Don’t pick up that ball. Pick up that ball over in that corner. Bounce the ball six times. Serve right into the T, I thought as I stood on the blue and green court number three.
It was the first day of a weekend college tennis showcase at Harvard University, an opportunity to meet and be seen by over 150 college coaches, including some from my top schools. I was in good company, one among some of the top players around the country. All of the girls who surrounded me had bigger and more expensive tennis bags, probably with multiple rackets. None of them looked nervous. I was nervous not only because of the hundreds of players that looked ten times better than me, but also because I had sprained my ankle the week before while I was at another college showcase. I took a walk around the tennis courts with a partly sprained ankle and saw parents and coaches watching the matches from the bleachers. On the first day of the tournament, I was wearing my lucky white tennis shorts with a black top and my white visor. I rushed to the bathroom three times before each match, thinking I was going to throw up. All I wanted to do was go home. I continuously asked my parents, “Can we please leave? What’s the point of being here?” My routine before every single match is to be a nervous wreck, but once I get into the rhythm of play, I am focused and determined. As my parents and coach have said, I am a true fighter, going for every ball. But this time fear grew inside me. My whole body was shaking. During the matches, I wasn’t able to zone into each game. I wasn’t able to structure the point. All I could think about was how I wanted to be in the car driving home. My fingers were quivering. I wasn’t even able to serve the ball without my racket slipping out of my hand.
At the end of the first day, I had lost both my matches, and my ankle was all purple and bruised. I wanted to go back to the hotel, take a nap, and forget about what had just happened. What am I doing here? I asked myself. I was surrounded by a sea of girls who hit the ball harder, were fitter, and played smarter than me. As I stood there feeling discouraged, a college coach I’d met a few weeks earlier approached me.
“Hi Alexandra, how are you?” The pity in his voice stung me.
I answered quietly, “I’m good. Did you just arrive?”
“I got here a while ago, I saw a bit of your first match.”
I wanted to crawl under a rock. I walked away, knowing that he’d seen my match and had nothing good to say about it. I walked outside and sat on a white bench and curled into a ball as I waited for my parents to come pick me up. I knew I had to swallow my embarrassment, tough it out, and stay focused on my dream.
I ended the Harvard showcase with a 1-3 record. While many girls might have been disappointed with that result, I was elated to have won a match. I was walking on air for the rest of the day. But I still had this recurring voice of fear in my head asking, what if I’m not good enough?
A few months after weekly physical therapy and doctor appointments for my ankle, I decided I was ready to get back onto the court so I signed myself up for a tournament in Queens, New York. When my mom and I arrived, I recognized the place. It was the same tennis center where I had played my very first tournament. I told my mom, “I don’t want to do this. I had a really bad experience here before.” She replied, “Well now you can make new and better memories.” Against my will, I walked in and saw a girl sitting with her mom. She had a big tennis bag, nicer than mine. I assumed that was my opponent. My automatic reaction was, OMG OMG OMG, she’s going to kill me. After waiting for what felt like hours, I was finally called to play. I started the match with a knot of fear growing inside me. As we walked onto the court, I was hyperventilating; she was walking confidently. We started the match and I was feeling nervous, but a bit more confident. I got this. You got this, Alex. However, as the match continued, she began to play mind games with me and got on my nerves more and more. Throughout the match, she continued to smash the ball at me when I needed another ball to serve with. She tied her shoes for ten minutes. When I served a ball out, instead of letting it just pass by her, she would hit it as hard as possible. It usually ended up in the net. Instead of leaving it there, she took her time to walk up to the net and hit it back to me. Why can’t she just leave it there? I don’t need it! After each point she won towards the end of the match, she would yell, “Come on, let's go!” By then, as much as I wanted to keep trying, I was so frustrated at what an annoying person she was that I couldn’t do it anymore. I won the first set 6-4, lost the second set 5-7, and lost in a tiebreak 4-7. While many people would have been upset that they didn’t win after taking the first set, I was relieved to have won at least one set. I tried my hardest and that’s what counts. My mom was right. New and better memories happened at this tennis club in Queens.
❖
Don’t pick up that ball otherwise you’ll lose the point. Pick up that ball. Bounce the ball six times. Serve right into the T, I always think before a point. I love the game of tennis. I love the thwack of the ball on my racquet as I smash a forehand winner and the thrill of a long hitting battle. I love being part of a team with a shared goal and its network of support and encouragement. My dream is to play competitive tennis throughout my years in college.
Unfortunately, I am just not as good a tennis competitor as I would like, or as many of the girls I meet at tournaments. My win-loss record shows it. It is painful for my parents, who drive me to tournaments every weekend, to watch me be outclassed on the court over and over. They have begged me to reconsider my dream. “What about playing club tennis? Wouldn’t you prefer to play with friends, just for fun?” are questions I get regularly from both my mom and dad. And I still ask myself, “What if I’m not good enough?”
Despite my doubts and my parents’ suggestions, I persist. Whether my poor record is a result of coming to the sport late or because I suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder and anxiety, I don't know. For the past ten years, I have suffered from OCD and anxiety. Before I knew what OCD was, I knew that there was often a voice in my head. “Tie your shoelaces twice. Tap the handle six times before opening the door.” I now understand more about OCD and its close relation to anxiety. These days I am most aware of my OCD urges during times of intense stress, like during final exams or a tennis tournament. I still haven’t found a way to cope with my anxiety, especially on the tennis court. It sometimes feels like I’m in a hitting battle with my anxiety. I’ve learned that playing competitive tennis for me is not only about defeating my opponent, but also about conquering my internal demons.
In addition, I’ve realized that as awesome as it feels to win, I have learned more about my game and myself from my many losses. A magnet hanging in my room says, “Sometimes you win. Sometimes you learn.” I am generally a hard worker in all areas of life, but after a difficult loss on the court, I have a sense of determination: to get better, to work harder, to be mentally tougher. So I have learned that it’s okay to lose because sometimes we have to lose to understand what we did wrong. I hope that never goes away. I’ve also realized that fear is a normal thing. My dad tells me before every one of my matches, “If you aren’t nervous, then there’s something wrong with you.” Through competition, I am able to test myself and see the many hours of practice pay off. Even if I lose, I don’t go down without a fight. After all, the match isn’t over until we shake hands. Bounce the ball six times. Serve right into the T. Win the point.