Page 182 of Knotting the Firefighters
I move through individual assessments, providing personalized feedback that addresses specific areas requiring improvement:
"Dax—your pacing is improving significantly, but you're still starting too fast and fading in the final circuits. Practice consistent speed rather than a sprint-and-recover pattern."
He nods emphatically, already mentally cataloging the guidance.
"Rook—your breathing technique needs adjustment. You're holding tension in your shoulders that restricts lung capacity. Focus on dropping shoulders, expanding ribcage, utilizing full respiratory potential."
"Yes, Chief!" His response carries enthusiasm that suggests genuine commitment to improvement.
"Flynn—excellent endurance, but you're favoring your right leg. Get that looked at by Doc Winters before it develops into a chronic issue. Minor compensation patterns become major injuries when ignored."
His expression shifts to concern—recognition that I've identified a problem he'd been trying to hide.
Can't hide injuries from the former Fire Chief.
I've seen every possible variation of denial and compensation.
Learn to identify them instinctively after years in leadership.
They salute collectively—a synchronized gesture that's simultaneously professional and slightly theatrical, acknowledging authority while maintaining camaraderie.
"We can't wait to implement these improvements," Dax declares with conviction that appears genuine rather than performative. "Honestly, Chief Murphy, we've been feeling infinitely more confident since your arrival. The structure, the expectations, the actual training regimen—everything's elevated."
The others murmur agreement, expressions reflecting similar sentiment.
Validation.
Professional validation from people I've been training.
Feels good.
Better than expected, actually.
They drift away in a cluster of animated conversation—discussing training, comparing notes, the particular bonding that emerges from shared physical suffering. Their voices fade as distance increases, leaving me in relative quiet, broken only by Blaze's panting and the kittens' occasional meowing.
I watch them depart, satisfaction warming my chest despite physical exhaustion. This is what I've been missing—the teaching aspect, the mentorship, the particular fulfillment that comes from watching people improve under guidance.
This is good.
This feels right.
Like I'm finally where I belong rather than just surviving circumstances.
My legs carry me to a shaded area beneath a large tree, my body seeking rest after extended exertion. The ground is cool beneath me as I settle, grass still damp with morning dew that hasn't fully evaporated.
Blaze immediately abandons his circular running pattern, bounding toward me with puppy enthusiasm that suggests he's been waiting for permission to break formation. His tongue finds my face with wet enthusiasm, tail wagging with enough force to generate a breeze.
Affectionate menace.
Exactly what we need around here.
I laugh, pushing him gently away while he continues his greeting ritual. Eventually, he seems satisfied with welcome verification, turning his attention toward the departing rookies who clearly represent a new entertainment opportunity.
And he's off.
Chasing humans who probably don't want puppy assistance.
Their problem now.
