Tennis and the Art of Mindset Maintenance
Warming up
I maintain a daily to-do list. The physical act of checking off each completed task validates productivity with a greater level of satisfaction. When you’ve maxed out your daily list, you feel more accomplished and purposeful, thus providing the organic motivation to follow suit tomorrow. Plain and simple.
Three items on my daily list are exercise, time in nature, and meditation. There are neither qualitative nor quantitative criteria to determine the completion of these tasks. It is whatever feels satisfying enough to check the box. That can mean sitting outside with an iced coffee or focusing on my breathing, eyes closed, for as little as one minute.
Imprints and inspiration
Tennis and I have a long and complicated relationship. It runs in the family. My dad played competitively as a junior and throughout college. Some of the first names I recall in any sport include Courier, Graf, Chang, and Sabatini. There were also a couple of upstart American hotshots in the mix named Andre and Pete.
Throughout my childhood, after-school tennis became a go-to recreational activity. In truth, it was never really an option. In other words, my parents chose it for me for obvious reasons. Thankfully I enjoyed it but, more importantly, it pleased my dad. Nothing was more important to me than that.
As I got older, my dad and I began going to the US Open. The release of the men’s draw was almost as exciting as “Selection Sunday” in College Basketball. I would scan the draws and read aloud to him the intriguing first-round matches. We had grounds passes, which gave us access to every court except the centerpiece Arthur Ashe Stadium. The smaller side courts are where you get up close and personal with promising talents who have yet to earn the right to play on a stadium court.
In one such example, after winning a match, a young Australian named Lleyton Hewitt signed my Abercrombie & Fitch hat. I had nothing else to offer him besides a bottle of water or a bare hand. I wouldn’t be caught dead with one of those giant tennis balls designed for collecting autographs. Abercrombie was the shit back in the day. The only thing more remarkable at the time, at least to me, was a piece of Abercrombie apparel signed by a rising star in the game — and an eventual US Open Champion.
Time spent at the National Tennis Center (now named after Billie Jean King) with my dad remains amongst my fondest memories. We went so frequently that the days and years became blended into one defining chapter of life. Not only was it quality father-son time, but it was when my commitment to tennis reached new heights. I wanted to become one of those tanned kids. The ones who walked around the grounds, decked out from head to toe in Nike, Adidas, or Babolat gear, with a matching tennis bag strapped to their back and a player credential around their neck. Those kids were my motivation. One such kid I encountered had a smiling babyface. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he was kicking a tennis ball back and forth over the net with his shaggy-haired coach, Peter Lundgren. His name was Roger Federer.
No pain, no gain
Like LeBron James, I decided to “take my talents” to Florida to develop my game further, spending a month over consecutive summers at the established Saddlebrook Academy outside Tampa. I would live with fellow aspiring tennis (and golf) players worldwide in hotel-style residences. It started well enough. I quickly got on with my roommates, some of whom would come and go after as little as one or two weeks. But what really sold me on this leap of faith was the ritualistic Sunday night run to Publix. Or was it Winn-Dixie? Either way, it was a bonafide shopping spree where we would load up on our favorite sports drinks, breakfast foods, snacks — anything that could be considered fuel.
One time, the shared receipt of my suite-mates and I was so long that when we magnetized it to the refrigerator as a souvenir, it reached the kitchen floor. I was in love with tennis camp before hitting a ball. But no amount of preparation in suburban New York City could prepare me for the rude awakening I was about to endure. Sunday night supermarket sweep was the calm before the storm.
The days began at 7:30am with a 30-minute warmup, followed by hardcore instruction from 8:00–11:00am. Lunch (recovery) was from 11:00am-1:00pm, followed by another two hours of intense court time until 3:00pm. After that was time for optional fitness and match play. Girls and boys, some who were half my size and/or age, showed me real tennis. However, this time, I was actually on the court with a point to prove rather than sitting in the front row. It was a combination of fitness, talent, and mindset that I had only ever seen as a spectator during the US Open.
The first day at Saddlebrook is still one of the most humbling of my life. My Haitian pro, François, made fun of me for the rest of my month-long stay. I barely made it past day one of boot camp. The heat and humidity smashed me and my ego flat on our asses. I knew I had to step up my game to gain respect. That meant better play, a stronger mindset, and, more than anything else, sharper fitness. Like anything else, it all came together over time. The image of my confidently walking around the US Open grounds, tan, toned, and with a credential around my neck was never realistic. However, I did take my newfound swag to another domain: high school.
Losing love
That swag didn’t last too long — at least on the courts. I played competitively and got whipped more often than not. I was discouraged. Was it worth it? Fast forward a year, and I was back at Saddlebrook for a second summer. It was an incredible time. I grew up physically and mentally. I had friends from around the world — an unexpected prophecy in a future career. I stepped up my game — and not just in terms of tennis. Little did I know at the time that it was the beginning of the end of my unconditional commitment to tennis.
I began to care more about chasing girls than chasing drop shots. I began to care more about smoking pot than smoking groundstrokes. Pickup hockey games with friends mattered more than weekend tennis tournaments and training sessions with relative strangers. Even though I still trained throughout high school, I wasn’t doing it for myself anymore. And witnessing my ailing father realize it made things even worse.
One love
Tennis and I took a long break. I still loved the game, but it had no apparent presence in my life. That is until last summer when my dad and I began to hit every day. The joy slowly returned. Now, I am more in love with tennis than ever. Why? Because I am in a place to enjoy it on my terms, free of expectation, ego, judgment…and fitness. I am in the right mindset. The result? I am playing the best tennis of my life. It is a simple pleasure with deep roots.
The beauty of tennis is that it does not discriminate. Age, disability, skill level, socio-economic status — none of it matters. It is a gift for life, even if you need to bust out the WD-40 to remove layers of accumulated rust. And the best part? Remember my daily to-do list? It checks off three boxes per day: exercise, nature, and meditation.
