‘Accept what is not in your control’ is Dr Mendoza’s favourite sentence. I mean, I get it – what happened to me wasn’t something I could stop or start at will. She loves to tell me it’s not a disease that she can ‘cure’; that it’s a state I need to learn to live with. And sure, it makes sense in theory. It’s a lot harder in practice.

Don’t forget to clear your head, Colt.

All the tools. I think Dr Mendoza might be a little concerned if I tell her my primary tool is wistful memories of my grade-school lacrosse rival-slash-love of my life. I try a less jarring approach.

‘I played back in Oklahoma,’ I tell her. As much as she scared me in our first few sessions together, I came to respect her pretty quickly. She’s pretty much the only person I can talk to and know, for sure, that whatever I tell her won’t go anywhere. Patient–provider confidentiality is great.

‘And how did that happen?’

‘The thing is – I don’t know. I don’t know how it happened. The first few times, I froze up, and then one night, it just … happened.’

‘Well, that’s amazing news, CJ!’ Dr Mendoza sets her little pink notebook to the side and clasps her hands. ‘You don’t sound excited enough about this.’

I’m not, considering I’ll have to repeat the feat without the one variable that I’m pretty sure made it possible. ‘What if I can’t do it again?’ I finally ask.

‘Oh, but CJ.’ She smiles encouragingly. ‘You did it once. So we want to rewire those thoughts, and we want to ask – what if you can?’

The first day of training camp dawns on us, sunny but temperate weather with a morning brisk enough to warrant a hoodie and shorts combo from most of the Woodchucks. We pull up bleary-eyed, nursing energy drinks, with royal blue merch and screaming woodchuck silhouettes as far as the eye can see. Training camp is essentially an intensive two-week session of practice, overseen by sharp-eyed coaches, which determines what position you end up playing for the season. If you want your favourite spot, you’d better get ready to go to bed totally immobile each night after practice.

‘Hey.’ JJ prods my side gently before we hit the field. His eyebrows are wrinkled slightly as he clears his throat. He’s walking on eggshells. Yikes. ‘I’ve … seen some things. What happened with May?’

Further out, Rod coughs all dramatically loud, doubling over and smacking his chest for effect. Snitch.

‘Nothing, really.’ I smile tightly. ‘She and I, we rekindled something we didn’t really think about, long-term. I guess …’ May’s words come to mind. ‘We just have different destinations in life.’