CHAPTER 3FIRST EUROPEAN TRIP: The most powerful resource to generate success is you!
A trickle of sweat meandered from my hair, down the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades. My thighs burned as I squatted for what felt like the hundredth time, kicked my legs out until I was planking, lowered my chest into a push-up and then jumped to my feet.
‘Really brace your core as you snap up,’ Nev barked.
I narrowed my eyes at him. Burpees sucked but I refused to surrender.
A rumble of good-natured laughter erupted from Nev's expansive chest. The guy looked more like a middle-aged bouncer than a personal trainer — built like a half-tonne tank with ropes of thick muscle like a powerlifter (which, apparently, he had been once upon a time). I'd heard a story of him throwing someone who'd given him trouble down a staircase; definitely someone you wanted on your side.
I started regular training with Nev when I was eighteen and he was a natural motivator, knowing just how far to push me — slightly past where I thought my limits were, but always stopping before I hurt myself or collapsed with exhaustion. Sometimes I could hardly wash my hair after a session because my arms felt like jelly.
‘You have to turn your muscles to jelly to turn them to stone,’ he said.
Nev and I developed a good rapport — he wore a necklace with little gold boxing gloves, had a wide jaw, short neck and a flat ...
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