July 7, 2026 - Go
Just keep moving—that’s what I say to myself. Just stay in motion, try not to stop. If you stop, then just go again.
This is the gist of the pep talk I give myself in the silence, in those lulls during the day when the question of go or no go presents itself. The answer is always, most definitely: go. Even if go doesn’t mean running, jumping rope, push-ups, and burpees, then go means take a beat and really focus on my breathing. Try to feel the air in my lungs, countdown fr9om 10 to 1 then back up to 10—anything like that. Some days, go might just mean get on my bike, or get in the car and get to the court, practice my serve, and keep hitting against the wall like a madman.
This is what I know to be true: almost always, go means don’t be intimidated by what may or may not happen next year. Go means be in the moment. Take care of what’s in front of me right here and right now.
And stop? Stopping feels like death, stopping is death, stopping is giving up, and giving up isn’t an option.
But that’s the thing: if giving up isn’t an option and go is the only command worth listening to, then what do I do with fear? What happens if I paint myself into this cage—this brand new prison where winning is the only way out, the only way my life has meaning, and the only way that I can justify to myself that this whole aspiring pro tennis player journey has meant anything at all?
Thankfully, I’m old enough and experienced enough to know that stopping can feel like death, but winning never comes from desperation—from wanting it too badly or too much, or building my entire identity around winning tennis matches. So balance is in order. Obsessive, yes, but desperate, no—not anymore. So what do I do with all of these days in between now and the first ITF World Tennis Tour match that I’ll play next April?
Until then I’m undefeated, but honestly, I could use a loss. A drubbing. A reality check.
I want some time on court with a 5.5 former D1 college player who’ll beat me 6-0, 6-0 so I can feel, all over again, just how far away I am right now. That’s what I want—the drubbing, the smack in the face, the reality check. Because running two miles this afternoon, then hitting against a wall for an hour, then running two more miles tonight—that’s all well and good and fine. But the masochist in me wants humiliation. It wants that out-of-breath feeling on the baseline in between points when I have very little chance of getting back into a set (or even staying in a set). Why? Because it’s something real. It's something that I can sink my teeth into and orient myself around.
Then there’s this: the freedom to dream, to believe, to work at a goal a little bit at a time, to gradually get all of my speed back, and to keep chipping away at getting match-ready. What do results mean tonight? Not much. They mean I can’t beat someone who’s a lot better at tennis than me—that’s it. So why go chasing those drubbings just to get some sort of loser’s high?
Because when I really think about this, I know in my heart of hearts that this journey—this league—it’s not a Make-A-Wish Foundation endeavor. There’s that old adage in sports: train with people who are better than you, compete up, reach higher, and your game will improve. I can’t argue with that. I won’t argue with that. But I will say: the question isn’t whether that’s true or not, but when does that need to be true?
When my mind says stop, or don’t, or wait, almost always I feel that pressure and that pain. How many nights my entire life has felt like one giant loss, a total blowout. Some nights I stay in that space, soak it all in, and stumble out of bed the next morning, almost resolving myself to the impossibility of gaining ATP Ranking points and launching this league. Some nights I stay there—I let that voice win and I lock myself inside. But more and more, lately, I’m learning to just go.
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Training Log
Afternoon Session:
3:00 PM: One hour against the wall indoors (forehand and backhand).
4:00 PM: Two miles easy (20 minutes*).
*I feel exposed—twenty minutes feels very slow for two miles, but my body is coming out of functional freeze. My vocal cords are coming back online, my throat chakra is opening up, and those tight scalene muscles are losing their death grip from around my neck. I remember, clearly, when dropping two miles in 15 minutes was routine. I will get back there, but I am definitely not there tonight.
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Night Session:
Two more miles at night after the match. Just trying to keep the engine running, my body loose, and my mind sharp as I keep ramping up the training, the time on court, and the focus and discipline I’ll need to consistently get up for early morning sessions.
