The Monday when I woke up as the 9th best tennis player in the world in 2011 was a sunny one. I remember that I ate strawberries for breakfast and two eggs over-easy on toast. It was a time before I needed coffee in the morning to wake myself up, full of vitality for vitality’s sake. I was sitting on my phone, refreshing the WTA website which was crashing over and over again, waiting impatiently for the proof that I, in fact, had accomplished the goal of being one of the ten best tennis players in the world.
Looking back at it now, I cringe. I know I shouldn’t because it is past-Andrea who thought her life depended on a number next to her name but it doesn’t change the fact that present-Andrea still feels a tinge of shame for past-Andrea.
I thought that one particular sunny Monday with strawberries and eggs, the most banal day of the week, will change my life. I thought it will give me eternal happiness and never-ending funds, probably a new pair of Prada shoes from now on until forever and sunglasses to go with them because I have a great sunglass face. It didn’t. I still felt sad for being away from home so much and for losing tennis matches and most likely for some guy who never called me back.
When the crashing of the website subsided and I saw the 9 next to my name I felt elation for the length of exactly five seconds. Then, everything returned right back to normal. For the next week or so, I could artificially evoke the euphoria I had felt when i had seen the new Monday morning ranking by secretly loading the same website over and over again. After a week, the elation was gone, the euphoria had disappeared. In its stead nestled the ugly face of ambition. 9 was great and fine but all I could see were the 8 other women in front of me. I was sure that if could somehow tackle them (metaphorically speaking, I’m not Tonya Harding) the elation would linger, the euphoria would stay.
It’s a funny thing: rankings. So fair, yet so cruel. The ranking never lies. It reflects exactly and accurately where you stand at any given day as a tennis player. And that is precisely where I had gotten it all wrong. Being number 9 in the world was a reflection of the work I had put in as a tennis player. The years on court, the days in the gym, the hours of meditation. The healthy eating, the eight hours of sleep, the stretching. Andrea, the tennis player, had grown not Andrea, the human being. But Andrea, the human being, expected to reap the rewards. The missing piece within me I had hoped to find in ranking points and victories had never been there. I had been looking in the wrong place all along.
It’s important to have ranking goals as a professional athlete. It will help you work through challenges and accept losses. It keeps you urging forward and dare new things in training. The challenges and losses on the path just seem like a necessary evil on the way to glory when you have a vivid image of success in mind. That image is what keeps you afloat when the rest of the boat is sinking. That image is Rose on the door while Jack is drowning. Accomplished ranking goals, however, are just that: accomplished goals. They do not make you feel more complete as a person.
In my experience, growing as a human will always reflect well on your game but growing as a tennis player will not necessarily have the same result for the human being. Sometimes the contrary happens. It’s just two different departments of work, like marketing and accounting. But I had mingled them all together and could not fathom the disappointment that awaited me in the next room.
The sunshine seemed grey, the strawberries’ taste stale. I had gotten one thing right though. It did change my life. No free Pradis, no, not at all. I, from now on, felt hunted and hounded by all the other women who were breathing down my neck. The 10th and 11th and 12th best players in the world - and all the others behind me. I thought the 8 in front of me were the problem when in reality the ones behind me were the real issue at hand. They were the ones who wouldn’t let me sleep at night. Defending something can take a lot more energy out of you than attacking.
Later in life, when I had done the work off-court as well, victories were fewer because I had gotten older but they stayed with me longer. I cherished them like a brittle flower. The spike of euphoria, as quickly gone as the WTA website takes to crash, was no more. What remained was contentment with a good day’s work.
As a tennis player, I had grown for years, grown and grown, until all my resources were exhausted. A capitalism where the only labor which was exploited was my own. The last few years of my career, I stagnated. When the possibility of a recession closed in on me I had a sound enough mind to retire. The good news is: as a person, there is always room to grow.
I sometimes think back of my naiveté of those days when I thought that being number 9 in the world was the beginning of something grand. When in reality being number 9 in the world had been the “something grand” itself. I was just incapable of seeing it.
Things that make me happy:
Just this week, I came across Slavoj Zizek’s interpretation of Titanic (hence the little reference earlier in this piece). He argues that in actuality Titanic is a critic of how the upper classes (Rose) exploit the lower classes (Jack) for their supposed zest for life but then leave them behind (the door was big enough for two!) when they have gotten what they need. I loved it. Here is his full argument:
Things that make me unhappy:
Very simple. BROCCOLI SEASON is upon us, friends. I got a big flash of PTSD when I turned on my TV to see grass courts lurking in that damned black screen, their creepy non-sounds when the tennis balls hit the court and those weird tiny, little steps players have to take to not face-PLANT (yes, this is your daily wordplay alert) at all times. Ugh. Get off my lawn! Literally.
I hope you like grass courts better than I do and will enjoy some once-in-a-lifetime serve&volley play à la Stefan Edberg. Come to think of it, I really do like Stefan Edberg. May you use the exact right amount of salt on your food this week!
Yours truly, Andrea
"BROCCOLI SEASON"??
I love it!!
Thanks, as always, for your insightful and amusingly self-deprecating take on life as a professional sportsperson.
But, as a Brit, have to take issue with your views on the one true surface for Lawn Tennis, it might be harder to play on but it sure looks nicer!