Hard Work

“You said that I was naïve and I thought that I was strong”

Newsflash: tennis is hard on the body. Is it true you can’t play all out at the age of 28 the way you did when you were 18?  I’m not talking about rallying a few balls around as part of the senior circuit. I’m mean tennis at breakneck pace. Endurance and tolerance may decline with age, but skills and strategic tactics don’t. I beg to differ with the naysayers who scoff at the abilities of 30-50 year old tennis players. I’ve seen some pretty swift serve and volley players on the adult USTA teams. Those middle-aged wise guys are sometimes just as fleet of foot as their twenty something counterparts.

If tennis is more of a mindset than a game of speed and physical strength, shouldn’t we all be able to play adeptly well into our 50’s? Perhaps I am being naïve. But walk into any country club and witness the clientele of the average tennis member. Most of them aren’t spring chickens anymore, but they can still knock a mean forehand down the line and chase down overhead lobs. It’s funny how we acknowledge the skill sets of advanced and experienced players, or coworkers for that matter. Yet, we hesitate to entrust those same people as doubles players or colleagues in sharing work duties. I like to see the older generation rise to the occasion. I’d like to think I’ll be one of those 50 something folk one day, sharply snapping my racquet at the net and sending crosscourt shots to the deepest corners of the baseline.  If you watch older players maneuver around the court, you will notice something strikingly similar about the way beginners play. They take their time with each shot. They focus so hard on getting their feet planted, their racquet back and their follow through just right.  Just like a beginner.

The more experienced players seem to know what is expected. They don’t shoot for the moon, but they perfect their imperfections. They know their limits. It’s just like that in any workplace too. Older workers are inflicted and dazzled with new communication, gadgets and technology. As a management student, I tend to do a lot of thinking about how personnel impact the workplace. Managing the baby boomer generation is an intriguing topic of discussion. It’s worth noting because the workplace is changing, and everyone has to adapt. Some generations are going to adjust better to technological and economical changes. Similarly, the evolution of the tennis racquet has changed the game drastically at every skill level. Yesterday’s players didn’t possess the power of today’s heavy hitters. It must be difficult for that generation to come close to being on a level playing field with today’s players. Or perhaps, it depends on the player.

I don’t think it’s accurate to state my generation is better than the one of my parents’.  I have every reason to believe yesterday’s players were just as good, if not more skilled, than the tennis stars of today. Perhaps you could even say the same thing for my generation of workers. We’ve been criticized as lazy, and rightly so. We have it easy today but that should not be an excuse to not work hard.

“You say I only hear what I want to”

Moving On

“Nothing’s going to hurt as much as that final touch”

Never has a year challenged my mind to change and my heart to move on more than this past one. As I turn the page on this year and look ahead to 2012, here are some reflections from the roller coaster ride that was 2011.

Good things happen to those who wait. This is true of life and tennis. Sometimes you have to wait for the right shot to win a point. Games aren’t won or lost with immediacy. The drudgery of six games equals one set. That is, IF you win by two games.  One set does not make a match either. You must win at least two sets to defeat your opponent in tennis. Several fortunate opportunities presented themselves in my work life this year. Grateful as I am for these new roles, they would not have occurred if I had not put in my time and been a patient person. Rewards earned the hard way, they say, are often the most precious.

A beautiful thing happened this year. I met some really great people who have continued to support and surprise me with kindness. College has opened me up intellectually to a diverse range of subjects and people from all walks of life. I’ve been able to get to know and work with many different people, although temporarily. Those people have touched me throughout the year and it’s been bittersweet moving on from those experiences. It reminds me of playing college doubles against my teammates in practice. We rooted for each other, even as we played on opposite sides of the court. It was a team effort and bonding. The stakes weren’t too high but fun reigned supreme. Playing with and against my teammates has prepared me for life’s many enjoyable moments. 

Defeat on the tennis court has also prepared me invaluably for life’s disappointments. I said goodbye this November to my 16 year old cat. A month later, I hugged my sister goodbye as she bid farewell to New York for Texas. Life changes are never easy. Moving on is a battle of emotions and struggle of the heart. My cat is in a better place, but letting her go was a most unsettling experience. To never see her face again or hear her cries at my feet are hard thoughts to get my head around. My sister, and best friend, is a time zone away now. We communicate through mail, email and phone. I drive by her old apartment or pass her favorite store and memories come flooding back like a hurricane returning from the shore. Change is necessary, however. If you keep pedaling back to the ball, you’ll never gain ground at the net. You’ll never get the chance to put the ball away and reach full potential.

Love is not so simple where we can dismiss it yet not so complex where we cannot earn it. As I prepared to write this blog, I toiled with yet another ‘moving on’ moment. One of the hardest things in life is walking away from someone you deeply love after you’ve given your very best. I fell too fast for someone--someone who had my heart spinning from the first moment we met. He tore my heart in half instead of grabbing hold of it. In tennis if you get ahead too fast, you sometimes lose sight of the entire match. You’re drained by the second set because you’ve expended too much energy winning those first games. It was the same way for me. I am zapped of energy to hang on any longer to the one I could have forever loved. And so as I move on, I am learning to love again. Love has to be earned. It has to be saved for those who deserve our energy. I don’t like letting go and goodbyes are always going to be grueling. Tennis has taught me how to handle those moments I would rather not face. Moving on is part of the game. It’s part of life, no matter how hard we try to fight it or avoid it.

“The door is closing and I just can’t change it”

Faces of Disbelief

“I can be your hero baby”

I had never been to a funeral before September 11, 2001. I imagined funeral services were similar to the candlelight vigils I attended on the evening of the most horrific terrorist attack in our nation’s history. The crowds gathered in the fellowship hall and grassy hills on the outskirts of campus told a story none of us would ever forget. The faces of disbelief, the somber tears and the mournful eyes of so many people were akin to a funeral service.

At eight o’clock in the morning on September 11, I strolled into my first class of the day at Fredonia State University. The first two weeks of freshman year had been fantastic.  One and a half hours later, I walked out of English Composition to a changed world. I left behind the innocence and safety of a pre-911 existence. Students on the sidewalk were sobbing into each other’s shoulders. Strangers were quieter than usual. I looked to my side, where my freshman friend, Megan, was just as puzzled as me. After passing several people on the way back to my dorm room in Nixon Hall, I began to have a sick feeling in my stomach. Something had happened, but I wasn’t sure what. An Asian student stopped me on the way into my dorm and told me what had happened in New York City and the Pentagon. I didn’t realize the immensity of the situation until I clicked on the tiny television in my room. My roommate was still sleeping, so I kept the volume low. It wasn’t long before my roommate was awake and the entire floor was tuning into the events as they unfolded.

I immediately emailed my mother at home to ask about my father. My father worked in Manhattan, blocks away from the twin towers. Thoughts shifted to his safety as I began to worry about more attacks. The college announced the cancellation of classes for the remainder of the day. Everyone was excited at first, but the mood on campus was soon altered. The impact was just being felt. September 11^th brought people together. I didn’t get along with my roommate, but on that day, I did. I attended two vigils and met up with my tennis teammates and coach to pray. My tennis family was the closest thing I had to a family in college. We all stuck together. My dad didn’t get home until late that Tuesday evening. He had to take a ferry during the mass exodus out of the city.  September 11^th was like a funeral service for me. The faces of disbelief and sadness are hard to forget. I will never forget English Composition or walking to my room that September morning. Even after ten years, the images are as recent as if they just happened.

“Hold me in your arms tonight”

Netphobia

“Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself will it ever get better than tonight?”

There’s an important lesson to be learned about fear. I used to be fearful of coming to the net during my singles matches. I stayed at the baseline after a serve and reverted back after short approach shots. The baseline is (arguably) safe. It’s where you can see the entire court, on both sides of the net. To me, the baseline is where I play my best tennis. Then why is it all I’ve heard from coaches, opponents and teammates is how great I play at the net? Sometimes we need others to point out to us where we excel. Through the years, I’ve gotten comfortable coming to net. It wasn’t easy at first, and I’ve failed on several occasions to put away points at net. I can now serve and volley with confidence. I follow my approach shots with forceful overhead smashes. Net play has made my singles game an effective advantage. All it took to overcome my fear was a little trust and a deep breath.

The fear of failure is not a good reason to hold back. I see this every day. A little boy clings to his mother near the pool at my apartment complex. He’s no older than five years and is afraid of the water. You can see the thought-provoking process he’s enduring as the water rests as still as a sleeping baby.  Even as his own mother coaxing him into stepping down the shallow ladder, he’s pulling back. How is it we develop trust when we depend so heavily on the instinctive fears that drive our emotions? The answer lies in holding our breath and finding the courage to trust ourselves. Try it next time you’re afraid. I’ve found it works in all situations. Almost.

One fear I’m afraid I may never overcome is the fear of losing. I can handle losing a game, but losing people is a different arena. It’s not until you lose someone you love that you realize what a crippling fear losing someone can be. The fear is so crippling you’re afraid you’ll never find the strength to overcome it. Where do you find the strength? I’ve found there isn’t a secret formula.  I guess you just live each day as if you have nothing to lose…as if you already lost it all. In other words, sometimes the only way to overcome our fears is to go with them. Admit they exist and hurt, and accept them. It’s like a partner in tennis who cheats on line calls. If you don’t have a line judge to interfere, you accept the bad calls, even if they hurt. Stare down fear and it won’t overtake you. Count your blessings. Always.

“Have you ever looked fear in the face and said I just don’t care.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vI4tBO_boB4

First Serve

“My shattered dreams and broken heart are mending on a shelf”

I was lonely on that day in my life. Afraid to show any signs of loneliness, I clung to the only coping mechanism I knew. I played tennis. As the sets drifted by on the scorecards, I survived the day. I played through the devastation swishing around in my mind. I untangled the clot of desperation in my heart. Pulling out and pushing on became the vernacular of my sadness.

I have plenty to say on the subject of sadness and loneliness. Tennis is a lonely game, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Life through the lonely lens is worthwhile. Valuable to the soul is the moment you find a reason to face another day.  Doubly rewarding is finding a second reason. Robust is the heart that picks up the pieces and presses on, all while stinging a fluorescent ball. I am out of the wreckage and I have tennis to thank.

What is it about this game that captures the senses and comforts the soul? It’s not so much the game as the rhythm. The back and forth, the starts and stops, the breaks and plateaus. Tennis is so much more than a sport. It’s an analogy for life.  So, why slice backhand? Not many players hit a slice backhand. It’s an unconventional, old school stroke. For me, it’s as natural as the grass that blankets the Wimbledon ground. I have been hitting a slice backhand since I started hitting tennis balls. I don’t have to force it. That’s how I try to approach my everyday life. Nothing is forced, only natural.

It would take a great amount of practice time to change my backhand into a flatter stroke. Habits are called so for a reason. It’s like when we can’t break from the past in our everyday lives.  Is breaking from the past an outcome we really want to have occur? Is it just an excuse we give ourselves to justify present action? I’ve tried to reason with myself, arguing in my head about how I should or shouldn’t let go of the past. Here’s a grotesque example, and real first names, of course, will not be used. Roger broke my heart once. No, twice. No, actually it was three times (No, not that Roger, although he broke my heart too by capturing Pete Sampras' record.). My tortured mind just doesn’t think he’ll do it again. He has gorgeous eyes that can’t possibly hurt me a fourth time. We spent months together, cracking jokes and sharing milkshakes. It was just like the movies. But all good relationships come to an end if you don’t nurture them.  When relationships end, every love song has the ability to upset the senses. It only gets uglier from there.

One day I see Roger holding hands with someone else. I immediately want to guide a photo of his gorgeous eyes through my paper shredder. Jealous much? Who wouldn’t be jealous of the hand that gets to hold Roger’s? It’s like when an opponent cranks a sideline winner. The ball totally blows you off the court with its aerodynamic sleekness. Don’t compliment her, you think to yourself. Heck with sportsmanship. You are darn jealous of her perfectly angled forehand winner. You are angry.

One must learn to control this ugly inside anger through cultivating and nurturing or it will tear you down. The same principle holds true for life and tennis. How do I deal with the Roger predicament? The same way I deal with a wild backhand that keeps sailing long. I don’t keep repeating the same poor mechanics. I adjust. I meet the ball out in front and turn up the topspin. I adjust. Roger is a heartbreaker. I know I gave it my best shot. Anger and reliving the past aren’t getting me anywhere. I must get ahead and turn up the dial on my expectations. I know what I want in life, just as I know where I want to place my serve in the service box.  Why settle for less?

This is a blog about life through the heart and mind of a tennis player. It is a slice of thoughts and feelings collected through the years, on and off the courts. It’s an informative and fun tennis blog too. Tennis isn’t just a page in my history, it IS my history. The felt roller always finds me and triumphantly moves me…in the oddest ways and at the most unusual times. This brings me back to love songs and my reason for this post. I heard a song on the radio that, with tremendous effort, I still could not shake from my mind. It brought back a past I’ve tried so hard to forget. The song upset me, but it served a purpose. If I let it upset my senses, then I am clearly being moved. And I think if something has the ability to move you, you’re on your way to something great. Roger that?

 “I’m gonna dry my eyes after I’ve had one last cry.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubV5rt1uCIM