Time to Hit the Backhand
I'm going to start this one with a tennis analogy. I know, right? What a surprise! Seriously, though, bear with me and keep reading. I promise it'll be worth it once we get where we're going.
Three years ago this week, I rediscovered the game of tennis. En route to losing her second round match at the All England Club (to Arantxa Rus of all people), Samantha Stosur unwittingly caused me to fall in love. With her game. With her arms. And with tennis. I'd been gone awhile, maybe a decade and a half. I played only occasionally and I never, ever, ever watched. Some where along the line, tennis had become boring. Or maybe I just needed a break. Then an incredibly athletic woman (who didn't grunt) hit a forehand and I was hooked. I was a fan again and I had a new favorite player (Steffi Graf had retired so I needed a new one regardless). Tennis became my thing.
I followed Sam religiously. I DVR'd matches. Stayed up late to watch her in big matches in wacky time zones. Put watching her play live on my Bucket List (scratched it off in March 2013 at Indian Wells, I might add). Hung on her every point with my ATP/WTA iPhone app. I even nixed Ashley Judd as my It Girl and replaced her with Sam.
I started emulating Sam's game on the court. My forty-something year old shoulder couldn't quite hack the big kick serve, but my forehand was another story. I started running around my backhand and hitting huge inside out forehands.
And I started slicing my backhand.
So much that I developed tendinitis in my right elbow. After weeks of physical therapy, I was released to play again, but I wasn't allowed to hit a slice. For the first time in...ever...I had to hit a two-hand topspin backhand exclusively. So here I was on this precipice trying to play the game I loved, with a backhand I hadn't used all that much. I was scared to hit it because it was awful and untested and awful. I banged it long, topped it short. I was late. I was early. It didn't just suck. It sucky sucked.
And then it didn't.
One day I ripped this beautiful down-the-line backhand. It was one of the most beautiful shots I ever remember hitting. From then on, it became my go-to, my favorite. Oh, I still liked my Sam Stosur run-around forehand, but I suddenly found myself with two weapons.
About that time, I started thinking about Sam's game. Her ranking had gone in the tank. When I first started following her, she wasn't all that far removed from her US Open victory in 2011 and ranked in the top five. A few months later her ranking slipped into the top ten. A few months later, she was out of the top ten. She lost to people she should have beaten and beat people she never should have. I sensed a fear - a fear that choked away match after match; a fear that prevented her from reaching her fullest potential; a fear that manifested itself in a (safety) slice backhand.
Ok, so I'm not a professional coach and I've never met her and I honestly have no idea of her personal psychology. Maybe Sam's as mentally tough as they come and maybe the slice backhand is more strategic that I have the powers to realize. Still, I'd find myself embroiled in one of her matches, watching her hit slice after slice, miss easy shots, and lose game after game, with only one thought it my mind - Fear less. "Come on, Sam. Fear less," I would implore the TV.
"Hit a fucking backhand."
~
It's time I took some of my own advice. As I sit here, in the St. Edward's University Library typing away on this blog, I am paralyzed by fear. What am I afraid of? Oh, Jesus... So many things.
1. Fear of being good, yet not good enough.
2. Fear of rejection.
3. Fear of unactualized potential.
4. Fear of letting my characters down (even though I haven't as yet).
5. Fear of never getting published (which goes hand-in-hand with #4 because my characters are counting on me to get their stories out and read).
Deep inside, I know exactly what I need to do. I've known it for awhile. I'll never get anywhere if I give into my fears. If I do, I'll simply create a self-fulfilling prophesy and I will fail. I need to write. I need to submit for publication. I need to pursue an agent. I need to fear less.
I need to hit a fucking backhand.
There's a lesson in there for all of us. Fear impedes progress. Fear destroys potential. Fear keeps us from improving. Fear has us run around one shot to avoid another. We think fear will keep us from losing, but in reality it keeps us from winning.
It's not that I'm advocating fearlessness. I'm not. I wouldn't. I couldn't. Fearlessness is reckless and crazy. Fearlessness brings its own set of troubles and heartaches.
Fearing less, though...is where it's at. If we all just feared a little less, we'd hit more backhands and maybe, just maybe, we'd find out we are actually, in fact, good enough.
~
Three years ago this week, I rediscovered the game of tennis. En route to losing her second round match at the All England Club (to Arantxa Rus of all people), Samantha Stosur unwittingly caused me to fall in love. With her game. With her arms. And with tennis. I'd been gone awhile, maybe a decade and a half. I played only occasionally and I never, ever, ever watched. Some where along the line, tennis had become boring. Or maybe I just needed a break. Then an incredibly athletic woman (who didn't grunt) hit a forehand and I was hooked. I was a fan again and I had a new favorite player (Steffi Graf had retired so I needed a new one regardless). Tennis became my thing.
I followed Sam religiously. I DVR'd matches. Stayed up late to watch her in big matches in wacky time zones. Put watching her play live on my Bucket List (scratched it off in March 2013 at Indian Wells, I might add). Hung on her every point with my ATP/WTA iPhone app. I even nixed Ashley Judd as my It Girl and replaced her with Sam.
I started emulating Sam's game on the court. My forty-something year old shoulder couldn't quite hack the big kick serve, but my forehand was another story. I started running around my backhand and hitting huge inside out forehands.
And I started slicing my backhand.
So much that I developed tendinitis in my right elbow. After weeks of physical therapy, I was released to play again, but I wasn't allowed to hit a slice. For the first time in...ever...I had to hit a two-hand topspin backhand exclusively. So here I was on this precipice trying to play the game I loved, with a backhand I hadn't used all that much. I was scared to hit it because it was awful and untested and awful. I banged it long, topped it short. I was late. I was early. It didn't just suck. It sucky sucked.
And then it didn't.
One day I ripped this beautiful down-the-line backhand. It was one of the most beautiful shots I ever remember hitting. From then on, it became my go-to, my favorite. Oh, I still liked my Sam Stosur run-around forehand, but I suddenly found myself with two weapons.
About that time, I started thinking about Sam's game. Her ranking had gone in the tank. When I first started following her, she wasn't all that far removed from her US Open victory in 2011 and ranked in the top five. A few months later her ranking slipped into the top ten. A few months later, she was out of the top ten. She lost to people she should have beaten and beat people she never should have. I sensed a fear - a fear that choked away match after match; a fear that prevented her from reaching her fullest potential; a fear that manifested itself in a (safety) slice backhand.
Ok, so I'm not a professional coach and I've never met her and I honestly have no idea of her personal psychology. Maybe Sam's as mentally tough as they come and maybe the slice backhand is more strategic that I have the powers to realize. Still, I'd find myself embroiled in one of her matches, watching her hit slice after slice, miss easy shots, and lose game after game, with only one thought it my mind - Fear less. "Come on, Sam. Fear less," I would implore the TV.
"Hit a fucking backhand."
~
It's time I took some of my own advice. As I sit here, in the St. Edward's University Library typing away on this blog, I am paralyzed by fear. What am I afraid of? Oh, Jesus... So many things.
1. Fear of being good, yet not good enough.
2. Fear of rejection.
3. Fear of unactualized potential.
4. Fear of letting my characters down (even though I haven't as yet).
5. Fear of never getting published (which goes hand-in-hand with #4 because my characters are counting on me to get their stories out and read).
Deep inside, I know exactly what I need to do. I've known it for awhile. I'll never get anywhere if I give into my fears. If I do, I'll simply create a self-fulfilling prophesy and I will fail. I need to write. I need to submit for publication. I need to pursue an agent. I need to fear less.
I need to hit a fucking backhand.
There's a lesson in there for all of us. Fear impedes progress. Fear destroys potential. Fear keeps us from improving. Fear has us run around one shot to avoid another. We think fear will keep us from losing, but in reality it keeps us from winning.
It's not that I'm advocating fearlessness. I'm not. I wouldn't. I couldn't. Fearlessness is reckless and crazy. Fearlessness brings its own set of troubles and heartaches.
Fearing less, though...is where it's at. If we all just feared a little less, we'd hit more backhands and maybe, just maybe, we'd find out we are actually, in fact, good enough.
~
Many thanks to Samantha Stosur for helping me find my way back to tennis.
If not for her, I don't know what in the Hell I'd have written about these past three years.
And I may never have discovered that I have a really awesome backhand.
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