Every inter-county footballer will be ecstatic to see back of past three weeks.

This was the period the physical trainers have been craving for, writes Mike Quirke. An uninterrupted period of scientifically justifiable hard graft where they don’t have to worry about keeping guys fresh for a game at the weekend.

Last week, I touched on a trend where footballs can be construed by some as almost an inconvenient intrusion on training sessions in the modern GAA world. But there is no escaping the need for this period of misery, muck and mileage.

Gaelic football is a complicated physiological minefield. According to the research, on average, inter- county footballers are covering between eight and nine and a half kilometres per game. With high intensity bursts of five to six seconds of hard work making up between 10-20% of total game efforts.

The sessions of the past three weeks won’t have been much craic for the players; long endurance or interval work to develop a greater aerobic capacity, coupled with some shorter repeated speed endurance drills, where guys are developing their lactate threshold to help carry them through the next phase of league fixtures.

The fitness gurus are salivating at the improvements in the numbers a block of training like this will bring. The next round of testing will provide the proof that it is working, and worth it… but that’s scant consolation when you’re the lab rat in the middle of it. Blocks in the calendar with no games, at this time of the year are horrific for the players. But normally the thought of them is even worse than actually getting through the few weeks of hell.

I remember the first training session I had with Kerry back in 2003. It was a dark, bleak Tuesday night in January, and I recall meeting John O’Keeffe — then Kerry’s physical trainer — in the gym upstairs in the Brandon Hotel a couple of days before that first foray.

In fairness, he gave me a clear warning it was going to be a “great session; a real gut-wrencher”.

He had me confused. That seemed like a paradox to me. ‘Great’ and ‘gut-wrencher’ go together like oil and water. I was hardly able to eat a bite for the next few days out of pure apprehension of what was coming down the tracks. I had knots in my stomach at the thought of it.

I travelled to training with Barry O’Sé and as soon as I sat into the car in Tralee, my fear was magnified 100 times over because of the depressed shadow of a man sitting behind the steering wheel.

He was worse than I was, hardly able to bring himself to speak about what was in store. And that worried me even more because at least he knew what was coming — I was only guessing.

When we landed in Killarney, the dressing room had the feeling and mood of a wake; Johno and Paidí stood in the middle, either side of the physio table where some poor soul was lying flat on his back like a corpse, and getting his quad assessed by the physio. He was unable to train because of an injury, the lucky bugger.

Every other player had their head down, quietly and respectfully sitting around the benches getting their gear on but nobody was talking. No laughing or joking.

It was a solemn atmosphere that only served to deepen the sense of dread I was feeling.

By the time we were frogmarched out onto the field, we were like a bunch of men heading for our execution, and true to his word, the session more than lived up to Johno’s “gut-wrenching” billing. For the first half of it you’re battling with your mind, trying to convince yourself you will somehow get through it. The second half was more about begging and pleading with your body to just keep going.

Eventually, after about an hour and 40 minutes of hellish running it was over and we walked towards the dressing room in the best of spirits. The relief at getting through it was like winning a big match.

But you quickly realised you only get to enjoy that sliver of euphoria for just a brief moment— basking in the satisfaction of what you have just completed lasted only until thoughts of Thursday night’s session started to seep into your head.

Most, if not all county squads up and down the country, certainly Kerry, has put in that kind of work over the last three weeks. The teams now are perhaps using more of a science-based approach than back in 2003, but that work is no less difficult or gruelling. The fear of the next session hits players as soon as the previous one is done.

It’s physically and mentally draining on their bodies and their lives to go through that pain barrier night after night for little more than the glory of wearing that county jersey, and maybe a sponsored car if they are lucky.

However, they continue to do it, anyway.

So, spare a thought next weekend for those same characters playing in the third round of the national football league… if they make a mistake, or kick a wide, cut them some slack.

It’s still only spring, and you were probably drinking tea and eating biscuits while they were on their hands and knees puking by the side of the pitch, half way through a training session on a miserable night in February.