Page 86 of In the Safety's Zone
I shrugged and fiddled with my fingers because his questions were provoking a lot of thought.
“Well, it’s kind of their job.”
“So why are you worried about what they’re going to say?”
“Public perception is a big thing in our sport.”
He barked out a laugh and I knew he wasn’t going to take my answer seriously. “I distinctly remember that there’s a bad boy in every sport. And let’s face it love, they might accept that there’s a Black woman that’s at the top of the tennis world, because one has been for the last almost twenty years, but they not gonna ever root for you altruistically. White folks in this country do it becauseAmerica. But other than that? They’d probably act stupid if they saw you on the street even after paying thousands to watch you play.”
I sighed at his words because they had been proven right time and again. There was no delusion on my part that my success equaled acceptance. I didn’t want that. More than anything, I wanted acknowledgment of my talent without so many people trying to critique it away.
“You’re not wrong.”
“We already knew that, though.” He was grinning at me arrogantly and I smacked him in the face with one of the throw pillows I’d gotten for the austere black leather sectional he had in the living room.
“Shut up, Ant.”
“One thing I know, you gotta work on your chest more during workouts.”
I looked down at my titties like he’d called them ugly or something. I wasn’t in the baddie double D territory but they fit my frame.
“My chest?”
“Yep. One thing I did was take an anatomy and physiology class when I was back at school. I always thought football would work out but I still wanted to know the whys and hows of my body. I can tell your chest muscles are weaker than your back.”
“How in the hell can you say that? Just by looking at me? I hold a racket for three to four hours a day.”
“Which is why they’re as strong as they are now. But even when we trained you focused on your core, your back and arms. Your body is out of balance. Not by a lot, but enough. Work on your chest more and it will keep your posture better and your alignment stronger.”
“You’re really serious.”
Nobody had ever told me to focus on my chest when working out. Leg, arm, and core strength were always the focus. Tennis was about torque and force so I could see how my chest needing to be strong made sense.
“Yeah. It’s not something big. I’m not saying you’re deficient, it’s just a tweak I see that you can make in your workout that might help you improve the force in your swings. You gotta remember that your back, core and chest allow you to power your swing and your serve just as much as your arms. Your entire upper body powers your serve so if you neglect any part of it, it’s not as powerful as it could be.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that. Of course, core strength is always emphasized but a lot more of my focus has always been footwork and my arms. I thought chest would just get taken care of along the way.”
Hearing his critique without feeling attacked showed that the way he delivered the information made all the difference in how I received it. Anthony was trying to help, not tear me down.
“That’s how men work out. We have naturally more upper body strength so we focus on the lower body. For women, it’s normally the opposite. You’ve trained yourself to have a lotbecause of the sport that you love. Incorporate it before the next match and watch how you hit without having to exert as much effort.”
I nodded almost absentmindedly thinking of just how wrong I’d been going at this. It seemed like I’d been winning by sheer luck at this point.
“My father was trying to get me to bulk up so that I could be more proficient. He said that tennis players weren’t as small as I was anymore and that was the reason why.”
He blew out a deep breath and shifted away from me slightly. I wondered why he had put space between us but I understood when he spoke again.
“This one of them times I gotta ask if I can speak plainly.”
“Of course you can. What happened to truth and honesty?”
“I’m ‘bout to talk real greasy on your bloodline so I wanted to make sure it was going to be okay.” His jaw was clenched and I knew something I’d said had pissed him off.
“I’m the last person who’s going to protect his image so go right ahead.”
“Real talk, that nigga is trying to turn you into everything he could never be but also tear you down at the same time. I don’t have kids, but I have my niece and I wouldn’t waste a second of my life telling her she wasn’t perfect. Not in a coddling way but in a way that solidified her self-esteem. Your father does the shit he does because he’s jealous. So he will do whatever he can to tear you down and give you shitty advice. And if you follow it and fail he will blame it on you. And if you win he can take credit for it. That nigga makes my ass itch and I pray we’re never in the same space again because there’s something about a man like him that gets my hand itching to fuck something up.”
“Well, let’s not do that. I’m sure he’s going to do something drastic if you hit him again. Besides, my dad was a tennis champion so he’s technically already done what I’ve done.”
