Momentum

Anxious.

I arrive at the white line an instant before the speaker beside Foudy sends the sound of a bell echoing across the field. I make eye contact with Kelly, who tapped out last round and is now recovering on the grass, before taking off in the opposite direction in order to make it to the other side of the pitch on time. I manage to keep up with the pace of the recording for a couple more minutes before collapsing beside Kelly, sucking air into my lungs while simultaneous fighting the urge to puke.

Kelly pats my back. "Good job, Toby."

I have to inhale between words when I respond. "Don't . . . call me . . . that."

Once I catch my breath, I take a seat on the greenery beside the eccentric defender and watch my more conditioned teammates continue to sprint across the pitch. Only a couple of them have yet to give up, sprinting from one end of the field to the other every time they hear the bell ring. Both Alex and Christen are drenched in their own sweat, but the determination etched on their faces reveals that they aren't ready to quit. They both want to be the last one standing.

Kelly leans over and whispers, "My money's on Alex."

I think about how Alex barely beat Christen when they raced during practice last week. Alex is definitely faster - her sprint times prove that - but this exercise isn't designed to determine how quickly someone can repeatedly reach a certain point; it's designed to determine how far an individual is capable of pushing themselves.

And if there's one thing Christen excels at, it's pushing herself to her absolute limit.

"I think Christen might pull it off this time."

The two forwards soon begin to show signs of fatigue. Their strides become weaker, and the time they have to recover after completing each sprint decreases as a result. Christen's strength appears to be depleting rapidly, but the resolve in her eyes does not waver. Alex is becoming unsettled by her counterpart's resilience, as nobody has kept up with her for this long since sophomore year, when Heather was on the team. I can tell that my best friend is just as tired as Christen, though she does put more effort into concealing her exhaustion. Her legs shake whenever she pivots, and her breathing is growing uneven and intemperate. It's only a matter of time before one of them isn't capable of continuing.

I see Foudy looking at the pair, her gaze strictly analytical. Her eyes narrow as she watches Alex begin to fade away, the muscles in her legs cramping up and forcing her to slow down. Christen passes her and reaches the white line an instant before the bell rings. Realizing she has outlasted everyone, she breaks out in a smile and crumples to the ground, exhausted.

Kelly shakes her head. "Fuck."

I nudge the defender with my elbow. "I told you she could do it."

I stand up to check on Christen, but a commanding voice draws my attention back to the center of the pitch. Foudy is standing directly in front of Alex, who is bent over and clearly depleted.

"What was that, Morgan?"

Alex looks up, confused by our coach's harsh tone. "I . . . I couldn't . . ."

"Couldn't what? Couldn't keep up?"

My best friend stands up, her weariness being replaced by indignation rather quickly as she realizes what our coach is insinuating. "I think I've been the one being chased more than enough times. I don't have anything to prove."

"Looks like you do." Foudy motions towards Christen, who is sitting up on the grass, staring at the pair with wide, regretful eyes. "Looks like there's someone working harder than you are."

Alex steps forward, her expression alarmingly wooden. "I am not lazy."

Kelly grabs my hand. "Come on. Before she says something she'll regret."