Relax and Play Ball! A reflection on W. Timothy Gallwey’s “The Inner Game of Tennis”

I’ve been playing tennis recreationally for over 5 years. When asked about whether or not I will pursue a college athletic career I always answer tersely: “It’s just a hobby,” when really, this carefree reply is but an excuse for my incompetence. While tennis truly is my primary hobby, it is also my worst nightmare (both literally and figuratively). Tennis was my refuge, my outlet that let me block out the noise around me and enter a time of meditation. After continuous hours of processing seemingly endless amounts of mathematical formulas, eccentric vocabulary words and oddly specific dates, I could finally allow myself to do the most primitive task, something almost instinctual. There is nothing better than a short and simple to-do list, and tennis gave me exactly that. I only needed to complete one task: “to smack the yellow fuzzy” as my old coach liked to say. Every inch of tennis was therapeutic: the constant, satisfying thwack when my racquet made contact with the ball, the straight lines on a freshly rolled clay court, the almost comic-like view of a stadium at noon on a midsummer day. I loved it because everything was perfect: the court, the new can of bright yellow-green balls, my meticulously engineered, sleek and beautiful racquet, and most importantly: me. Although I may have failed some tests, or messed up a few labs during school, on the court I was in the spotlight, making the most breathtaking shot to win a 6-0, 6-0 match. Everything was exactly how I wanted it to be. I was in control.

But somewhere along my pathway of perfection, while I was skipping along in oblivious bliss, everything spiraled out of control. Around my fourth year of playing tennis, I hit a losing streak. But how was that possible if nothing had changed? I still went to every practice and lesson yet I just could not win. I told myself to first serve a nice topspin, but the ball would always end up at the bottom of the net. I told myself once again, “just hit it over the net”, and when I couldn’t even do that, I became frustrated and speechless. Another point was lost along with any hope I had left of winning the match. Every day during practice after school I felt powerless and fatigued from being in constant conflict with myself. Why bother to teach my body to play tennis when it clearly knew how but was simply choosing not to listen? I felt resentful of my own body and wished “if only I could replace it with a mechanical one.”

What fun is it to play a sport when you are constantly losing? Or even worse, when you win but with horrible gameplay and embarrassing technique? The very reason I chose to play tennis in the first place was because it made me feel good, I played well, and I achieved good results.

Under the guidance of my coaches and author W. Timothy Gallwey, I realized my problem. Enlightenment is not a sudden epiphany but rather the product of experience and self-examination. It wasn’t the rebelliousness of my body that was stopping me from success, it was actually my micromanaging brain, the knowledgeable yet arrogant mastermind calling all the shots. My body did know what to do, and it was simply my mind that interfered with the process. My instinctual stroke had become a forced, mechanical movement as per the command of my brain. Instead of “just hitting” the ball, I internally dictated a thousand commands: “First, make sure your wrist is laid back, but keep it loose while doing so. Don’t try too hard but remember to stretch your arm out towards the ball. Don’t swing too fast but make sure to accelerate. Remember to point where you want to hit but don’t lift your head up or else the ball will go flying. Oh, and finish at your left shoulder not too high or too low..” While I claimed to use tennis as a break from processing loads of information, I found myself doing the very thing I was avoiding. My body cautiously attempted to obey each command like a student trying to retain information while jotting down notes from an extremely fast lecturer’s PowerPoint presentation. In retrospect, this is outrageous! I never command my body to complete habitual tasks; for example, I don’t need to focus on each bite I chew every time I eat dinner, or the movement of my arm when I brush my teeth each morning. It just happens because I do it every day! My body had practiced enough to be able to hit a perfect stroke without having to think about it. Yet my mind tried to convince it that it is incompetent and must re-learn how to do it. This contradicts my initial purpose in playing tennis: to relax, to let my body move freely as it wants, to rid my brain of stress and empty it out on the court.

Each time my mind makes a command and my body rejects it, I get increasingly agitated until I burst into a dramatic breakdown and decide that, “I simply suck.” The more I try to take control the more I lose it, both physically and emotionally. It is like constant self-deflation and abuse.

So how do I fix this problem?

“Just don’t think about it” is the worst advice you can give someone. It is neither constructive nor encouraging. It is good advice to tell someone to change their perspective. I used to truly believe in my heart that the only reason playing tennis was fun was because I won. If I failed a math test, it brought me such comfort to be able to crush my opponent; it was almost like a way to redeem myself. Instead, I should look back to my original purpose in playing the sport:  enjoyment and meditation. If winning comes at the cost of enjoyment, what is the purpose of achieving it? It is ridiculous to sacrifice my emotions for victory if the very purpose of playing tennis is to relax.

Once I lost that voracious appetite for victory, I lost stress-induced nerves and the desire for perfection. I could hit a ball out and not beat myself up about it. I dissociated my performance from self-evaluation. Losing one game doesn't mean that I am a bad athlete, it just means that there is room for improvement. Just because I didn’t play a perfect game doesn’t mean I can’t seem to do anything right in life. I started to play more freely, even, as Mr Gallwey put it, “unconsciously.” This does not mean I lost all focus and aimlessly swung my racquet in hopes of making contact with the ball. Paradoxically, to play unconsciously, rather, is to master the art of focus. Keep your eye on the ball and everything else is muscle memory. Your brain only has one job, to watch the ball, and your body is more than capable enough to take it from there.

Everyone likes to win, but, most importantly, you must enjoy the process.