TEMPE (Arizona) — Nearly a week into their most recent therapeutic reunion, Michael Phelps and Grant Hackett, two giants of Olympic swimming, sat down to breakfast at a packed restaurant and wondered how they would explain themselves to their children someday.

They were reliving dark moments, times when they posed a danger to themselves and others.

Phelps, 32, imagined the day when his toddler son, Boomer, would refer to one of those low points: “You were going 86 miles an hour in a 45-mile zone. Why can’t I?”

Hackett, 37, laughed ruefully and told Phelps he had already spoken with a child psychologist about how to guide his 8-year-old twins through the shambles of his post-swimming life.

“There will be conversations that need to be had,” Hackett said, “and a certain strength you’ll have to find”.

Such exchanges are the reason Hackett travelled 12,875km from Australia to Arizona last month to stay with Phelps and his wife, Nicole. It was not his first visit. He has used their home as something of a halfway house, joking that he spends so much time with them that he is getting mail there.

His life in Australia, where distance swimmers can become celebrities on a par with NFL quarterbacks in the United States, started careening out of control several years ago. In February, it derailed in a very public fashion.

He visited his parents’ Gold Coast home, and his father, Neville, called the police to report that Hackett had been drinking and had suffered a mental breakdown that sent him into a rage. The Olympian was taken to a detention centre in handcuffs — a scene that was broadcast across Australia and set off a social media frenzy.

Phelps followed the drama from Paris, where he and Nicole spent Valentine’s Day. He learned about what was happening in Australia through a text message from Allison Schmitt, another Olympic swimmer.

Phelps, who considers Hackett one of his dearest friends, sent a flurry of texts to him and then paced in his hotel room while he waited to hear back. Nicole Phelps recalled her husband saying several times, with increasing urgency, “We have to convince him to come home with us.”

Michael Phelps could empathise with Hackett in a way few others could. Along with his 28 Olympic medals, Phelps accrued two arrests for driving under the influence — the second one after the police stopped him for going almost twice the speed limit on a road in Baltimore, his hometown. He had also been photographed holding a bong at a private party, an image that ended up in a British tabloid.

After the second DUI arrest, in 2014, Phelps spent eight weeks at the Meadows, an Arizona treatment centre, to deal with the anxiety and depression that he had tried to overcome on his own after the 2004, 2008 and 2012 Olympics. Recognising how difficult it is for many people to recognise their vulnerabilities and reach out for help, Phelps has devoted himself to unravelling the stigma of mental illness.

“I want to be able to get out in public and talk and say, *Yes, I’ve done these great things in the pool, but I’m also a human’,” Phelps said, sweeping his gaze across the restaurant. “I’m going through the same struggles as a lot of the people in this room.”

Phelps has started some public speaking on the topic and has become an informal counsellor to the stars, lending an ear to golfer Tiger Woods after his arrest in May on charges of driving under the influence. A toxicology report revealed no alcohol in Woods’ system, but rather a mix of four prescription drugs and the active ingredient in marijuana.

Over the summer, Phelps said, he met an 11-year-old boy in California who had appeared in a documentary about anxiety. The boy was a swimmer, and he said he had wrestled with suicidal thoughts the year before. Phelps told the boy about the days he spent curled up in bed, “literally wanting to die,” after his second DUI arrest.

At the end of the conversation, Phelps said, the boy told him, “I have more in common with Michael Phelps than I ever thought.”

Hackett, a rapt listener, said, “That’s awesome.”

LOOKING STRONG BUT NEEDING HELP

After he retired from the sport, Hackett’s life resembled his freestyle stroke: He appeared to be effortlessly gliding to glory, but beneath the surface propelling himself forward was becoming almost too much to bear.

By 2014, his marriage had disintegrated and his substance use was leading to headline-generating behaviour, including wandering dazed and barely dressed through a Melbourne hotel lobby.

His family pleaded with him to seek professional help, and Hackett spent a month at the Meadows, the same treatment facility Phelps entered later that year. But Hackett was not ready then to open up and acknowledge his weaknesses. He was trying to conquer his anxiety and depression as if they were swimming rivals.

“You want to push through and almost win in a way,” Hackett said. “When that’s how you think, it’s hard to step back and say: *Wait, this isn’t about sports or winning and losing. It’s about my life.’”

After the February episode, Hackett knew he needed more help. The day after he resurfaced, he contacted Phelps and agreed to fly to the United States. He also decided that after stopping in Arizona he would enter a recovery centre in Malibu, California. Phelps drove him the 644km to the facility.

Twice since his month-long treatment, Hackett has travelled to spend time at the Phelpses’ home. “Michael’s been there and he understands, so it’s almost like you can plug right into that support,” Hackett said.

He and Phelps first crossed paths at the 2000 Olympics in Sydney. Phelps, then 15, marvelled at how big swimming was in Australia and how much attention was paid to Hackett’s success.

He and Hackett found that personal relationships, even the simplest ones, could become a minefield for anyone with a measure of fame. It has been years since either of them has had a chance to make a first impression, because people assume they already know celebrities.

“I don’t think you change,” Hackett said, “I think the world around you changes more than anything else.”

A COMFORT ZONE

Phelps had just finished telling Hackett the story about the boy in California when a diner asked Phelps to record a birthday greeting for her son. After he obliged, she turned her smartphone toward Hackett, who said, “Happy birthday, and g’day from Australia.”

This sort of attention is what Hackett came here to avoid. “I just feel different — more balanced — when I get out of the fishbowl in Australia,” he said.

There are few places where Phelps and Hackett feel more at ease than at Scottsdale National, a golf course contoured from the McDowell Mountains that offers sweeping views of Phoenix and a wellspring of tranquillity. One morning when they played last month, Phelps and Hackett had the course to themselves, and the only noise competing with the birdsong was the country and hip-hop music emanating from their cart.

Another refuge is the water. On a recent morning, they swam for an hour in an Arizona State pool. Hackett and Phelps regularly raced in front of standing-room-only crowds. On this day, their audience consisted of a lifeguard.

Once they swam for medals and records, for a place in history. In retirement they swim to free their minds, to commune with the water. What used to be a high-stress profession has morphed into a peaceful interlude.

Sometimes at night, Hackett and Phelps will start talking about mental health — their own and others’ — and the conversation will still be going strong at 1 or 2 in the morning.

Yes, they messed up, but nobody is perfect.

“It doesn’t matter whether you’re Tiger Woods or Joe Blow down the street,” Hackett said. “We’re all just people trying to work through stuff.” NEW YORK TIMES