Sunday morning.
I am at the training ground at five thirty and Drace is already there and he says, as he has said every session for weeks, earlier not as a complaint, as a statement of where the next threshold is. I work the post sequence he designed, which is different from the one I started with, harder, requiring the specific combination of speed and intention that takes longer than strength to develop.
I work it until it is right.
Then I sit on the low wall and drink water and watch the compound come into its Sunday rhythm, slower than weekdays, the specific unhurried quality of a day that does not have the same demands. The kitchen is later. The crew rotation is lighter. The communal table at nine instead of seven.
Théo appears at six fifteen.
He comes to the training ground in h
