“I’d worry he might be clogging up his system,” says Bean. “I might design him a similar diet but with a bit more fiber, maybe wholegrain pastas and bread. It’s plainly not affecting his performance, but many people would be constipated on a diet like that. That said, we all have different needs. The important thing for Phelps right now is that what he’s eating works. He’s like a turbo-powered engine revved up to maximum speed, and that’s the only reason he’s burning it all up. Different athletes handle carbohydrates differently. He’s obviously converting them very, very effectively, but it’s not a sustainable diet long-term.”
What both Thompson and Bean are clear about, however, is that Phelps’ gargantuan daily food intake is absolutely not suitable for a normal person to consider emulating. “Look, he needs these vast amounts of carbohydrates simply to get through the training sessions, let alone compete,” says Bean. “He eats, swims and sleeps, and that’s about it. When it comes to carbs, he’s in burn mode; most of us — particularly the couch potatoes — are in storage mode. And it really wouldn’t do to be storing what you’ve just eaten on a regular basis.”
Thompson manages to find a silver lining. “The good lesson for the rest of us in all this,” she says cheerily, “is that if we do increase our level of physical activity, we can afford to relax a little with the diet. If we go to the gym or exercise regularly, we can allow ourselves the odd little treat. A lot of people make that mistake — they think they’ve got to deny themselves everything vaguely sinful. It’s not the case.” The problem for anyone normal who eats like Phelps, of course, is that it would be physically impossible for most of them to expend anything like 12,000 calories a day. In a good hour of dedicated jogging, Thompson points out, “the average person is going to burn about 400 calories.”
So what do I need to do to burn off my bowl of porridge, half a fried-egg sandwich, half a five-egg omelet, slice of French toast, two choco-chip pancakes and several forkfuls of pasta (not to mention the lashings of mayonnaise, which I had, until now, forgotten)? Hard to say, really. Especially since at present I’d feel I was doing pretty well if I managed to walk slowly down the stairs. Let alone bend over and tie the laces of my trainers. On no account, in fact, thinking about it, will I do that. The consequences are too unseemly to contemplate.
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