Fighting fit? Michael can't see the Wood for the trees

I WRITE this article the morning after my training session with Wood – and my legs feel pretty much like wood, or even lead, under my desk.

And I'm casting my mind back to the words of Walsall Wood assistant manager Nigel Birch when he invited me to take part in training.

"It'll be easy, a doddle, don't worry...you'll probably be the fittest one there!" said Birchy.

I had doubted that when he said it and doubted it even more when I was lagging at the back of the field on a five-lap-of-the-pitch run to get us started.

I'd kept up for the first two-and-a-half laps but I was seriously lagging from then onwards with only goalkeeper Luke 'Rolo' Rollins for company.

Fortunately, Nigel waved me over at the end of the fourth lap for a chat. I could probably have completed the fifth lap but might have collapsed – and this was just the start!

"Not bad mate, not bad," said Nigel. "You've got to remember these lads have been back in training for seven weeks so you did all right."

I tried to take his kind words in while at the same time being bent over double, hands on hips, gasping for any sort of air.

Boss Rob Masefield had already told me it was going to be a 'light' session. If this was light I wondered what medium would be like. I didn't even want to contemplate heavy.

I'm not an unfit guy, I go to the gym once a week, play tennis once a week – but I was already realising the difference between not being unfit and being fit.

The next exercise was a bit better as a small rectangle was created for us to do short jogs and exercises in a confined space – giving me people to hide behind when my legs stopped working.

Then came the request I had dreaded from reserve team coach Neil Probert – who was handling the session – 'find a partner'.

It was unfortunate new signing Danny Owen who was teamed up with me – the look on his face when I told him I was a reporter, not a player said it all.

The exercise was quite simple – piggyback on your partner while in a circle, jump off on command and then sprint round the circle.

But whether it was with the ball or without I still managed to come last every time – Danny did much better on his turns to run so it wasn't a total loss for the team.

He took my failures with good grace – even the penalty push-ups we had to endure for my perennial last place finishes.

Then it was time to move on to the Oak Park pitch for a few – thank goodness – football routines.

Boss Rob introduced me to the first team squad and they welcomed me kindly, other than a couple of shouts of 'Why don't I get the Advertiser in my road?' and 'Why do Rushall Olympic get more coverage than us?'

I kept quiet with the odd chuckle as I was (a) too shattered to find any sort of witty reply or speak in general and (b) scared of a pile-on if I got too cheeky.

From there, we were split into two groups – one practicing set pieces, the other playing a small-sided game. I was in the latter.

From feeling almost dead ten minutes earlier, I got a second wind.

We were split into two teams and each player was allocated an opponent to mark – you had to stop them scoring through the two cone markers and they had to stop you. Letting them score meant exercise-related forfeits.

My rival was the boss Rob and right there and then I knew I had to stop him scoring – my body couldn't take ten more push-ups or sit-ups. Ten more minutes rest was what it needed. Or ten lungs.

However, I stopped the boss scoring and then when we switched players, I also foiled centre half Andy Rogers and even managed a goal of my own – with what must have been only the second left-footed goal of my life.

As a winger, I've never man-marked so keenly – memories of PE teachers, coaches and teammates shouting 'track back Beardmore, you lazy sod' came to mind. I was doing them proud.

I think I only gave the ball away twice in the whole half hour, although one was with my very first touch and the other bad pass led to the opposition scoring. Oh well.

Just as things seemed to be going swimmingly, a sniper in the bushes shot me in the leg.

That's what it felt like anyway. My calf muscle has never been so rock solid.

"Yeah that's cramp," said skipper Stuart Cox, coming over to check on me. At least it wasn't a bullet.

I got shot in both legs in the cool-down a few minutes later – the right one had gone too. Now I was shot. I'd had enough!

The session certainly gave me an indication of how fit you need to be to play football at any level – and sadly I don't think I'm going to be picked when Wood travel to Pershore for their first game this weekend.

No-one else appeared to be sweating let alone breathing in large chunks of air like I was – maybe they're just better at hiding it.

The session and chatting to people during and afterwards was a great insight to the dedication people show at all levels of the game.

Not just the players – seeing the manager and coaching staff organising away trips and collecting the money for hotels and chatting with the committee about their plans for the club, you realise how much time everyone gives up.

It might be the sixth tier of non-league football but everyone cares just as much – perhaps more – as those involved with league clubs.

The night – like most of my nights – ended in the bar. I had two beers while the others nursed water, Vimtos, 7Ups and Cokes. Maybe, just maybe, that's where I've beengoing wrong...