Life Outside the Team
I’m David Copeland-Smith, and I’ve dedicated my life to training soccer players one-on-one. That means I don’t belong to any single club or traditional coaching staff, I exist outside the team structure. This path can be thrilling but also isolating. While team coaches huddle together on the bench during matches, I’m often in the stands or at home, nervously watching “my” players from afar. There’s a certain loneliness in that: I’ve poured countless hours into a player’s development, yet when the season kicks off, I’m not on the sideline with them. I’m a ghost in the stadium, part of their journey but not part of the team.
Being an individual trainer is a bit like being a freelance artist in a world of institutions. You work intimately with players during the offseason or on off-days, sculpting their skills and mindset. But come game day, you’re not in the locker room or on the pitch with them; you’re cheering from a distance. It’s difficult not being embedded in a club. I can’t drop into the training facility on a Tuesday to check on a player’s progress or adjust their regimen. When a player hits a rough patch in-season, I ache to help, but I have to respect that during those months the team coaches run the show. I’m on the outside looking in, itching to assist but often unable to, which can be frustrating. The isolation is real, there’s no staff camaraderie for me, no daily banter with colleagues. It’s usually just me, a bag of balls, and a player chasing a dream.
Fighting for Respect in the Pro World
Another harsh reality of my role is earning respect from professional clubs. In the eyes of some clubs and coaches, an individual trainer like me is at best a helpful extra, and at worst a nuisance intruding on their turf. I’ve worked with players who absolutely swear by our individual sessions, they credit those sessions for technical improvements, renewed confidence, and even career-changing breakthroughs. Despite the results on the field, I’ve encountered club coaches who roll their eyes at the mention of personal technical trainers. There’s a traditional mindset in some corners of the soccer world that if a player is training outside the club, it’s either unnecessary or, worse, subversive. I’ve had to prove my worth repeatedly, showing that what I do isn’t some gimmick or ego trip, but a genuine enhancement to a player’s development.
Sometimes it feels like I’m working against the current. A club might limit outside training out of fear of injury or simply pride (“We have our own coaches; we don’t need others”). I’ve learned to navigate this carefully. I communicate with club staff when possible, try to complement their programs rather than conflict. Yet, I’d be lying if I said it isn’t stressful to have a foot in a world that doesn’t fully accept you. I’ve seen clubs reluctantly allow a player to continue one-on-one work with me only after that player showed dramatic improvement that the club couldn’t ignore. Even then, the credit doesn’t always come my way (which is fine, I’m not in it for credit, but the principle stings). All I want is for the player to succeed. If that means swallowing my pride around dismissive club officials or working quietly in the shadows, so be it. Still, it’s a struggle to watch some in the professional establishment misunderstand or undervalue what individual training can do, even as it stares them in the face in the form of a player’s performance.
Beyond Drills: A Holistic Approach to Development
When I work with a player, especially over many years, it goes far beyond cones and drills. Early in my career I thought it was mostly about technique, running shooting reps, sharpening first touch, improving weak foot passing. And yes, the technical work is the foundation; we’ll spend hours on it. But if you train someone from youth to pro, you quickly realize how much else is involved in developing a complete player. Over time, I’ve found myself wearing many hats in a player’s journey:
• Skills Coach: Designing countless drills to refine their touch, strike, and control. Repetition after repetition, whether in an empty park or a training ground, until muscle memory takes over and excellence becomes second nature.
• Sports Psychologist: Working on the mental side. I talk players through slumps in confidence, help them visualize success, and build routines that cultivate focus and resilience. We might practice penalty kicks, but also practice handling the pressure that comes with them.
• Mentor & Friend: Being the person a player can confide in. Because I’m not a traditional coach deciding their play time, players often open up to me about their fears, their goals, even life outside soccer. I guide them not just in skills, but in coping with disappointments, staying humble with success, and keeping the long-term perspective in view.
In one-on-one training, you see the whole person, not just the jersey number. A youth player might come to me shy and technically rough. Over years, I witness them grow up, literally watch them go from a kid to an adult pro. That process is deeply personal. It’s not just scheduling a session; it’s plotting a long-term development plan. I often think in terms of years: where do we want this player to be in 5 years, and how do we get there? That means mapping out not only skills to acquire, but habits, mindset, nutrition, recovery, an entire lifestyle of improvement. It’s incredibly rewarding to see that evolution, to know that our work today might not fully bloom until a few seasons later. It requires patience and faith from both me and the player. There are times when progress is slow or invisible to others, but I have to trust the process and keep the player believing in it too. Development is not linear; there are spurts of great improvement and stretches of plateau or even setback. I’ve learned to navigate those with the player, adjusting our approach as they grow. In the end, seeing a player go from a raw youngster to a polished professional, knowing I had a hand in not just their skills but their character and confidence, is the ultimate payoff.
The Mindset Factor: Training Confidence and Mental Toughness
One aspect of development I emphasize, sometimes to the puzzlement of traditional coaches, is the player’s mindset and confidence. In my experience, training the mind is just as crucial as training the body. You can have the most gifted player with perfect technique, but if they lack confidence or crumble under pressure, none of those skills shine when it matters. Individual training sessions offer a unique opportunity to build that inner strength. Away from the team environment, players often let their guard down and reveal their insecurities: the fear of losing their starting spot, anxiety after a bad game, feeling the weight of expectations. I make it a point to tackle these head-on. We simulate high-pressure moments in practice, like having them take a last-minute free kick over and over, imagining a crowd’s roar or silence, until they can do it calmly in reality. We set tiny goals and celebrate them, building a sense of accomplishment step by step. Over years, I’ve seen this approach transform a player’s mentality. They go from tentative or inconsistent to confident and mentally resilient. It’s like watching a timid kid gradually grow into a fierce competitor who knows they’ve put in the work.
The frustrating part is, many team coaches don’t grasp this process. They’ll see a player brimming with confidence and assume it’s just natural or came from winning a few games, without realizing the behind-the-scenes mental training we’ve done. Conversely, if a player’s confidence dips, a coach might bench them or criticize them, which sometimes compounds the issue. I’ve had conversations with coaches where I try to explain a player’s psychological state or the work we’ve been doing to keep them mentally sharp, and I get blank stares or hurried nods. It’s not a knock on all coaches, many are great motivators, but at the team level, the focus is often on tactics, fitness, and results, with far less attention on individualized mental conditioning. Confidence is treated as an innate trait or a by-product, rather than a skill to be trained. I strongly believe (and have proven, at least to myself) that you can train confidence. You it by creating an environment where the player is challenged but supported, where failure in training is just another step rather than something to fear. Over time, a well-trained mindset makes a player coachable, resilient to criticism, and fearless in big moments. The sad reality is when a coach doesn’t understand this, they might see me as someone doing “fluff” or unnecessary hand-holding, not realizing it could be the secret sauce to that player’s breakthrough. I’ve learned to ignore the skeptics and do what’s best for the player. Seeing that spark in an athlete’s eyes when they finally believe in themselves fully, there’s nothing quite like it. And when they carry that unshakeable belief onto the field, it changes their game completely.
Moments of Pride on the Sidelines
Despite the challenges and the anonymity, there are moments that make every sacrifice worth it. I’ve been lucky to work with some phenomenal players, and watching them succeed at the highest levels is a pride I struggle to put into words. I remember sitting in the stadium in France as the U.S. won the 2019 Women’s World Cup. Alex Morgan, a player I worked with for over 12 years, was on that field leading the line. When the final whistle blew and she became a two-time World Cup champion, I was just another face in the crowd, but inside I was beaming like a proud parent. Alex’s journey to those World Cups wasn’t straightforward, there were injuries, doubters, and intense competition. We had spent off-seasons grinding on the training pitch, refining details of her game, and also just talking about handling the pressure of being “Alex Morgan.” Seeing her stand there with a gold medal around her neck, I felt a rush of this is why I do what I do. It’s not to claim credit for her achievements (she earned those through her own talent and hard work), but knowing I contributed even a small piece to her puzzle is immensely fulfilling. It’s a quiet kind of pride I carry in my heart, while she lifts the trophy and the world cheers.
Another shining moment came just last summer: Rachel Daly winning the Euros with England. Rachel’s victory was particularly special to me because of how long and personal our journey has been. I’ve trained Rachel since she was a freshman in college, back when she was an 19-year-old with big dreams but little idea how far she could truly go. Fast forward years later, and she’s on the Wembley pitch in front of nearly 90,000 fans, a European champion. I was thousands of miles away watching on TV, but my heart felt like it was right there on that winners’ podium. When Rachel lifted that Euro trophy, tears actually came to my eyes. I thought about all those early morning workouts, the extra sessions, the moments she wanted to quit but pushed on. I thought, “We did it. Look at where you are now.” Those highs, World Cup titles, European championships, are the flashy success stories that everyone sees. For me, they’re like chapters in a long book that very few people read in full. But I’ve read every page of those players’ stories. I know what went into getting there, the behind-the-scenes chapters full of sweat, doubt, and perseverance. And that’s what makes those triumphant moments so powerful to me. It’s not just that a player I train won a big title; it’s knowing the deep, personal journey that made that victory possible.
Rachel Daly: The Relentless Grind to the Top
Rachel’s story deserves its own reflection because it captures so much of what this one-on-one training life is about. I first met Rachel Daly when she was a teenager fresh off the plane from England, just starting her college career in the U.S. She was talented, no doubt, but rough around the edges. More importantly, she was hungry. Every summer through her college years and even after she turned pro, Rachel would come and train with me, and I’m not talking a light tune-up. I’m talking three training sessions a day, every day, all summer long. Morning, afternoon, evening, we’d find different fields around town, often with different groups. One session might be just me and her doing finishing drills. The next, she’d jump in with a group of youth players or local pros working on small-sided games. Then maybe a fitness session or technical ball work to end the day. It was a grueling regimen that very few athletes would willingly endure. But Rachel did. She never complained, okay, we both groaned sometimes dragging ourselves to the 7am session after a tough day before, but she never considered quitting or cutting corners. Her mentality was simply: whatever it takes to get better, I’ll do it.
What struck me was how humble and unassuming she was, even as she started to stand out. In those group sessions, sometimes high school kids would be training alongside her, a player who would soon go pro and play for her country. Rachel didn’t big-time anyone; she set the example. She’d encourage the younger ones, race them in drills (and often beat them), and show that greatness comes from grinding alongside whoever shows up. Every year, I saw her return a little stronger, a little more skilled, and a lot more confident. But funny enough, if you told her back then, “You’re going to play for the full England national team,” she would laugh it off. In fact, I did tell her that. I remember one sweaty afternoon, we had just finished an intense finishing session, and I told Rachel, “Rach, keep this up and you’ll be wearing the England jersey on the senior team.” She shook her head and responded, “Nah, me? I don’t know about that, Dave.” She genuinely didn’t believe it at the time. Her confidence was growing but the summit seemed so high from where she stood then.
I saw it, though. I could see her potential crystal clear. It became almost a personal mission to get her to see herself the way I saw her. Each summer, each session, I’d remind her how far she’d come. I’d point out, “Remember last year you struggled with this drill, and now it’s easy,” or “That first touch is Premier League quality now.” Little by little, she started to believe. The day she got her first call-up to the England squad, I think I was just as excited as she was. And when she finally stepped on the field wearing that England kit, I flashed back to that conversation, we laughed about how she didn’t believe me when I said it would happen. Fast forward to 2022: Rachel is not just on the team, she’s a European champion. After the Euros win, I sent her a message that basically said, “Told you so.” She replied with a bunch of laughing emojis and a heartfelt thank you. That exchange meant the world to me. It was like we’d come full circle. Rachel’s relentless grind, those three-a-days in the scorching summer heat, year after year, paid off in the biggest way. Her story is a testament to what unwavering dedication and trust in the process can achieve. Being part of that journey, guiding her from that college freshman with a dream to the England star lifting a trophy, has been one of the great joys of my life. It’s moments and stories like this that I hold onto tightly, especially when the doubts or loneliness creep in.
The Lonely Road and Personal Sacrifices
For all the joy and pride, there’s a side to this life that rarely gets seen: the personal sacrifices and loneliness. While my players chase their dreams, I’ve essentially made their dreams my own. I pour every ounce of energy into helping them succeed, often at the expense of any sort of normal life balance. Think about it: athletes train when they’re not in team practice, which means early mornings, late nights, weekends, holidays. I’ve spent more Saturday nights under floodlights on an empty practice field than at restaurants or parties. I’ve missed weddings of friends, skipped vacations, and turned down countless invitations because “Sorry, I have a training session.” It’s not a 9-to-5 job or even a seasonal job; it’s round-the-clock and year-round, dictated by the needs of my players and the narrow windows we have to get work in.
Over the years, this relentless schedule took a toll on my personal relationships. Family and friends are supportive, but after the tenth “I can’t make it, I have to train someone,” even the most understanding people get tired of hearing it. I don’t blame them. I’ve been a lousy friend at times and an even worse partner in relationships, because my mind was always on the next session, the next player who needed me. There were times I wondered, “Am I doing the right thing? Dedicating my life to other people’s careers, what about my life?” That’s a brutally honest thought that hits you on lonely nights. I’d come home after a long day, muscles aching from demonstrating drills, voice hoarse from coaching, and realize I had no energy left for the people waiting at home. Eventually, some of those people weren’t waiting anymore. It’s a hard truth: I’ve lost relationships because of this work. There’s an inherent loneliness in being so singularly focused on anything. In my case, I was focused on others, which is ironic because it meant I neglected myself.
I also reflect on the fact that I don’t really have colleagues. Sure, I know other trainers and we share tips occasionally, but most of the time it’s just me. There’s no office chatter or team debrief after work. If I’m struggling with something, say, figuring out how to help a player get out of a performance slump, I shoulder that alone and solve it alone. When I travel for training or to support a player, it’s often solo trips. I’ll be in a hotel in some city where a player has a big game, but I’m not part of the team dinner or celebrations. I’m the outsider looking in, even during happy times. After a big victory, the team has their inner circle revelry, and I’m just quietly toasting by myself, thinking about how proud I am. It can be emotionally tough. You have to have a strong sense of purpose and self to not let it get to you. And I’ll admit, sometimes it does get to me. I’ve had moments of doubt, wondering if I should have taken a more conventional path, maybe been a coach on a team, so I could have both the professional and the personal life meshed together.
But then I think of those moments of triumph, those texts or hugs of gratitude from players, the knowledge that what I do matters deeply to someone chasing a dream. That usually answers the question for me. I chose this path because I genuinely love developing players one-on-one, and with that choice comes a certain loneliness that I’ve learned to accept. It’s the trade-off I made: I give a big piece of myself to help others reach their goals, and in doing so, I had to sacrifice some of my own personal life. It’s not easy, but seeing the human being a player becomes through our journey, the confidence they gain, the success they earn, fills a part of me that I don’t think anything else could.
A Life Given to the Game
In the end, my life as an individual trainer has been a tapestry of extreme highs and profound lows. I’ve felt the euphoria of seeing “my” players conquer the world, and I’ve felt the emptiness of coming home to silence after a long day. I’ve battled for recognition and respect in a soccer world that didn’t quite know what to make of me, and I’ve quietly smiled to myself as the value of my work shone through in the performances of the players I’ve trained. Every session run at dawn, every heart-to-heart talk after a setback, every drop of sweat on those summer days, it was all part of something bigger. It was part of a young athlete’s transformation, part of a World Cup goal or a European championship moment.
I often joke that I live my career vicariously through my players. Their victories feel like my victories (with none of the medals or headlines, of course). And their failures cut me deep as well, because I ride that rollercoaster with them, even if I’m not publicly on the ride. It’s a life in the shadows of the spotlight, and you have to love the work itself, the grind itself, to keep going. You have to find satisfaction in whispered thank-yous and private fist pumps, rather than public glory. And I do. I love it enough that, yes, I’d do it all again despite the lonely nights and the skepticism I’ve faced.
This is the reality of dedicating your life to developing players one-on-one: it’s often lonely, sometimes thankless, but deeply, indescribably rewarding. The outside world might never fully understand the bond that forms between a player and an individual trainer, or the amount of unseen work that builds the foundation for those shining moments on the field. But that’s okay. We know what we did. The player knows, and I know, and that shared knowledge is like a quiet nod between us amid the roar of the crowd. It’s enough.
So I sit here, reflecting on this strange, wonderful journey. I think of Alex Morgan and her two World Cups; I think of Rachel Daly and that Euro medal and her reaching a World Cup Final; I think of the many others, from youth kids to pros, who I’ve seen blossom. I think of the young woman who told me she “owes so much to me” for where she is in the game, and the superstar who said I’ve guided her for 12 years . Those words, those successes, are the quiet fuel that keep me going. They’re the reasons I’ll be up tomorrow at 530am, setting out cones on a dewy field, waiting for the next player who arrives with a dream and the willingness to work. This is my life’s work, unconventional, demanding, lonely at times, but incredibly meaningful. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.