Domenico was walking back and forth at the rear side of the house where he and Dana had enough privacy to do some of their stationary exercise without having local kids asking to join in. This time, it wasn’t Dana Domenico was training but a scrawny sixteen-year-old, who was sweating like a pig after just half an hour. “Come on, twenty more,” he said, noticing the way Mark fell face-first during yet another sad attempt at a push-up.

“I can’t!” Mark cried, with sweat dripping down his nose and his hair in matted streaks, but even as he said that, he pulled himself up yet again.