During a round of drinks to celebrate our finals win against the Harvard Club, one of my teammates mused aloud that competing was perhaps too stressful to be worth doing. This was from the teammate who had played more challenge matches than anyone else AND won most of her matches during the season. Another teammate nodded her head vigorously in agreement. What? We’d just won the finals in our division and they were already bailing on next season??
But I knew exactly where they were coming from. After two years of losing in the play-offs (and getting the ‘small’ plaque), I had been losing sleep worrying that we were headed to year number three. I know, getting a plaque of any size ain’t a big deal in the scheme of things, but this being my first season as captain and feeling responsible to a team of nine great women, I began to feel what I imagine the manager of the Cubs or the coach of Lindsey Jacobellis must feel: we deserve this! And we had had a great season; everyone had played (no small feat w/ 9 on a team), we had fun, and we achieved my goal, to make it to playoffs. But once we did that I realized that what I really wanted was to win.
And that’s when I started to feel sick. Or was it stress? My captain’s brain was turning over the possible outcomes. Our number one had beaten HC’s number one at the beginning of the season, but it was in five tense games. No sure thing there. Their number two had beaten me a few months earlier, but also in five games. I had a chance. And our number three had never played their number three so who knew? We could take it all or lose it all. And so I spent the night before our match fitfully dreaming of ludicrous outcomes – one being that some of the HC team didn’t show up so we won by default, which of course was a bummer. Even my dream self knew that.
The day of the match I lost my appetite. I bought a large Gatorade, started hydrating, and asked people to pray for us (kiddingly, but maybe not). I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this nervous. The marathon? But I didn’t have to win that thing; I just had to finish. I kept thinking things like: by this time tomorrow it’ll be over. In x hours, I’ll be tying my sneakers in the locker room. And then I WAS tying my sneakers. Shit. I was there. It was time.
Mercifully, my opponent didn’t give me much time to fret. She’s a get down to business quickly kind of player. So we were off. And I’m not going to bore you with the gory five game details. Only that when I came off the court at the end I knew that all that nervousness and stress and lost sleep/appetite/mind WAS worth it. Totally worth it. And if my musing teammate had been in my shoes she would’ve known it too. Maybe she will if she reads this. Or maybe she’ll just have to wait until next year when I drag her back on the team.
Good luck to all, winners and losers. I’ve been both.
