It’s our third run of the day. I’ve previously done some two-a-days while training for long races or to try to get in fast shape, but three-a-days is new territory, especially at this intensity. And especially at my age. And really especially at 8:45 p.m. at night. One and a half miles into our six-mile run, SEAL talks for the first time. “You okay?” “No. I don’t feel well,” I say as I keep pace. “Fuck, yeah,” he celebrates. “Now you’re seeing what it’s like to train, Jesse. I hope you enjoy this shit.” He begins to laugh, which soon becomes an all-out cackle. “You look like a pile of spilt
...more
