Yo-Yo of Destiny

Okay, so maybe I'm crazy, but hear me out:

I'm, uh, pretty sure things aren't going wrong?

(☉_☉)

*looks around for stray bolts of lightning, ready to be proven wrong at any moment*

First off, it turns out Andre Lamar is a chill, friendly dude who volunteered to take these tests because he's been out with an injury for a few weeks and wanted to make sure he was back to full fitness.

He warms up at my pace, chatting casually and telling me about the first time he tried out for a youth team. He'd been so nervous he didn't stop himself in time during an attacking drill and ran straight into the goal. Got so tangled up in the net they had to halt the try-out to fish him out.

"Did you still make the team?" I ask, curious.

He grins and grabs his flexed bicep. "Obviously."

And sure, it sucks that a dude who ran into a net during a try-out and just now recovered from an injury is amazingly better than I am at literally everything, but it's Andre friggin' Lamar, so I'm honestly not that mad.

Especially since he smiles after each test we run, and tells me I'm doing well, and I think he even means it.

No one's been happy for me performing well since I was eleven.

Sometimes, Lamar's smiles are too much for me, actually, so I glance over at Baldy McGrumpyFace, the Head of Developmental Performance.

He's put on sunglasses, and stands all stiff with his clipboard, scribbling notes with a constant frown. The only times he talks are when he's gruffly announcing the next test. He just barks the name of the test and moves to the corresponding part of the field, leaving Lamar to actually explain how the test works to me.

The standoff-ish scowl is more what I'm used to, to be honest.

I find it calming.

Secondly, I'm not hungry as we run, which is a novel experience for me. I bought myself a real breakfast before I boarded the bus this morning, and there were snacks in the conference room, which I munched on while eavesdropping on everyone whispering in the hallway.

I managed to slide a few snacks into my backpack, so I'm not even worrying about what I'm going to eat later. Plus, I'm almost 200 miles (320km) away from the Martins, and no matter what happens with this test, I should have a warm bed to sleep in tonight.

This is possibly the least stressful workout I've had in years.

Turns out, when you can turn off "survival mode" in your brain, focusing on solid performance is a lot easier.

I score better on the first few tests than I ever have.

My 30-meter dash is 4.05s, which is solid for my height (5'8 - 174cm) and age. Andre Lamar crushes me with a 3.84, but since he was also the record-holder when he graduated from UConn, I feel like I'm doing just fine.

The 5-10-5 agility drill involves sprinting 5 yards left and finger-touching the yard line, 10 yards right and touch, then 5 yards left again to end up where you started. It tests direction-changing ability, and my time of 4.14 seconds is again above average.

My vertical jump, however, is depressing. I barely scrape 26in (66cm), while Lamar's practically flying halfway to the damn clouds with his 37in (94cm) vertical.

Plus, he's already way taller than me, so the difference looks even worse.

"The coaches can give you some workouts to improve that vertical. No need to be so bummed," Lamar says, and he tries to give me what probably would have been an encouraging pat on the back.

I'll never know for sure, because I instinctively flinch and scramble out of reach so fast, if we'd been timing it, I think I may have beaten my earlier sprint record.

Then I freeze, mortified. "Uh, sorry," I murmur. "I thought I saw a, um..."

"It's cool, man," he says.

Startled, I meet Lamar's eyes.

He's not mad, or even confused. His open-mouthed toothy grin is gone, replaced by a gentler, smaller half-smile. "No worries. Not everyone likes to be touched. I get it."

The crazy thing is, he looks like he really does. I'm not sure exactly what he thinks he knows about me, but he's not acting any different, just easily giving me a little space like it's no big deal.

"Thanks," I say quietly.

"Is that gonna be a problem during games, though?" Lamar asks, also quietly.

I have to think about that for a long minute. It never was a problem before, but I'd also never been murdered by my teammates before.

I seem to have gotten jumpier since then.

In the end, I shake my head. "I don't think so. It's different, when I'm playing."

I wish I could explain it better than that, but that's the best truth I can say. It's like when Beck was defending all up on me in the park; my brain didn't read him as a threat to me or my body; he was only a threat to my ball.

I have to believe that's how it'll always go. I can't afford to flinch from defenders.

Lamar nods encouragingly and moves on like I didn't just spaz out. I'm feeling more motivated to one day make the Sounders First Team after all, if for no other reason than I'd love this guy to be a teammate for real.

After a short break, we finally do a drill I kick serious ass at: the Yo-Yo run. We start right off with the Level 2 elite version, and Great Grumpy Bald Man clearly thinks I'm going to drop out before we even hit 500 meters.

Joke's on him.

The Yo-Yo test is used internationally at try-outs for a variety of sports. It's a seriously awful endurance test, but also a fantastic indicator of athletic skill, especially for sports like soccer and rugby, where being able to run long and hard is one the greatest skills a player can have.

The version we did, essentially, looks like this:

There's a BEEP and we run 20 meters down and 20 meters back before the next BEEP. Then there's a 10 second rest, then another BEEP and we take off again for another 40-meter down-back sprint.

At regular intervals, the running speed increases, so the time between BEEPs decreases. This means, the longer you run, the faster you have to keep running.

The worst aspect of the Yo-Yo test is that it goes on until your body gives out. You fail if you quit, or if you can't make it back to the start line before the second BEEP sounds (which means you can't keep up with speed increase and pace).

Not gonna lie. It fucking sucks.

But I have a lot of practice running myself ragged. I used to do Yo-Yo runs on my own, when something particularly horrible happened and I wanted to make myself exhausted enough to forget about it.

Needless to say, I've done a lot of Yo-Yo runs.

At 800 meters, the test kicks up to 18 km/hr (11mi/hr), and I've officially lasted longer than most elite high school athletes.

Baldy's grip on his clipboard tightens.

At 1000 meters, I actually make it back to the starting line ahead of Lamar.

The pro winger looks more serious than I've seen him look all day, and the competitive glint in his eye sparks something similar in me. I grin, even as my body screams at me for putting it through this horror.

At 1200 meters, Lamar and I are both breathing so hard, I'm worried we're going to accidentally spit out our lungs. Sweat pouring, we stumble across the finish line at the same time as the BEEP, and we've officially outlasted most pro athletes.

Baldy's staring at us over his sunglasses, shock clear on his sunburned face.

During the short cooldown, Lamar admits this is 60 meters past his previous PR (personal record).

I'm personally shocked he has the breath to say words.

At 1280 meters, Lamar gives one last push, determined to keep up with me, and then collapses to the grass, completely spent.

It's amazing I've kept up this long. Beyond amazing, even. I could absolutely stop now, and I would have accomplished something unbelievable.

My muscles have moved on from simply screaming at me to straight-up shrieking obscenities, trying to make me give up this nonsense, so I definitely could, should stop.

BEEP.

I take off for the 33rd time, and a little notification chimes in my brain:

{Would you like to activate New Skill [Stamina Boost]? Current Skill Lvl: 1 - For 30 seconds, your body will ignore fatigue and operate as though you have full stores of Stamina. Cooldown: 1 hour. Warning: For 3 minutes afterward, you will enter a Weakened State and experience extreme fatigue.}

I don't need to think about it.

'Activate! Activateactivate yes please!'

Thirty seconds later, I cross the line for 1360 meters, then immediately collapse right next to Lamar.

The grass is springy and soft. The sky is clear and blue.

"Holy shit, Kane, how are you human?" Lamar huffs.

Even if I had an answer for that, I don't have the ability to form words right now.

I loll my head to the side and see the two Academy Heads huddled together. BaldyGrumpyPants is aggressively jabbing his clipboard with one of his beefy fingers and Kyle Adams is rubbing his chin, looking thoughtful.

"Sure looks like you passed to me," Lamar chuckles as he sits up.

Jeebus. The dude recovers faster than I do with my [System Restore].

I just barely manage to graze his knuckles with mine when he reaches over for a congratulatory fist bump.

Every muscle in my body is furious with me, and I absolutely deserve it.

I can't help smiling anyway.

My arm drops back down, and I look back to the two Academy adults.

I end up meeting Kyle Adams' gaze. A frown has finally wiped the fake Welcome Smile off the recruiter's face, and his eyes are cold.

"Can't wait to see you play," Lamar continues, oblivious. "The team could sure use some legs like yours, man."

The sinking feeling in my gut tells me it's not going to be that simple.