"Supercompensation?"
Kwame Brown, in the middle of hip rotations for warm-up, frowned in confusion. Clearly, this was a term he'd never heard before.
Dan Moore, standing nearby, jumped in to explain. "Put simply, you push your training load higher, then rest for a period, letting the muscles recover and come back stronger."
As a high school coach who oversaw both practices and games, Moore naturally knew the basics. He even gave Kwame a perfect analogy:
"It's like in school—say today I have my players work their lower body until they're absolutely gassed. The next day I dial the load way down, maybe skip it entirely, then return to it in a day or two."
With that explanation, Kwame caught on instantly.
"Oh, so that's what it's called. I've always trained like that."
Dawson nodded. "You should really say everyone trains like that."
Well, everyone except amateurs.
Some people start running and immediately crank the intensity to the max, pounding away despite sore legs and a stiff back. They think they're working harder, not realizing they're just breaking their body down with zero benefit.
In professional training, the principle is standard: progressively raise the load, push the body into strain, allow it to recover, and use that rebound—the supercompensation—to get stronger.
Kwame had been following this without knowing the name for it.
At this point, Donovan, the career coach, chimed in. "The concept's simple, everyone gets it. The tricky part is getting the amount right."
The science is straightforward: when you push harder, muscle fibers tear on a microscopic level.
The body responds by sending protein and nutrients to repair and reinforce them, making the fibers thicker. That recovery overshoots the original state—that overshoot is supercompensation.
But applying it is another matter entirely.
Push too hard, and you risk irreversible damage.
Rest too long, and you lose efficiency.
Rest too little, and you miss the peak window.
"Supercompensation runs in cycles. Hitting that exact sweet spot in the cycle is the hard part. That's where experience comes in."
Even then, because every athlete's body is different, you can't just apply the same playbook to everyone.
Moore looked over at Dawson—if he was talking about supercompensation, he must believe he had the experience to dial it in.
Dawson didn't boast. Words were cheap—results would prove his point.
"You following me so far?" he asked Kwame.
Kwame nodded.
"That's why I need you to follow my program exactly. Hit every rep, every set. If you can't, you won't reach supercompensation."
If the workload fell short, the whole cycle would break down.
Kwame thumped his chest. "I won't slack off, I promise."
"Don't be so sure yet," Dawson chuckled.
Kwame had no idea what he was in for.
Once Kwame finished warming up, Tangson shed his jacket and led him to the weight area.
He had no formal title here, so he'd rely on his "Lead by Example" approach. If Kwame was going to grind through the program, Tangson would do it right alongside him. Otherwise, what kind of example would he be?
"Follow my lead."
On the mats, Dawson started with cat-camel stretches and side lunges with torso twists—static moves to activate the core.
At first, Kwame barely felt it, but Dawson was already sweating.
The truth was, the past two years running his training camp hadn't been great for business. Between recruiting students and running the place, Dawson own workouts had slipped. His midsection had… seen better days.
Born in '75, he was only 26—still in his prime. And this private program for Kwame was the perfect excuse to whip himself back into shape.
"You okay, coach? You could just tell me what to do," Kwame teased with a smirk.
Dawson pride bristled.
Oh, so now he thinks I can't keep up?
Maybe he wasn't the most naturally gifted athlete, but when it came to sheer willpower, Dawson was top tier.
"We're just getting started. Don't get cocky—you might not even be able to keep up with me," he said through gritted teeth.
"No way," Kwame shot back, still not sensing the danger. These drills felt like a breeze.
That changed fast.
Dawson program had three trademarks:
1. Variety — multiple exercises targeting the same muscle group, mixing static and dynamic work.
2. High frequency — minimal rest between sets, multiplying the strain.
3. Big volume — four or five sets minimum for each move.
Soon, both men were drenched in sweat. Dawson breathing was heavy, and Kwame's earlier grin was long gone.
"Coach…" Kwame said cautiously.
"What? Don't tell me you're done already," Dawson puffed.
That shut Kwame right up.
"No way!" he gritted, forcing himself to keep going. He was younger—he couldn't let the older guy outlast him, especially after talking big earlier.
"Then keep moving!"
Dawson grabbed a medicine ball, tucked his legs, and started holding a static Russian twist.
Back in his playing days, Dawson had been a training maniac. Now, as the rhythm came back, he slipped into that old mindset, pushing harder with every set.
Kwame, on the other hand, was trembling. At 6'11" with a bigger frame, the same workload taxed him more. He kept sneaking glances at Dawson, hoping to see him falter first—but Dawson wouldn't quit.
Kwame was nearly breaking. He hadn't imagined Dawson would start him at this kind of intensity. And with Dawson pushing through beside him, he had zero excuse to bail.
"Damn it!" Kwame roared, forcing himself through the pain. There was no way he'd give up now and look weak.
A short distance away, Dan Moore leaned toward Donovan. "Should we step in?"
He hadn't expected Dawson to personally run every drill with Kwame—most trainers bark orders from the sideline.
Even more surprising? The first one to fade wasn't the younger, more athletic Kwame—it was almost Kwame.
"Step in how?" Donovan said with a wry smile. Sure, the two of them were basically grinding each other into dust, but Dawson was in charge of the training.
"And honestly? Compared to what Dawson used to put himself through back when he played, this isn't even a heavy load."
Moore's jaw dropped.
"This isn't heavy?!"