| 11 May 2010
Upon the eve of the most important clay court tournament of the year, there's usually a lot more going on than just the tennis. May and June in Paris can excite any crowd and the Roland Garros crowd can be boisterous and loud. Mainly, however, the sport will continue to be about expectations of the bouncing yellow ball and what goes on in the minds and heart of the hundreds of players negotiating their bodies and desires on the red turf. There have been books and blogs written and physics tested on why tennis is played so differently on clay than grass or hard courts. For me, it boils down to expectations.
A life-long tennis player and one of my new students, Sergio, was recovering from a broken wrist. During a match on a hardcourt he misfooted and tried to break the fall with his hand - breaking his wrist. The surgery was routine, he was sidelined for several months and he continues physical therapy. Today, after the surgeon, physical therapist and the pain management doctor all agreed he was ready, Sergio decided to return to the court.
As we warmed up in the service boxes, I could sense his caution and distrust. He told me he was afraid of his feet. "They will betray me again."
"You think you fell because of your feet?"
"They bunked into each other," he said sadly.
"Hit a few and make them bunk into each other," I requested, assuming his feet would not want to do this.
Sergio's right foot missed the left on his step to the first shot. He smiled. During the next few shots Sergio's feet touched each other, and he did not fall. He actually started to hit harder and with more focus. He was also getting mad.
"My feet don't like touching each other."
"Maybe it was not a foot conspiracy against you?"
"Well, I was playing the net on my 65th birthday," he ignored my theory by starting the story, "the guy I was playing against usually returns the ball crosscourt. This time he didn't and the next thing I remember is I was lying on the cement looking down at a wrist bone protruding from my skin. And blood."
"Did you see the ball coming toward you?"
"I did until it went the wrong way," he laughed. "Maybe it was my expectations that let me down and not my feet," Sergio surmised.
Sergio's displaced blame for his feet is common. With this fall: Is he on his way to watching the ball with fewer expectations? Or will he be willing to watch the ball rather than his expectations?
Do you transfer culpability for your missteps (on a date, in a meeting, on the tennis court, golf course, bowling, eating a peach....) to a body part? Which men and women, in the next few weeks, will embrace the ball on its unexpected path?
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