“That’s it,” she announces. I stop with my foot on the ball, pulling in deep breaths of oxygen to replenish my bloodstream.

That’s it, and not just the end of the game or the end of practice for the day. That whistle signaled the end of Scholenberg. Today is our last day. The final of fifty-six days—eight weeks—just drew to a close.

The women surrounding me look just as taken aback. We’ve reached the end of the marathon. A finish line we all knew was coming. Saw coming. Prayed would arrive for weeks.

Crossing it feels different. Instead of relief, I feel perturbation.

“Get cleaned up. I’ll see you all tonight,” Coach Weber announces. Scholenberg is hosting a final group meal before we all go our separate ways tomorrow. I head toward the tunnel with the rest of my teammates but pause when I hear my name.

Coach Weber calls out to me, and it’s a mirror of our first day here.

“Yes, Coach?”

I turn and return to the field, only stopping when I’m a few feet away from her.

“I had my doubts about you, Scott,” Coach Weber declares.

“Oh?” I reply. There are other things I would ordinarily say in response to that but nothing I would dare utter to someone I respect as much as Christina Weber.

“I knew you were talented. I expected you to skate on that, especially after an injury. But… I was wrong.” She gives me a rare smile. “You’re the most dedicated—not just talented—player I’ve ever coached. That will take you far, you understand me? You’ve got confidence on the field, but I also get the feeling not many people have told you this. Some players are talented. Others work hard. But it’s rare—extremely rare—to have both, to never lose the drive to be better. Keep at it, and there won’t be anyone left to surpass, Scott. I’m expecting to one day be known by nothing aside from the fact that I coached you for a summer.”

I gape at her. No one has ever heaped anywhere close to the mountain of compliments she just dropped on me. I just completed the most competitive soccer program in the world, and one of the most famous female footballers in the world is telling me she expects her legacy to encompass nothing but coaching me. And she’s completely serious. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Christina Weber these last eight weeks, it’s this: if she has a sense of humor, she guards it closely, and she doesn’t dole out false compliments.

“Uh—I—wow,” I stammer. “Thank you.”

“See you tonight.” She pats my shoulder and then heads toward the tunnel.