So this was how the next six months were going to go.
Blaine Richards, one of our strength and conditioning coaches, had gotten wind of the extra training we were doing and turned up as we were getting started. Nate and I had picked up enough over the years to be able to set up some decent training, but Blaine had clearly decided we needed some extra evil added, plus some good old competition.
“Charts, lads,” he said, pulling a whiteboard on wheels into the training room we were using which was big enough to do some of the fitness tests. “And a league table. Sprints, sit-ups, press-ups, burpees, plank. Plus bench press, squat, deadlift, clean and jerk for those inclined — we’ll do that based on your body weight.”
He grinned evilly. This was Blaine’s idea of absolute heaven.
“What about the rest of the team?” Nicky looked at the board.
I knew the kid would be itching to get to the top somewhere there. He was at that age when he was starting to fill out properly, and he was putting on muscle easier now than a couple of years ago when he hadn’t been able to eat enough and keep weight on.
“They start when their lazy arses show up here. So if Hollywood Ball’s going to spend most of his time cavorting withac-tors this summer, he’s going to end up at the bottom of the table.” Blaine’s eyes drifted over to Ryan, who was already stretching out.
Ryan just shook his head. He was one of the best trainers at the club as he’d shown last season, quietly just getting on with it and treating it as a science.
Like Nate and I, he was on track for an England call-up for the World Cup. Nicky and Jude were on the periphery of the squad, which was another reason Nicky was going to be sweating his balls off over the summer break, making sure he was fit enough to start the season not needing match fitness, which meant drills like these. In another couple of weeks, we’d start long runs, ten miles at a minimum, adding in fartleks where we played around with speed, sprints intermingled with slower jogs over a series of miles which better matched the changes of pace in a football match. Nicky had been here before any of us this morning, already starting on speed work. As a schoolboy, he’d been a really decent sprinter over two hundred metres, and he could’ve taken that higher, but I knew he loved football.
I’d be thrilled for him if he could pick up a few caps for England at the World Cup this winter.
Ryan had beaten me to be the club’s top scorer last season, which should’ve stung more than it had. He was a poacher, the sort of player that could pick up the ball at the halfway line, take one glance at the goal and chip the keeper. He’d had three goals up for the Goal of the Season award, whereas most of mine were opportune. Headers — although Jerrica was right; I’d missed a few sitters — and powerful first touches that blasted the back of the net. I had fewer classy touches than Ryan, but I’d win the ball in the penalty area, my size and strength keeping some defenders clear.
We started with a good old-fashioned bleep test, one with an extension that we’d needed because of Ryan O’Connell, although I was expecting him to not quite be as fresh now he had a high-tariff girlfriend.
Two hours later and I was flat on my back, pouring a bottle of water over my head and wondering if my heart was still inside my body or if it had managed to burst through my rib cage.
“That was fucking brutal.” Rowan Reeves sat down next to me, close enough that I could smell a combination of sweat, aftershave and possibly Dee Jones’ perfume. “Someone tell Dee I love her and she’s named on my life insurance policy.”
Ryan laughed, still managing to look annoyingly fresh. He’d managed to score himself Otter Penhaligon, who he hadn’t recognised — he must’ve been the only person in the modern world not to know that she was an award-laden actress — and somehow, she’d fallen for him, even though he was the biggest geek ever.
“Dee was outside, actually. She was looking for you.” Ryan gestured to the door. “Do us all a favour and shower first. You stink.” He frowned. “Why do you kind of smell of Dee under the sweat?”
I knew it wasn’t just me.
“Er, that would be transference.” Rowan could wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.
“Were you expending energy before our training session?” I manage to sit myself up.
“I’ve been expending energy since the end of the season.” Rowan squinted at the door. “Is Dee still there?”
“She said she’d see you at Kitty’s.” Ryan looked incredibly amused, his arms folded and eyes fixed on Rowan. “Are you struggling to keep up with her?”
“No.” Rowan was the world’s worst liar.
We were all grinning now. This was gold.
“Do you need some little blue pills?” Nate waggled his little finger. “We can always ask Coach over there to sort some out.”
Blaine spat out his coffee. “Keep me out of this.”
Rowan shook his head. “Seriously, I think she’s taking something. It’s like all the fucking time. As soon as Toby’s asleep, or he’s at school, we’re on our own anywhere — and I mean anywhere — she’s on me.”
“You’re seriously complaining, bro?” Nate frowned at him. “It’s the off-season. It’s not like you have to conserve your energy. It’s good cardio.”
Rowan was quiet for a second. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was trying to get us pregnant.”
I glanced at Nate. He was probably the best qualified to respond to that sort of statement.
“Have you talked to her?”
