Tuesday, July 7th, 2016

I woke up at 5:30am to the system's notification.

[SYSTEM] Personal Training: Day 1. Current Fitness Level: 42/100 (Below Average). Recommendation: Begin cardiovascular base building. Target: 30-minute run, moderate pace.

I stared at the notification for a long moment. Day 1. Not Day 7, or Day 14. Day 1.

I'd unlocked the personal training feature a week ago, right after hiring Sarah. The system had been nagging me about it every morning since. But there was always something more urgent. A session to plan. A player to talk to. Video to analyze. Staff to hire. The team needed me. The job demanded everything.

And somewhere in all of that, I'd forgotten about myself.

At Moss Side, I'd been fit. Not athlete-fit, but functional. I could run with the lads, demonstrate drills, and keep up during training. But six weeks at Crystal Palace had changed that.

Fourteen-hour days. Surviving on coffee and takeaway. Sitting in front of screens until my eyes burned. I'd felt myself getting softer, slower, weaker. But I'd told myself it didn't matter. The team's fitness mattered. Mine didn't.

Except it did.

If I was going to ask my players to push themselves, to improve every day, to never settle... I had to do the same. I couldn't be a hypocrite. I couldn't demand excellence from them while letting myself deteriorate.

Sarah's words from yesterday echoed in my head: "You need to take care of yourself too. You're no good to the team if you're burned out."

She was right. Again.

No more excuses.

I pulled on my running gear, new trainers from the club, shorts that were probably too tight now, and a blue and red jersey from the club store. The uniform of someone who used to be fit and was about to remember how much that hurt.

I headed out into the London morning. The streets were quiet, the air cool and damp. A few early commuters, a street cleaner, and a jogger who looked far more professional than me. The city was waking up, and so was I.

The system displayed a route overlay in my vision, a 5k loop through the neighborhood. It looked simple. Flat. Easy.

It wasn't.

The first ten minutes were brutal. My lungs burned. My legs protested. My chest felt tight. I'd forgotten how much running hurt when you were out of shape. Every step was a negotiation between my brain, which wanted to stop, and my pride which refused to quit after ten minutes.

I thought about Connor. About how I'd pushed him to be better, to work harder, to stop being lazy. And here I was, six weeks into the job, having done nothing to improve myself.

I kept running.

[SYSTEM] Heart Rate: 165 bpm. Pace: 6:12/km. Form: Acceptable. Keep breathing steady.

My pace was slow. Embarrassingly slow. But I kept going. One foot in front of the other. Past the coffee shop that charged £4.50. Past the gym I'd been meaning to join. Past the park where kids would train later today.

By kilometer three, I'd found a rhythm. Not a good rhythm, but a rhythm. My breathing steadied. My legs stopped screaming and settled into a dull ache. The system's overlay showed my heart rate dropping slightly still high, but not dangerous.

I thought about Mum. About the sacrifices she'd made. About how she'd worked double shifts so I could play football. About how she'd never complained, never quit, never gave up.

If she could do that, I could finish 5k.

By kilometer four, I was questioning everything again. Why was I doing this? Who cared if I was fit? The players didn't need me to run with them. I was a coach, not a player.

But then I remembered something Gary had said: "The players watch everything you do. If you're lazy, they'll be lazy. If you're committed, they'll be committed."

I wasn't going to be the coach who demanded effort but gave none himself.

The final kilometer was agony. My legs felt like lead. My lungs burned. Sweat poured down my face. But I could see the finish my flat, just ahead.

I pushed harder. Not fast, but harder. Gave everything I had left.

I crossed the invisible finish line the system had marked and immediately bent over, hands on knees, gasping for air.

[SYSTEM] Run Complete. Distance: 5.02km. Time: 31:14. Fitness: +0.5%. Cardiovascular Endurance: 38/100 → 39/100.

[SYSTEM] Note: Consistency is key. Continue daily training to see significant improvement.

[SYSTEM] Achievement Unlocked: First Step. You've started your personal development journey. The hardest part is showing up.

I stood there, drenched in sweat, breathing hard, feeling like I'd just run a marathon instead of 5k.

But I'd done it.

For six weeks, I'd put everyone else first. The team. The players. The staff. The job. And I'd neglected the one person I had complete control over myself.

Not anymore.

This was Day 1. Tomorrow would be Day 2. And the day after that, Day 3.

I was going to improve. Not just as a coach. As a person.

I showered, changed, and headed to Copers Cope. My legs were sore. My body ached. But I felt... good. Accomplished. Like I'd taken a step toward becoming the person I needed to be.

Sarah was already there when I arrived at 8 am, reviewing video footage in the analysis suite. She glanced up when I walked in.

"You look different."

"Different how?"

"I don't know. Lighter? Did something happen?"

I smiled. "Went for a run this morning. First time in weeks."

Her face lit up. "Danny, that's brilliant. How'd it feel?"

"Awful. But good. If that makes sense."

"It does. Trust me, it gets easier. And you'll feel better for it."

"Yeah. I think I will."

"Morning," I said.

"Morning, boss. Ready for today?"

"You're leading the pressing drill, right?"

"That's the plan. Unless you've changed your mind?"

I hadn't. But every instinct screamed at me to take control, to make sure it was done right. I forced those instincts down.

"No. It's yours. I'll observe."

"Good. Because I've got some ideas."

The players arrived at 9:30 am. We gathered on the pitch for the warm-up, then I addressed the team.

"Right, lads. Today... Sarah's running the pressing drill. I'll be observing, taking notes, and staying out of the way. Listen to her, work hard, and we'll debrief after."

A few players glanced at each other. This was new me stepping back, letting someone else lead. Connor's expression was skeptical.

Sarah stepped forward. "Morning. Today we're working on pressing triggers specifically, recognizing when to press and when NOT to press. Danny's taught you the basics. Now we're adding nuance."

She set up the drill: 5v5+2, half-pitch, focusing on trigger recognition. The five defenders had to identify the right moment to press based on the attacker's touch, body shape, and positioning.

"If the touch is good, you hold your shape," Sarah explained. "If the touch is poor, or the player's facing the wrong way, or they're isolated that's your trigger. Press immediately and aggressively."

She demonstrated with Reece and Nya. "Reece, play the ball to Nya. Nya, take a heavy touch."

Nya's first touch pushed the ball two meters away from him. Immediately, Sarah sprinted forward, cutting off his passing options.

"That's the trigger. Heavy touch, player off balance, isolated. You press NOW, not in two seconds. By then, he's recovered and you've wasted energy."

The players nodded. Sarah blew the whistle.

***

Thank you to chisum_lane for the gifts.

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