Well, with the lack of sexual activity, I’m even more thankful to be interviewing Florian O’Neill this week. Sure, I usually exercise, but with all this built up tension, I could do with a tough work out to burn off some of my excess energy.

I’ve seen a picture of him online so sure, I knew he had dark hair, short at the sides and longer on top and of course he wouldn’t be much of a PT without a hot body to die for, but he’s better looking in real life. He has a charm about him I know will go down well with all types of different people. And that’s what I’m hoping to find. Hopping out of his dilapidated car in front of the house, I remember how I felt the first time I showed up here with Elliott. It’s such a long time ago now, I’ve almost forgotten the awe of this imposing building. Now, I take her prowess for granted.

“Hey, I’m Florian.” He holds out a hand, but it’s his accent I notice. A lilted Irish twang.

“Kyle, pleased to meet you. Come in.”

Florian is as tall as me, and broader. “I just have some kit to bring in.” He gestures to the trunk.

“It’s fine. Follow me first, see what we have here already and then you can decide what you’ll need,” I suggest.

“Sure thing, man.” His voice drifts as his eyes float around the impressive old house. Knowing how he feels, I lead the way through to the back and into our modern gym.

“Wow, this sure is the place to be.” He meanders around the machines stopping and studying the specs of some of our more up-to-date items.

I stay quiet, watching how I must have looked a few years earlier. Eventually I offer, “It’s our favorite room.”

He comes back to me, taking a seat on the edge of a weight bench and fishing out a clipboard from his bag. “OK, so let’s get down to business.” It’s his accent which adds to his charm. If he were to say that in a Yorkshire twang his vowels would be abrasive.

I plop down at the opposite end of the bench and although we’re both dressed in gym vest and shorts, we take at least half an hour chatting over what’s needed from him. I explain about our lifestyle, why we need to be fit for work, but also that exercise and pushing ourselves to our limits is part of who we both are. I explain that I need to be able to lift heavy and cumbersome weights with lightning speed and Elliott needs endurance, both cardio and strength, but how he needs to be as light as possible.

“You need to lose some size too, it’ll make you nimbler,” he explains. “When you’re changing tires in a small space, the tinier your frame, the easier it will be. I can still give you strength, more than you have at the moment, but you’ll be toned. You need to do lower weights, but more reps.”

I grin. “Elliott has been saying that,” I admit.

“Exactly. I bet that’s how he exercises isn’t it.”

“Yup. Elliott is going to love you, backing him up like that.”

He grins as he nods his head, “He’s right, man. But then he is a world champion.”

“Was.” The word sounds flat, the pride that I have for him, doesn’t come across. “It’s not like he can’t be again, but he needs someone to work with him and make sure that he’s not leaving all his development to the last minute. His legs are important when he’s driving and they’re his nemesis at the moment,” my voice trails off, “obviously.”

“Of course.”

“Shall we get started then? I need to make sure you’re not all talk.” I wink. I don’t mean to. I’m only joking around, but I don’t know why I feel so self-conscious. Maybe because this is Elliott’s and my place. We’ve had some good times in here, and a lot of bad over the past few years while he’s been recuperating. The space is intimate for us and it feels odd having an intruder invade our private quarters.