NBA: Northeast China's spectacular dunks sweep the entire league.

Muscle Fatigue Crisis: Lin Hao's Art of Coping

On Thibodeau's fourth day in office, team doctor Mark knocked on the door of general manager Mullin's office.

He held a three-page monitoring report in his hand, the cover stamped with a red "Confidential" seal. Mark didn't look well; he had dark circles under his eyes, clearly having stayed up all night.

Mullin was looking at the financial statements when he looked up and saw Mark's expression, so he put down his pen.

"What happened?"

Mark placed the report on the table, turned to the second page, and pointed to three data entries.

"Richardson, muscle fatigue 92 percent. Murphy, 94 percent. Dunleavy, 90 percent."

He paused, then added, "These were measured this morning. Yesterday they were 85, 87, and 83. The day before yesterday they were 78, 80, and 75. They're rising every day."

Mulin stared at those numbers, his brows furrowed in worry.

"What is the critical value?"

"Ninety-five percent." Mark's voice was deep. "Above ninety-five percent, the risk of muscle strain increases exponentially. Above ninety-seven percent, it's the high-risk zone for non-contact tears. At the current rate of increase, if the training intensity doesn't decrease, at least one of these three people will collapse within forty-eight hours."

Mullin closed the report, stood up, and walked to the window. Outside, Auckland's sky was hazy, with low-hanging clouds like an old, worn-out rag draped over the rooftop.

"Does Thibodeau know about this?"

“I sent him the report last night,” Mark said. “He didn’t reply.”

Mullin turned around, picked up the phone on the table, and dialed Thibodeau's number. It rang three times before being answered.

"Tom, have you received the team doctor's report?"

"received."

"Then why aren't you replying?"

"I'm preparing today's training plan."

Mullin took a deep breath, trying to suppress the anger in his voice: "Tom, all three of them are over 90% fatigued. Do you know what that means?"

"I know," Thibodeau said calmly. "Fatigue isn't an injury. As long as you're not injured, you can train."

"You can train them? Are you crazy?" Mulin's voice suddenly rose. "Ninety-two percent fatigue level! If you train for another day, you'll reach the critical point! Are you trying to ruin them?!"

"Mullin, I've coached defense for over a decade, I know where the players' physical limits are."

"You don't understand!" Mullin slammed his fist on the table, making the pen holder bounce. "This is Oakland, not Houston! My players can't get injured! If you keep training like this, we won't even have to wait for the playoffs; the regular season won't even start before we have to use players from the G League!"

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

"Mullin, you invited me here. You said I was in charge of the defense."

"My word is law, meaning you have the authority to make decisions within reasonable limits! It doesn't mean you can ruin the team!"

"I didn't ruin anyone's life."

"You did!" Mullin's voice boomed in the office. Mark instinctively took a step back. "Either you reduce the training intensity today, or I'll go to the gym right now and stop it in front of you!"

The phone hangs up.

Mullin slammed the microphone onto the landline, his chest heaving. Mark stood beside him, unsure what to say.

"Mark," Mullin's voice was low, but every word was laced with anger, "Go to the training facility and keep an eye on those guys' physical data. Report back to me immediately."

"Yes."

Just as Mark was about to leave, Mullin called him back.

Has Lin Hao arrived?

"It should be in the training hall."

"Let him come to see me."

When Lin Hao arrived at Mu Lin's office, he saw the fatigue report on the table. Without saying anything, he sat down and read through the three pages of information from beginning to end.

"What do you think?" Mulin sat opposite him, arms crossed, his face ashen.

Lin Hao put down the report and thought about it.

"Brother, would you like to hear the truth or something that sounds pleasant?"

"The truth."

"The fatigue level is indeed high, but it's not at the point of a muscle strain. 92%, which is three points away from the critical threshold. Thibodeau's training intensity is high, but it's not haphazard training. Take a look at this."

Lin Hao turned to the third page of the report and pointed to the few lines of small print below: "Mark wrote that the high fatigue level is because the previous training foundation was poor, and the body was not used to the sudden increase in intensity. This is not a training injury, but a normal reaction during the adaptation period."

Mullin's brow furrowed even more.

"But that doesn't mean Thibodeau is without problems," Lin Hao continued. "His problem is that he doesn't look at the data. He thinks the players can handle it, but the players' bodies don't lie. Murphy has an old knee injury, and Dunleavy has always had back problems; he didn't take these factors into account."

"So what do you think we should do?" Mulin asked.

"I'll go talk to him." Lin Hao stood up. "The training intensity won't be reduced, but the structure and rhythm need to be adjusted. Mark also needs to cooperate, along with recovery methods."

"Lin, I'm not trying to go against Thibodeau. I'm just worried about getting injured. You know, the Warriors have been plagued by injuries over the years."

Lin Hao nodded. He knew Mullin was telling the truth. For the past three seasons, the Warriors had had a key player sidelined with injury each season. It wasn't that they lacked ability; they simply couldn't hold on until the end.

"Brother, don't worry. I'll talk to them. If we can't reach an agreement, then you can call a halt."

Lin Hao walked out of the office and went to Thibodeau's office first, instead of going to the training hall.

The door was ajar, and Thibodeau sat behind his desk, the day's training plan laid out in front of him. He had taken off his glasses and placed them on the table, his hands supporting his forehead, thumbs pressing against his temples.

Lin Hao knocked on the door frame twice.

Thibodeau looked up, glanced at Lin Hao, and then looked back at the training plan.

"Did Mullin send you?"

"No. I came by myself."

Lin Hao walked over and sat down opposite Thibodeau. He placed the fatigue report on the table and pointed to Richardson's line.

"Tom, have you seen this?"