Confessions of a Bipolar Tennis Player

I just don't understand how I can go out and play the tennis game of my life one day, and the next day look like I've never picked up a racquet. I just don't understand how I can serve 3 sets without a double fault, and in a tie breaker, can't even hit the ball over the net, let alone get it in the box.

When I was young, my nerves could face any competitive enemy, stare them in the eye and never break a sweat. Now, menopause has somehow sucked that out of me, and my sweats break out in the middle of the night, and to my dismay....in the middle of a match. My limbs shake and my mind travels around the world, and reminds me of all the faults I've ever had. The voice that I've always been able to quiet is screaming now, and I can't silence it.

I think I might be bipolar.

It happened yesterday. A great first set. Won 6-0. Then I hit a forehand out. "Big deal" you say. In my head I hear "Well, its all over now, there goes the set" So I resorted to finding my long lost, two hits ago, rhythm. I bounce the ball three times before serving, hoping a bit of obsessive compulsive behavior would somehow set me right. I just got bored. I tried grunting on my serve. I just got a sore throat.

We lost the second set. No suprise here, saw it coming on the second point. We were in the tie breaker, and then I double faulted twice....in a row....our two point lead was now tied. "Oh God", I'm praying now..."please don't let me serve again". These things attached to my shoulder were now rubber. The smooth strokes were karate chops.... my turn came to serve again, as I was thinking how could God abandoned me in a time like this. I passed my partner and whispered "Watch for the dink." I resorted to survival. Get that damn ball over the net! Dink one, and we got the point. I lined up for the next point thinking "I'm groveling and I don't care? Dink. Ace.

I wish I could say we won....but we didn't. I walked away wondering how these two people came to inhabit my body. The self assured athlete and the wimp.

I kept thinking of calling my shrink and begging for an emergency session. Instead I called a fellow tennis player, shrink, she works with the kids at Bolletierri and whined. She being of the positive essence, gave me great encouragement. When I get to feeling like quitting she reassured me that its just temporary. I keep her messages on my phone for 911 emergency tennis help.

I think I might be bipolar.

Today I played the tennis game of my life. I served well, I moved like one hot momma. I just waited for the opponents to drill me one at the net. I got most of them, and my reflexes were as good as any 20 year old. My forehand blasted crosscourt winners. I felt like I was a kid again, staring down the enemy. The wimpy voice that tried to yell at me was silenced.

I did find a key today to help me get back on track. I found myself sitting down on the bench during the change overs. Never did that before. I don't need to rest. Let's play ball, has always been my motto. Now, the menopausal momma wants to rest her weary bones, just for a second, before she jumps up to face the enemy in her head one more time.

We won, my partner and I. 6-4, 6-1.



Judy Robertson

Letter FROM Billie Jean King

I had hoped I'd get a reply from BJK. Every day I would look in my email box, and made sure when I emptied my email trash, it wouldn't be there. What a suprise when I opened this a few days ago...

Hello Judy. Thank you for the email you sent below. I was very touched by your kind words. I am glad to hear that you have enjoyed the sport of tennis over the years! I will keep my eyes open for a near "look-alike" and please stop me to say hello if our paths ever cross.

Best wishes and always remember to go for it!!

Billie Jean King