I’VE BEEN THE BEGINNER AND THE PRO. I COACH BOTH.
I’m Adrian — a hybrid coach who spent twenty years being coached at the top, and now coaches the way I wish I’d been coached. Twelve Premier League seasons, eight HYROX races, a 1:17 best in Men’s Pro Singles. From England, via London, Melbourne and San Francisco. Now the North Shore.
Credentials.
The facts, so you don’t have to take the story on trust.
Field hockey. Nine in England, three in Australia.
England U16 to U21, then twelve senior seasons.
And six more booked before January.
Men’s Pro Singles.
As an athlete
Twelve Premier League seasons in field hockey — nine in England, three in Australia — and a junior international for England from U16 to U21.
Eight HYROX races with a 1:17 best in Men’s Pro Singles, and the full 2026/27 season booked. Still competing in CrossFit, endurance running and competitive gravel cycling.
I don’t ask anyone to do something I’ve stopped doing myself.
As a coach
Qualified Level 2 HYROX Performance Coach, with a sport science background.
Ten-plus years coaching field hockey — junior and adult programmes, grassroots through elite representative pathways.
Now coaching hybrid athletes on the North Shore and online, a deliberately small number at a time.
How I coach.
Three rules. Everything else in the programme is a consequence of them.
Consistency beats intensity.
The best programme is the one you can complete on a bad week. I build for adherence first, because a perfect plan you abandon in week five is worth nothing.
Specificity beats volume.
Fitness is not a pile of separate qualities you can train in separate rooms. Strength and engine have to meet under fatigue, because that’s the only condition they ever meet in — on a race course or on a Tuesday. Training has to rehearse that junction, not approximate it.
Honesty over hype.
If your goal isn’t realistic for your timeline, I’ll say so on the first call — and tell you what timeline would work. I’d rather lose the sale than sell you a disappointment.
THE LONGER STORY.
Twelve seasons of Premier League field hockey means twelve seasons inside somebody else’s programme. Some of it was excellent. Some of it was volume for the sake of volume. You learn to tell the difference from the inside — and you learn exactly what it costs when a coach can’t really see you.
I’ve spent more than a decade on the other side of it, coaching rather than being coached. The hard part was almost never the physiology. It was building something a person could actually follow, around a job, a family and a body that doesn’t always cooperate.
I came to hybrid training the way most people do: I couldn’t pick one sport. What you end up with is a set of competing demands that quietly cancel each other out unless somebody sequences them properly. Making them coexist is the puzzle.
I coach the whole range and I’m not precious about which end you’re at. A first-timer who isn’t sure they belong in the room. Someone on their fourth race chasing a number. Someone who has never raced anything and wants to be strong and fit at the same time. The method doesn’t change. The loads, the distances and the honesty about your timeline do.
Racing Pro isn’t the product — it’s the reconnaissance. It shows me where the time actually goes: which stations decide a race, where the seconds hide in transitions, what matters and what you can safely ignore. I’m racing the whole 2026/27 season for exactly that reason — Washington, Salt Lake City, Denver, Anaheim and Nashville before January. In Washington I race Open on the Thursday and Pro on the Friday. Same course, same body, two different races, twenty-four hours apart. Half the people I coach are choosing between those two divisions, and it seemed like the honest way to find out what separates them.
I coach a deliberately small number of people at once. Not as a tactic — past a certain number I stop being able to see anybody properly, and being seen is the entire thing I’m selling.
The name, if you’ve read this far: Hybrd is both, at once — the vowel is missing because nothing in here is decorative. And a foundry isn’t a room you attend; it’s where raw material is poured into a shape somebody designed on purpose. You’re the material, the programme is the shape, twelve weeks is the heat. The Twelve trains at a gym called Crucible — the vessel inside a foundry that takes the fire. I found that out afterwards. I’m keeping it.
The next step
Where this goes.
Everything on this page gets delivered one of three ways. Pick the shape of help — each page says plainly what it is.
Want all of it — the room plus a private hour every week? Foundry Elite is by application.
Not sure which? Check your readiness — four minutes, and the result names your starting point. Rather talk it through first? Book a 20-minute call — no pitch.