“You're compensating with your trap,” Tess noted. “Reset your shoulder blade. Down and back.”
I adjusted, felt the difference, kept going.
When she finally called time on the shoulder work, I was shaking. She handed me a water bottle and I drank half of it in one go.
“Good work. Now the leg.”
She had me do single-leg deadlifts—bodyweight only—and my hamstring screamed in protest. The scar tissue was tight, pulling with every rep, but I focused on balance, on form, on not falling over.
“Ten more. Keep your hips square.”
I finished the set, switched legs, did it again.
Then step-ups. Then lateral band walks that made my hip flexor burn. Then single-leg squats that had me wobbling but staying upright.
Tess pushed me through it all without mercy. Every time I finished a set, she had another one ready. Every time I thought we were done, she added more.
An hour in, my entire body was trembling with fatigue.
“Last exercise,” Tess said. “Plank position. I want you holding for sixty seconds. Core engagement is crucial for protecting that shoulder when you're getting hit.”
I dropped into plank position, already feeling the strain.
“Sixty seconds. Starting now.”
The first thirty seconds were fine. The next twenty were hell. The last ten had my arms shaking so badly I thought I might collapse.
“Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Down.”
I dropped to my knees, breathing hard, sweat dripping onto the mat beneath me.
Tess handed me the water bottle again. “Good. You didn't quit on me.”
“Didn't want to.”
“I noticed.” She made notes on her tablet. “Pain levels?”
“Shoulder's an eight. Leg's a six.”
“Honest answer?”
“Yeah.”
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “You showed up today, That matters.”
I took another drink of water, trying to catch my breath. “Coach said I needed to do this right.”
“He's correct.” She set the tablet down. “But here's the thing—I need you to understand that hiding injuries or lying about pain levels puts both of us at risk. You already know what happened with Dr. Warren. He could've reported me for keeping that hamstring injury off your record. The only reason I'm still here is because I promised it would never happen again.”
“I know. And I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about?—”
“About who else you were putting in the line of fire. I know.” Her voice was firm but not unkind. “So here's how this works going forward. You show up. You do the work. You tell me the truth about how your body feels. No shortcuts. No hero bullshit. And if something feels wrong, you tell me immediately.”
“And if I don't?”
“Then I pull you from the prelim roster myself and tell Coach exactly why.” She met my eyes. “I can't protect you from consequences if you keep choosing secrets. So you need to decide what matters more—your pride or your career.”
I thought about Grant's words at the cabin. About Owen's advice. About all the times I'd chosen to hide instead of ask for help.
