Page 66 of Risky Match
After taking several gulps of a sports drink, I tear open the foil on my snack and sling my bag onto my shoulder.
As we walk off the court, I say, “I haven’t watched Geoff play much. He’s new to the higher-level tournaments. What else should I keep in mind?”
“He rarely comes to the net, so well-placed drop shots could earn you easy points. And his second serve needs work. Be ready to pounce on it and slam it back.”
“Got it.”
As we keep walking, I visualize shot sequences that will force Geoff into tough positions that I can exploit. By the time I’ve worked through several scenarios, we arrive at the outdoor exercise facility.
I head straight for the stationary bikes, put on my headphones, and hop on to keep my muscles warm. This is the relaxing part of my routine—I listen to the same seven songs every time. Like most pros, I’m superstitious, and changing my routine stresses me out.
The final song,Don't Stop Believin',begins playing. It’s a classic reminder of where my head needs to be.
When it ends, I signal Josh, and he hands me the resistance bands. I go through mobility and core exercises—leg swings, arms circles, and torso twists to loosen up and prevent injury.Given my history of injuries at Wimbledon, I’m taking all the precautions I can.
During my stretches, Josh and I chat about who’s making coaching changes, whose injuries are holding them back, and which players are dating each other. The rather mindless conversation calms my nerves.
A loud buzzing from Josh’s smartwatch signals it’s time to move to the next phase of my warmup.
First, I take a short break to chat with the other players who are standing around. Marco boasts about how great he’s feeling. Another top player, Thomas, complains that he’s sick of the rain delays.
“At least the rain—” I start, but Marco interrupts.
“Hey, Oliver! Bring some of those samples over here.”
A guy carrying a tray of cups joins us.
“Everyone, this is Oliver. His company makes amazing sports drinks. You should try them,” Marco says.
“Nice to meet you, Oliver. I’m always looking for new drink options.”
Thomas asks, “Are those the herbal-tea ones that I’ve been hearing about?”
“They are. It’s an herbal tea blend infused with horseradish. It opens your airways, which improve oxygen levels. There’s nothing else like it on the market. I brought samples for everyone.”
We each take a cup as Oliver continues, “It’s like a shot. Drink it in one sip for maximum benefit.”
Thomas says, “Okay. Bottoms up.”
I’m skeptical, but with two endorsements, why not.
As soon as the muddy brown liquid hits the back of my throat, I feel a vicious burn, and my eyes water. Oliver was right—my airways clear as if I’ve inhaled menthol. It must be the horseradish.
When the burn fades, I say, “Oliver, I’ll admit it opens things up, but it tastes awful. No wonder you told us to down it in one sip.”
Thomas says, “It wasn’t that bad.”
Marcos adds, “Agreed. The benefits are worth a little unpleasantness.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“Thanks for trying it. We’ll be reaching out to your managers with more information about sponsorship opportunities. Good luck in your matches,” Oliver says, then walks away.
I shake my head and grab my water bottle to rinse away the taste. That drink was disgusting. I understand the benefit, but yuck.
Rejoining Josh, I begin the final part of my warmup—jumps, sprints, and medicine ball throws—to further raise my energy level. My pulse rises quickly, and sweat beads on my forehead. I’m ready for battle.
I double-check the contents of my tennis bag.
