Page 66 of Locke

Compartmentalized.

I’m getting a lot of mileage out of that word lately.

And to my surprise, Locke comes through the door.He scans the area, eyes locking on me for a full five seconds before looking away.

I redirect my attention to my clipboard.

“All right,” I say, moving to the center of the turf.“Here’s how this works.Five stations, ninety seconds each, thirty seconds to rest and rotate.Full effort at every station.I will be watching and I will absolutely call you out.”I look around the group.“Any questions?”

“What’s the prize?”Boss asks.

“Not dying of cardiovascular failure in the third period,” I reply.

“So, nothing good,” he says.

“Go to your starting stations.”

They disperse and I move through the circuit calling time and corrections and watching the work.Arch starts on battle ropes and he’s got a decent rhythm.When he catches me watching, he gives me a charming grin.

“Good?”he calls over the noise of the ropes.

“Elbows,” I call back.

He adjusts and winks and I make a note on my clipboard.

Twenty feet away, I watch Locke on the push sled.His feet dig into the turf, muscles bulging, and I notice from the perspective of a woman who appreciates a beautiful man, not as a performance coach.

We run three full rotations and by the end of it everyone is breathing hard.Boss has started the low-level grousing that I’ve come to understand is his primary mode of communication during physical exertion.

“Hey, Rome,” he says, coming off the pull-up rig and rolling his shoulders.“You’re slow on the rotation.”

Rome smirks.“I finished before you, dude.”

“You finished wrong.”

“There’s no wrong on a pull-up.”

“There’s definitely wrong on a pull-up.”

“Okay,” I say, before Boss can suggest anything that involves me losing control of this session entirely.“One more thing.Sled push.Individual times—fastest wins.But to make it fair, everyone pushes seventy-five percent of their body weight.”

Boss is already doing the math in his head and looking pleased about it.Rome nods.Arch grins.Locke seems ambivalent.

“You figuring the weight?”Crosby asks.

“Yup.”I pull out my tablet, grab their last weigh-ins from the player database, and do some quick math.“I’ll call out your plate load when it’s your turn.Full track length and back.Any questions?”

“What does the winner get?”Boss asks.

“The satisfaction of being fastest.”

“That’s it?”

“And bragging rights,” I add.

He looks deeply unsatisfied with this answer, which means he’s going to run like his life depends on it.

I pull my stopwatch.“Arch, you’re up first.”