Page 16

ELLIOTT

The crisp Auckland morning air nips at my face as I sprint across the rugby field, my cleats digging into the damp grass. My lungs burn, muscles screaming, but I push harder. I've got to prove I'm still the Iceman, that this injury hasn't melted my resolve.

"Keep it up, Snow!" Coach Finnegan's gruff voice cuts through my labored breathing. "Two more laps!"

I grit my teeth, focusing on the rhythm of my feet pounding the earth. With each step, doubt tries to creep in. What if I'm not the same player I was before? What if this is the beginning of the end?

No. I shake my head, dispelling the thoughts. I'm Elliott Snow. I learned to tackle on river stones. I've faced tougher challenges than this.

As I round the final bend, I spot Coach's stocky figure on the sidelines, his arms crossed and trademark scowl in place. I slow to a jog, approaching him with a mix of anticipation and dread.

"How'd that feel, Iceman?" he asks, his steely eyes assessing me.

I take a deep breath, weighing my words. "Honest answer?"

He nods, a flicker of concern crossing his weathered face.

"Like I'm running through molasses, Coach. Fast molasses, but still..."

Coach Finnegan grunts, his version of a chuckle. "At least your sense of humor's intact." He claps me on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Listen, son. You're pushing too hard, too fast. Your body's still healing."

I feel my jaw clench. "But the season?—"

"Will still be there when you're ready," he cuts me off. "You think I want my star player benched because he was too stubborn to take it slow?"

I let out a frustrated sigh. "So what's the plan, then?"

Coach's expression softens slightly. "We adjust. Work smarter, not just harder. I've got some ideas that'll have you match-fit without risking re-injury."

As he outlines his strategy, mixing tough love with genuine concern, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. Maybe I'm not finished after all. Maybe, with the right approach, I can come back stronger than ever.

"Thanks, Coach," I say as he finishes. "I won't let you down."

He fixes me with that piercing gaze. "I know you won't, Iceman. Now hit the showers. You smell worse than my gran's compost heap."

I laugh as I jog towards the locker room, my steps already feeling lighter. The road ahead might be tough, but with Coach Finnegan in my corner, I'm starting to believe I can tackle anything – even my own doubts.

As I towel off my hair, a plan begins to form in my mind. I'll start with low-impact cardio, gradually build up my strength training, and focus on flexibility exercises. It's not the all-out assault I'm used to, but it feels right. For once, I'm not fighting my body; I'm working with it.

"Look at you, Snow," I mutter to my reflection. "Finally learning to chill out. The Iceman's gone slushy."

I chuckle at my own joke, feeling a spark of excitement I haven't felt in weeks. This new approach might just work. And who knows? Maybe taking it easy will give me time to explore other parts of my life. Like a certain baker with eyes that could melt glaciers...