I always thought of myself as a decent tennis player.
Armed with a reliable serve, a whipping crosscourt forehand (when it chooses to cooperate) and an absolutely unwarranted, ludicrous sense of self-confidence that tends to outlast both my physical endurance and the patience of my opponents, I usually don’t get nervous before stepping on the court for a match.
But all that changed on a recent scorchingly hot September afternoon, when I took to Practice Court 5 at the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center in Flushing Meadows, N.Y., for an afternoon of playing wheelchair tennis.
During the second week of the US Open, 20 of the world’s elite wheelchair tennis players descend on the Big Apple to vie for the title and trophy at the US Open Wheelchair Competition. The tournament features men’s, women’s and quad divisions, with singles and doubles action in all three categories.
The competition is held annually, except for the years in which the Paralympic Games take place. In 2002, the Australian Open was the first Grand Slam to feature the wheelchair competition, and in 2005, Wimbledon and the US Open followed suit, each hosting a wheelchair component. In 2007, Roland-Garros was the final slam to add the wheelchair competition to its schedule.
Wheelchair tennis is exactly what it sounds like: the game of tennis played from a wheelchair. The scoring, rules and lines are all the same. The only difference between regular tennis and wheelchair tennis is that the latter allows two bounces instead of one.
“The two-bounce rule does give wheelchair tennis players a little bit more time to track a ball down, if need be, where the able-bodied player only gets one bounce,” said USTA National Manager for Wheelchair Tennis Jason Harnett, who gave me pointers on the sport, before I ventured on-court.
Last year, I had the opportunity to interview Dana Mathewson, a top American wheelchair tennis player who was making her first appearance in a Grand Slam at the 2017 US Open.
At the time, Mathewson told me: "I remember reading some quote, some cliché thing like, ‘If something makes you nervous but mostly excites you, then that’s the thing that you should do', and so, that’s what I’m doing.”
So, a year later, I took Mathewson’s advice, and asked the Team USA member and 2018 US Open wheelchair competition wild card recipient to take me through the paces of playing tennis in a wheelchair.
First, things first; I had to sit in a wheelchair.
Wheelchair tennis players sit in specially adapted tennis wheelchairs that differ from everyday wheelchairs. For starters, tennis wheelchairs are lighter, and instead of having two wheels, they feature five — two large ones that sit on each side, but are attached on an angle, allowing for more stability as players cruise around the court, plus three smaller wheels, two of which are attached in the front and one in the back, to help keep the chair from tipping over. Special straps are used to keep players from falling out of the chair, some made of a seatbelt-like material, and others similar to snowboard bindings.
As I sat down and prepared to strap in, I realized my thighs were already retaliating. The snowboard bindings and my rather plentiful thighs had a small misunderstanding. Ultimately, I decided that my muscular [read: thick] thighs, would not be strapped in. This was starting well.
“Now, think of the chair as an extension of yourself,” Mathewson said to me, as she easily twirled her chair in a circle.
So, we took to the court.
Mathewson started out easy on me, feeding me volleys that I managed to tap back at her. Somewhere in the distance, I heard my college coach yelling, “soft hands!”
“Now, I’ll make it a little harder for you,” said Mathewson, before hitting a ball farther away from me, forcing me to attempt to roll to it.
My head shouted, “move!” but my arms and wheelchair didn’t seem to get the memo. Holding my racquet and attempting to simultaneously roll my wheelchair was incredibly difficult. Instead of smoothly rolling to my target, I lunged, trying to hit the ball, which proved to be a few inches out of my reach.
Even though I missed my shot, I decided to go grab the ball that had successfully eluded me. Turns out our game of chicken would continue.
Normally, picking up a tennis ball is a swift process that involves me rolling a ball between my sneaker and racquet head, scooping it up, giving it a bounce and catching it in my hand; the usual and lazy tennis player’s ball pick-up method of choice.
But this was no normal game of tennis. This was wheelchair tennis. And for a good 30 seconds, I stared at the ball, which stared back at me, beckoning me to pick it up. I finally bent over, grabbed the ball, and instead of wedging it in my skirt shorts, I stuck it between my wheelchair spokes, and continued on.
A major component of wheelchair tennis is mobility, which is necessary for players to get to the ball quickly so they can properly stroke and attack it.
“Everything centers around it,” said Harnett, “The mobility is so very different, especially for new players, you have to teach them to turn the chair correctly, or they will be very inefficient or frustrated, and they won’t enjoy their experience. And that’s why we really emphasize mobility in pretty much everything we do."
When watching a wheelchair tennis match, you’ll notice that the players, even before the start of the point, are continuously moving. It’s imperative to always have the wheelchair rolling so that a player can create enough power to get to the ball, wherever it lands on the court. Players usually move in a figure eight, parallel to the baseline.
Before our afternoon was through, Mathewson took me to the baseline and ran through a mobility drill. I rolled to the right, gripped my wheel, turned and rolled to the left.
After 11 minutes in the chair, my arms were burning, and my journalistic curiousity drained dry.
My time on-court with Mathewson taught me a lot of things. For starters, I learned that my Thighmaster and I will be spending ample quality time together at the conclusion of the Open.
Secondly, and most importantly, I learned that wheelchair tennis is hard. Really, really hard. It requires not only serious upper-body strength, but the mastering of a man-made contraption, all in addition to knowing tennis technique and strategy. And all of which, I certainly could not master.
So while I may never be a good wheelchair tennis player, I have a whole new appreciation when I watch the pros, like Mathewson, battle it out at the greatest Grand Slam in the world. And my thick thighs and I are thankful for that.
