CHAPTER 1
BREVAN “BREV” “SKEET” SKEETER
While allowing my arms a minute to rest, I take a seat in the leg machine and start pumping reps. Slowly, precisely, methodically until my legs burn. Then I let it go and take a breath.
I like having mirrors in the gym. It helps to watch myself. Not in a self-absorbed way, but it’s easier to make sure you’re doing an exercise correctly if you can see the way your body responds to the specific exercise you’re doing.
For instance, I like to watch the tops of my legs when I’m in this machine. All the right muscles should be responding in a constant flex when I’m in my reps since they’re continuously engaged. I catch my breath as I sit in the machine, letting my heart and breathing go back to normal.
The gym isn’t bustling with people. There are a handful of other athletes, mostly football players. I suppose that makes the most sense since we have upwards of five times the number of players than other sports.
It’s exciting that I get to stand out. I’m almost always on the field when our defense is up. I’ve bounced around on the defensive team my entire football career, but Coach has moved me into cornerback for the last season. Before that, I was alinebacker, but Coach thinks the cornerback is a little more specialized for me. I think I’ve done really well there.
My job isn’t to be a brick house, but to be agile and fast. I cover the wide receivers, tackling and intercepting passes. That doesn’t mean I can’t block from time to time. There are times when I’m either in the wrong place and end up blocking, or one of the other team’s players gets at me, and I need to block.
When I go to the gym, I much prefer to concentrate on strength training and conditioning. I’m not a fan of running on treadmills or anything. If I run, I’d rather do that outside. Which I do. I’ve been known to use the field when no one is on it.
Football players are not long-distance runners. We’re sprinters. And being on the field means I have a realistic idea of how far I need to sprint.
I grab my towel and wipe the sweat from my face and neck. It’s always been interesting to me how I can sweat so much just sitting still. When all I’m doing is working my legs or my arms, or my abdominals. It means I’m exerting a lot of energy, which is good. I’m putting myself into it. Still. The amount I sweat has always fascinated me.
Not that I ever mention it to anyone. You tell them you’re fascinated with how much you sweat when working out, and they think you’re weird.
I continue to stretch my legs a little and drink some water. You never want to guzzle. If your body is already overexerted, you’re likely to make yourself throw up if you chug. Large sips are okay, but give your body time to disperse the water. This is especially important when running. The number of times I’ve thrown up a stomach full of water because I pushed myself running after draining an entire bottle is too many to count.
Watching my reflection, I flex my arm and stare at my biceps. The pronunciation of my biceps is coming along nicely. I adjust my flex to admire the triceps, but I think I need to work onthat a little more. Different exercises. My shoulder—deltoid—is looking strong though.
I’m not on a course of study that has anything to do with the body, but I’ve taken several anatomy and physiology courses as well as a couple exercise science courses because it helps me know what and how to train for specific results.
My teammate, Franklin, stops beside me and playfully grips my arm. I flex again for him, and he grins, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “Nice, Brev. Looking good.”
I smile. “Thanks.” I shift, bringing my arm down and flexing my arms, shoulders, and back. “I think my triceps need a little more work. I look uneven.”
“Not at all. You look sexy.”
Grinning, I pick up my water and take another sip. “Thank you. I do want sexy muscles. They help me play at the top of my game.”
“Pythons for arms,” Franklin says, gripping my biceps briefly again. “Tree trunks for legs.” We both look down at my legs, and I give them a little flex as well. “I bet you’re hiding an anaconda, too.”
I look at my other arm. Python on one side and anaconda on the other. Yeah, okay. I share a grin with Franklin, his eyes scrunching at the corners. He shakes his head a little.
“Let’s try this. Horace and Nicole, and Lane and Wulfe are getting together for a movie and game night on Sunday. Want to come with me?”
“Yeah, sounds fun. Is Norman going too? He loves board games. Oh, I bet Eddy would like to join us. Not that I’m inviting people when it’s not my party to invite.”
Franklin sighs. “Not a party. Just an intimate gathering of couples.”
“And then there’s us,” I say, grinning. “Yeah, that sounds cool. I’m in.”
“You’re cute as fuck, Brevan. I’ll see you later.” He claps my arm, and I’m left with the distinct impression that I might have missed something. I watch as he walks away and then glance at myself in the mirror.
“It’s a good thing you’re adorable.”My mother used to say this often. Mostly when I missed something obvious and right in front of my face.
My father used to say I was an entire offensive line short of a football team. It took me a long time to determine that it meant I wasn’t all there. I wasn’t whole. I wasn’t smart.
That’s fine. I don’t need to be smart. I need to be good at football, and I am. I’m on my game. I play hard. I have an agent looking at me, and I’m excited about my prospects.
Football is difficult to make a career out of. Unlike some other professional sports, there isn’t a feeder system of affiliated professional teams. College football serves as the feeder system. Which means we don’t have multiple different options to be picked up to play professional football.
