Early, the next morning, the sound of Leo's trainers hitting the treadmill belt was the only sound heard in the gym.
At first, his pace was unhurried, more like a jog meant to shake loose the stiffness from last night's late workout.
His breathing came even and controlled, his mind somewhere else.
Then, with a few taps on the screen, he upped the speed.
The treadmill whined louder as his body adjusted, legs now pumping at the kind of rhythm he used when covering ground in a match, imagining scenarios in his head as he continued to up the ante.
He added bursts to his run, thirty seconds flat out, then easing off before going on another surge.
The treadmill groaned under the sudden changes, but Leo relished the burn in his thighs, the hammering of his chest.
This was what the pitch felt like, the ebb and flow between steady running and explosive sprints.
