As I watched Lance Armstrong finally admit to doping on Oprah, while tennis journalists reacted with horror and knee-jerk condemnation of cycling on Twitter, I was reminded once again how naïve the tennis community can be.
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Sports are my safe place. They’re where I go when the rest of the world is just too big, too scary too complicated. Tennis is my favorite sport. There are rules. There are consequences for breaking the rules. There’s a beginning and an end. There’s a winner and a loser. There’s hope, there’s heartache, there’s anxiety, there’s ecstasy, and there’s always another day.
In the realm of my real life, I’m a cynic. A realist. I don’t often get the feeling of butterflies and fireworks and floating on clouds. There’s always a pit in my stomach. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. But sports are a space where I still can believe in magic. Where miracles still occur.
Tennis is my escape. Or at least it used to be.