Page 14 of The Callahan Effect

I had barely finished putting my toiletries on the shelf before Ryan reached for his water bottle.

"Coach doesn't waste time, does he?" I commented.

Ryan smiled. "Not on retreat."

Within minutes players had assembled outside the lodge wearing our green and white training gear. The assistant coaches moved amongst the group checking water supplies while Coach Callahan stood beside a large topographical map mounted on an easel. He waited until we were all gathered before speaking.

"I'm sure some of you expected to begin on the ice."

He grinned at the newcomers.

"You won't."

He tapped the map.

"The best hockey players I've coached weren't separated by talent. They were separated by resilience. Anybody can skate when they're fresh. Anybody can make good decisions when they're comfortable."

His finger traced a route disappearing into the mountains.

"I want to know who still makes good decisions when they're tired."

He folded the map closed.

"We're heading onto the trails."

A groan spread through several freshmen. Coach inclined his head.

"You're not racing against each other."

The statement caught our attention.

"You're working in groups."

"Each team receives a pack containing medical supplies, navigation equipment, food and water. Each pack weighs approximately sixty pounds," he instructed the assistant coaches.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"There it is."

Ryan elbowed him.

Coach sent a glare in their direction but continued as though nothing had happened.

"Nobody carries the pack for the entire hike. You'll decide amongst yourselves how often to change. If one member of your group struggles, the others adjust. If someone gets injured, your entire group still finishes together. There'll be no prizes for arriving first."

He paused briefly.

"There will, however, be consequences for arriving last."

That drew several uneasy smiles.

"I'll leave it to your imagination."

The groups had clearly been organized well in advance. Ours consisted of Ryan, Oscar, Ben, Luca, Ethan, our alternate captain Marcus, and me, with Assistant Coach Viktor Sokolov following several paces behind. The former Russian professional hockey goaltender rarely spoke, preferring to observe and jot notes onto the clipboard tucked beneath his arm. When he finally broke the silence, his deep Russian accent carried authority, and every player listened.

The first mile felt deceptively easy.

The trail wound through towering pines where shafts of sunlight filtered through the branches, the cool mountain air making every breath feel clean and effortless. Conversation flowed naturally as the veterans pointed out landmarks from previous years, occasionally stopping to identify wildlife or share stories connected to particular sections of the trail. Oscar managed to tell three different stories simultaneously while carrying the sixty-pound pack as though it contained pillows rather than emergency equipment.