emergency?

I'm at the parking lot at
the top of the Lamb Canyon.

Okay, what's going on there?

I'm going to kill myself.

And I want you to
come get the button.

You fall to your knees
and your heart just shatters.

I'm not angry at
him for what he did.

The pain becomes insurmountable.

And the pain that he was
having, I know because I saw it.

Your spirit is crushed.

And it truly was
unbearable with him.

I couldn't help but feel
a little bit responsible.

I couldn't help but feel like, you know,
what could I have done differently?

Who could I have talked to?

You know, is there something
I could have done more?

That's something
I struggle with.

You might be listening to all of us
talk about our struggles and wonder,

why don't you just get help?

Well, there are
a lot of reasons.

And probably the biggest is connected to
what got us to the top in the first place.

Our conviction that we can make
ourselves unbeatable if we just work at it.

Our belief that there's no
way we should ever need help.

Our fear that we'll become
weak if we show any vulnerability.

The stigma of having mental health problems
is a huge issue all across society.

How tough the issues are to talk
about or even just acknowledge.

And Olympians are definitely a group
who want to keep their pain out of sight.

It's very, very simple.

Athletes most likely don't get help for
depression or, you know, mental health

issues because they can't
even admit that it's an issue.

That is so fundamentally at
odds with being a competitor.

This is war.

It's a game of strategy.

It's a game of
maneuvering and posturing.

You need to show the
world that you are strong.

You need to show all your
competitors that you are strong.

And so if you were to say, like,
oh, I have mental issues, like,

that just cracks the facade of trying to
show the world that you're impervious.

I was worried that people would see me as
this fragile person, somebody they didn't

want around, or like,
hey, you can't rely on

Holcomb because who
knows what he's gonna think.

He's thinking crazy stuff or, you know,
he's mentally not fit to be whatever.

You know, you don't want
the stigma of that going around.

And so I didn't, I just,
I didn't tell anybody.

I kept that to myself.

Athletes just don't talk
about our weaknesses.

We're tough.

We will hide anything from, and especially
if it's a team environment, because you

don't want to let someone know
what you're kind of going through.

The biggest thing that
I struggled with is that

from the outside, it's
like, you got everything.

Why aren't you happy
all the time, 24-7?

So if I had, like, blown out my knee, I
know for a fact I would have had the top

physical therapist, the
top surgeon, orthopedic,

like, absolutely whatever
I needed fixing my knee.

And I know that if I, because I mentioned,
like, one time before to someone in the

Federation, like, I'm actually really
going through some, like, really dark shit

right now, and it's really
interfering, they said, oh,

well, you could, like, look
up a therapist in your area.

Being an Olympian is
advertised as this amazing

thing, and they leave
out all of the side effects.

So let's say that you
make it to the Olympics.

Some side effects may include an
eating disorder, depression, anxiety,

suicidal ideation, almost like a
disconnect from the real world.

And then when all those
side effects do happen,

there's nothing in play to,
like, help you with those.

They kind of advertise this, like,
keeping our athletes healthy and happy,

and, like, they really
only deliver physically.

Everything else is just kind
of like, oh, not our problem.

I think I can honestly say now, sort
of looking back throughout my career,

I don't think anybody
really cared to help us.

I don't think anybody really
jumped in to ask us if we were okay.

As long as we were performing well, I
don't think anything else really mattered.

It's pretty unfortunate to say.

Pretty sad to say.

I think the last thing on my
mind was, like, how can USA

Diving and how can the Olympic
Committee help me with this?

They can help me with my mental
preparation, and they've done a phenomenal

job of how do I mentally stay strong in my
sport, but not once have I gotten wisdom.

How does David stay
strong outside of my sport?

The problem is, without fully
understanding who should

be helping us, it's hard to
seek out the right person.

Because it seems like psychologists and
sports psychologists, like, everyone wants

to work with an Olympian and have, you
know, claim credit for your performance.

But when it comes to
serious family issues or

mental health issues,
it's almost nonexistent.

I'm just really frustrated with the
system, and I think as I am more on the

tail end of my career, that's
where it really becomes apparent.

This is it.

I said it before, but
you guys can say it.

This is the last time.

No matter how your career
goes or how long it lasts,

there's one inevitable
end we all have in common.

Retirement.

It's not really natural to retire when
you're in your 20s or 30s, and when you've

devoted your life
to a pursuit of such a

singular goal, and
then leave it all behind.

There's that giant question.

Now what?

And even bigger, who am I?

And the truth is, there aren't
tons of programs in place

to help athletes handle the
emotions of that transition.

What is available to retired
Olympic athletes post-career?

I don't think there's any.

If you're talking about
third-party resources

that I'm aware of, I
don't think there's any.

There's none that I've used.

There's actually
zero that I have used.

In 9 1⁄2 years,
I've been retired.

There's no pension.

There's no bonus.

There's no... stock option.

There's no job opportunity.

There's no more coach.

There's no more
training environment.

There's no more equipment.

There's no more monthly stipend.

There's no more prize money.

Arguably there's no
more sponsorship.

Uh...

Yeah.

That's reality.

I'm really not aware of
anything that exists for...

I've hired Olympians, but I really
feel like the bulk of what the U.S.

Olympic Committee does is to help
fund hopefuls getting to their dream.

I will never regret competing
for Team USA in this country.

Absolutely not.

I've helped promote the
Olympic sports for three Olympics.

I've given my blood,
sweat, and tears.

I've given my talent.

And all I'm asking is
that after it's all said and

done, someone can help
me mentally get through this.

Losing Speedy Peterson was a
shock for the entire Olympic community.

But it wasn't an
isolated incident.

Steven Scherer, a sports
shooter who represented the U.S.

in Beijing, had taken his own life
less than a year before Speedy's death.

Kelly Catlin won a silver medal
in 2016 as a part of the U.S.

cycling team.

And then took her
own life in 2019.

Later that same year, Jack Hatton, a
Team USA judoka, took his life as well.

Nobody was prepared
for any of these tragedies.

But the news that maybe hit
the hardest came in May of 2017.

A shock in the world
of sports tonight.

The Olympic community
and bobsled fans around the

world are mourning the
death of Steven Holcomb.

The Olympic champion was
found in his room at Team USA's

training center in Lake
Placid, New York, this weekend.

The cause of his
death remains unclear.

Steven Holcomb was found in
his room at the Olympic training

center, unresponsive, by
his best friend Katie Ulander.

Steven was 37 years old.

I don't know what was worse.

Finding him.

Two days late.

It's just like...

Then realizing like...

Thinking he was asleep and then
realizing there was nothing I could do.

And then thinking back to the days that I
should have broken into his room sooner.

How did I not do
something sooner?

And every time, like,
I would go to text him.

He was my best friend.

I would have,
like, panic attack.

Because my mind would go straight
back to that moment when I found him.

And I would realize he was gone
and then I would start to wonder why.

What else has to happen
for this thought to change?

What else?

I mean...

When we see, like...

Do five other athletes have to take
their lives in order to see change?

Like, how far down the road are we
going to get before somebody else?

How far down the road are we
going to get before somebody

actually stands up and says,
We have to do something.

And this is important.

I think there's no question that
Olympic athletes need more support.

You know, the solution to mental health
issues or really just general support.

Right now, we're just starting
to understand how critical that is.

I don't think that they're
maliciously ignoring our well-being.

I just don't know that if they
realize it's like a full, like, crisis yet.

How many more dead Olympians...

Do they need before they realize
that there might be an epidemic here?

I recently requested
help multiple times.

And I didn't get it.

And I can't figure
out if it was because it

would have taken me away
from competing for them.

Or if it was just they don't have
the resources or they don't know.

But regardless, if you look at
the process I had to go through.

I have to tell my coach
or I have to tell sportsmen.

I have to tell
sports performance.

Then they have to tell, like, two
more people over in Colorado Springs.

And then they have to, like, go
through this thing to try to find someone.

Determine if it's valid,
my request for help.

Like, I went
through that process.

And despite those five to seven
people knowing, I didn't get any help.

I think a lot of us could have had a
story that ended like Steve Holcomb's did.

Because a lot of us struggle
with so many of the same feelings.

And I saw Steve maybe,
like, a week before.

He just seemed so,
like, everything was fine.

And, like, I think we all
seem like something's

fine until we get to
that one breaking point.

Where either we're fortunate
enough for somebody to see us.

Or we're not lucky and we die.

Dealing with the incredible highs
and lows of being an Olympian.

The sacrifices
and the challenges.

And figuring out a transition
from such a hyper-focused life.

All of it can be extremely hard.

But there is a way forward.

There are people and
places that can help.

And there are outcomes
that can be really successful.

We just have to change
the perception that

problems with mental
health are something to hide.

And in a world where Olympians are leading
the way forward to break down that stigma,

the impact could be massive.

We're a better place to make
change than on the Olympic stage.

Youth around the world watch
and look up to these people.

And if we can take a stand
and make change, it could

affect the world in
recognizing what truly matters.

It doesn't matter if you're
an Olympic gold medalist

and you are the most decorated
athlete of human history.

Or you're someone driving a bus.

You're prone to depression.

My faith was how I was able
to handle it and still handle it.

But that's okay to
handle it differently.

When stuff started getting bad, if I
had just even seen someone like once

or twice a week, we probably
wouldn't have ended up where I did.

We're human.

I don't think I have
to say anything else.

We're human beings
just like everybody else.

Yeah, I had won a
shit ton of medals.

I had a great career.

It doesn't matter.

I wasn't happy with who I was.

I thought of myself
of just a swimmer.

And not a human being.

Not a person.

No self-love.

No self-confidence.

You know, thinking about committing
suicide and not being alive anymore.

You know, I think
back to it now still.

It's crazy what's been able to happen
and what I've been able to learn.

It's okay to not be okay.

And it's okay to kind of
like talk to people about it.

You've got to definitely
find the right people in

your life that you can
talk to about these things.

What makes the Olympics so special
is their power to bring the world together.

Like everyone else, I can't wait to live
in a world where that's possible again.

And my hope is when that happens,
the athletes in the center of it all are

not just ready to compete,
but also supported

through whatever may
come once the flame goes out.

My own mental health
continues to be a challenge

that I need to address
on a daily basis.

It's a part of my life, as much
as being a husband and a father.

It took me a long time to
be okay with saying that.

And I'm ready to spend as
much time as I have to in the years

ahead to make sure others
know that there's help out there.

And that it's okay
to not be okay.