We moved into strength drills next. He had me drag a weighted sled across loose dirt while he threw verbal commands mid-stride.
“Drop it.”
I released.
“Push-ups.”
I dropped instantly.
“Up. Sprint.”
My arms trembled as I forced myself up and ran again.
There was no rhythm. No predictable pattern. Just constant interruption.
Every time I began to find a pace, he broke it.
Every time I adjusted, he shifted the demand.
My lungs felt like they were tearing by the time we reached reflex drills. He didn’t use training balls this time. He used blunt wooden sticks, striking from different angles without warning.
I blocked the first one.
Missed the second.
It smacked against my shoulder.
“Don’t track my hands,” he said. “Feel the movement.”
“I can’t feel something I don’t understand,”
