Page 8 of Best Year Ever
And two days after that, I see on her instagram page that she has landed overseas for her warm-up tournament before the Australian Open.
Still no text back.
Shit. Have I been ghosted?
What a way to kick off the year.
CHAPTER 3
Rori
LATE JANUARY
Green. All I see is the green of the ball coming towards me.Thwack.I hit it without thinking, muscle memory doing its thing.
“Game, second set, Ms. Reilly,” the umpire says.
My movements might be smooth, but I feel like I’m melting. The heat is killer here in Australia, where it’s summertime. On top of that, this match has me running ragged. My quarterfinal opponent is a French star, Natalie Picquet, and she’s higher ranked than me at #6.
We’ve split sets in the first two hours. Now that I’ve claimed the second set, whoever wins this third set goes on to the semifinals of the Australian Open.
OMG, my brain screams internally.This could mean my first semis of a Slam.
I try to breathe and stay in the moment. Repeating in my head all the affirmations that my coach Julie said this morning. “You have everything you need. You made it to the quarters. The semis are yours. Take them.”
People underestimate all the pieces involved in putting together a world-class pro tennis player. Yes, you need top-tier tennis skills—which in themselves are years in the making, andrequire serious innate athletic gifts combined with relentless practice. You also have to be in elite physical shape, so that your performance in the third hour on the court is at least as solid as in the first hour. We run miles upon miles during a match, much of it sprinting.
And then there’s your mind. Your greatest strength or weakness is your mind. You’re out there, all alone, surrounded by thousands of people, not to mention cameras recording every move, fighting for something that you have wanted since childhood. The pressure is indescribable. It’s easy to lose your focus, or to become emotional and frustrated, if you do not train your mind as much as your body. And that’s where Julie has made such a difference for me in my comeback.
After a chug of my water, I walk back out to serve first for the third set. My serve is solid—I’m no Serena, but it never costs me points and can help me win them. I’m known more for my speed and ability to anticipate where the other player is going to hit.
The ball goes into play as Natalie returns my serve. Neither of us are willing to concede the point. We exchange a few rounds of cross-court forehands as the intensity of the point heats up. The crowd seemingly feels the rising stakes too as they oooh and ahhh.
Natalie’s next hit goes down the line, a straight line shot, which is the shortest distance for the ball to travel, and the hardest for me to reach in time. But I get there, crush a forehand the opposite way, and take the point.
All those off-season suicide sprint drills during the last three months are paying off.
The crowd erupts, and I look around. This is only one point in a long set, but it feels like a pivotal moment. Natalie swings her racquet in frustration and curses in French.
I won’t lie, I love seeing her frustration. Julie has reinforced that I should capitalize on these moments and push harder, take advantage of the fact that my opponent is mentally vulnerable. Suddenly it’s easier to ignore the heat, and I march through the game, winning the rest of the points.
And in what feels like a dream, forty minutes later I win the set, 6 games to 3.
I’m in the semifinals of the Australian Open.
After showering and getting a hug from Maggie in the locker room, where she’s recovering from her own match, I check my phone. There are a ton of notifications, but not any from people I feel like talking to.
I accidentally scroll down too far past all the new messages and then I seehistext. Still unanswered a few weeks later.
I sigh. Landon Battle. Our night was unforgettable, but I’m indeed trying hard to forget.I’m not going to get distracted texting some guy, I kept telling myself after he sent his message on New Year's morning. Now it’s been weeks.
I push aside the hint of guilt I feel about that and get back to packing up my things. Being in a competitive scenario like this tournament, the furthest I’ve ever gone in a Slam, the pressure I mentioned earlier? It’s now sky high. No guy drama allowed.
“Rori, do you want to grab dinner with Peter and me later?” I hear Maggie ask. “Our mixed doubles semi is in two days, so it’ll be an early meal and bed.”
“I’m good,” I say, knowing Julie will want to use dinner to strategize. “But so excited that we get to stick around for the semis at the same time. I’m just gonna chill, I think.”
Maggie gives me a nod and another big hug, and I walk back out of the locker room into more hugs, this time from Julie and my dad.
