When first starting to work with someone you try to get them in

Host: The morning light broke through the gym windows, slicing across the dust-filled air like gold blades. The sound of a basketball bouncing, the clatter of weights, and the sharp whistle of a trainer echoed through the vast, empty hall. In one corner, Jack leaned against a bench, his hands wrapped in tape, his eyes on the mirror where his own reflection stared back — tired, measured, haunted.

Host: Jeeny entered quietly, her hair tied up, a notebook in her hand, her breath steady from the morning run. She was there to talk, not to train — but the air was thick with something heavier than sweat: pride, regret, memory.

Jeeny: “You’ve been here since dawn, haven’t you?”

Jack: “Couldn’t sleep. The body remembers what the mind tries to forget.”

Host: She placed the notebook down beside him, the pages fluttering open to a quote scrawled in her handwriting, highlighted in yellow ink:
‘They are not you.’ — Dan O’Brien.

Jeeny: “You know, I think he was right. You can’t teach someone by turning them into a copy of yourself. You have to listen to who they are first.”

Jack: (grinning faintly) “That’s the problem with coaching, Jeeny. Everyone thinks it’s about listening, when it’s really about results. You can’t train someone by accepting their limits.”

Jeeny: “No — but you can’t push them by ignoring their nature, either.”

Host: The sunlight shifted, casting long shadows over the floor, as if the past itself were stretching, reaching for them both.

Jack: “When I was at my peak, I knew what it took — pain, discipline, hunger. Every athlete I’ve trained since? I try to pull them into that mindset, that storm I lived in. But they — they don’t stay there. They break. They hesitate.”

Jeeny: “Because they’re not you, Jack. That’s the whole point.”

Jack: “Then what’s the point of mentorship? To let them fail their own way? To watch them make the same mistakes I already paid for with years of sacrifice?”

Jeeny: “No. To guide them through it, not drag them. You can’t lead someone by erasing them. That’s not teaching, that’s control.”

Host: Her voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp, cutting through the haze of his defensiveness. The gym fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the creak of the metal barbell swaying on its rack.

Jack: “You don’t understand, Jeeny. When I was winning, I was in a different headspace. I was ruthless. I didn’t care about feelings, or balance, or ‘communication.’ I cared about gold. About being the best. That’s what I try to give them — that mindset.”

Jeeny: “And that’s why you keep losing them. You’re still fighting your own ghost. You’re not teaching them how to be great — you’re trying to recreate yourself.”

Host: Jack looked at her, his jaw tightening, the veins in his neck visible — not from anger, but from recognition.

Jack: “So what am I supposed to do? Just adapt to everyone’s emotions? Soften the message so no one gets hurt?”

Jeeny: “No. You translate it. You find their language, not just yours. That’s what communication means. You want to make them strong? Then meet them where they stand.”

Host: A basketball rolled across the floor, bumping gently against Jeeny’s shoe. She bent down, picked it up, and bounced it twice — rhythmic, steady.

Jeeny: “You know Dan O’Brien? The decathlete who said that? He was the best in the world. But when he started coaching, he said he failed at first — because he tried to make his athletes think like him. Then he learned that his job wasn’t to make them into Dan O’Brien, but into the best version of themselves. That’s the real discipline — to let go of your own ego.”

Jack: (quietly) “Ego’s all that kept me alive out there.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s time to let life take over.”

Host: The light caught the dust motes swirling in the air, turning the space golden — as if even the silence had texture. Jack’s shoulders slumped slightly; his eyes softened.

Jack: “You really believe everyone has their own path to greatness?”

Jeeny: “I don’t just believe it. I’ve seen it. You remember that kid, Milo? The one you called ‘too soft’? He didn’t win like you did, but he learned to trust himself. And now he’s coaching others — not by fear, but by patience. That’s his strength. You helped him, even if you didn’t mean to.”

Jack: “Yeah, but I broke him first.”

Jeeny: “Sometimes people have to break before they can build. The difference is — do you help them build something new, or just keep reminding them of what you’ve lost?”

Host: A long pause. The music from the radio in the corner played faintly — an old tune, nostalgic, full of ache. Jack rubbed his hands, the tape slightly unraveling, like a metaphor unspoken.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what this all is, huh? Trying to teach people how to win, when I’m still trying to remember what it felt like to lose.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You can’t teach someone freedom if you’re still chained to your own past. You have to understand them — not just instruct them.”

Jack: “You make it sound like a therapy session, not a training camp.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s both. Every athlete’s body carries stories, not just muscle. You have to read them — the way you once read your own limits.”

Host: The air seemed to still; the gym grew almost holy in its silence. The light glowed warmer now, catching on the sweat of the benches, the gleam of the mirrors, the dust of memory.

Jack: (softly) “You think I can change? After all these years?”

Jeeny: “Only if you start by seeing them — not as extensions of you, but as echoes with their own voice. The best coach isn’t the one who makes others follow; it’s the one who helps them discover.”

Host: Jack’s breathing deepened. He stood slowly, looking around the empty gym — the bars, the rings, the echoes of a thousand efforts. His reflection stared back at him, but this time, it wasn’t defiance he saw. It was humility.

Jack: “They are not me.” (pauses) “That’s harder to accept than I thought.”

Jeeny: “That’s the moment you start to teach, Jack — when you finally stop trying to repeat yourself.”

Host: She smiled, the kind of smile that softens without weakening, and the sunlight caught the side of her face, turning her hair into a quiet halo. Jack looked at her, a faint smirk forming — half surrender, half understanding.

Jack: “Maybe the best lesson I can give… is to learn again.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The camera pulled back as they walked toward the exit, the doors swinging open to the outside air — crisp, alive, bright. The sound of the city crept in — sirens, voices, motion — the rhythm of people trying, failing, becoming.

Host: And as they stepped out into that light, one truth lingered, clear as breath:
You can’t make someone become you.
You can only help them become real.