How Running is Like Tennis

When my brother and I were out of college, living in NYC, we sometimes spent weekends at our parent’s house in Connecticut and tennis became our connector. Jon was in seminary and I was in advertising sales so we found common ground on the tennis court. As kids, we both had lessons, but my brother actually practiced and learned to play well. I, on the other hand, was the type of player who liked to hit the ball until the sun felt so good that my friends and I would simply lie down on the warm court and sunbathe. And then, when we did try to play, we spent more time chasing balls that flew high over the fence or into other player’s courts. There’s quite a bit of running involved in ball retrieval, but I wouldn’t exactly call it tennis. Which explains how tennis prepared me for long distance running.

It was the Fall of 1983 when Jon and I found ourselves single and bored on a Saturday morning at home. “Hey, let’s play tennis,” he said while rifling through the closet and emerging with two worn rackets. “OK”, I said, “but don’t tell me I didn’t warn you about my tennis skills.” On the court, I immediately remembered how tennis is like running as I mostly watched my brother running after my errant balls. “Well”, Jon said, panting and waving his racket like a fan as if it might cool him down, “let’s start with the basics.”

Jon began to work with me that day. “Stand, face the net, turn, bring your racket back low, step, connect with the ball, swing and follow through with your racket high.” We worked my forehand and backhand, but it was when we got to my serve that I began to feel my strength. Jon hung in there with me until finally balls began to calm down and occasionally go where they were supposed to. I felt the balance of weight shift in my body from back to front and connection of the ball to the center of the racket, hitting strings at the right moment. There’s this part in serving when you throw the ball high, reach back and up with your racket, come down over it, and give a little snap with your wrist. It’s the snap that gives your ball power. It’s an extraordinary feeling to get it right and it kept me practicing until it was deeply embedded in my muscle memory.

Fast forward forty years and I’m training for my first 100 mile trail run. I’m seven out of twelve months into my training and I’ve started to have a cranky hamstring. I’m working with an extremely talented team of running coaches (and they have fun trail names - Wisp, Gyro and ET) and other 100-milers with a wealth of knowledge and experience. “Move from your hip, push down with your foot into the ground, adjust your weight and then push the leg back behind you, rather than using your hamstring to do the work.” My running advisors continue, “Connect with your glute muscles, keep your hips level isometrically, connect a stable torso with the coordination of the arms and legs.” Honestly, I’m not there yet in fully grasping these complexities. At these times, I feel like curling up, squirrel-like, in a warm pile of leaves.

The common thread between tennis and running started with my bad shots and chasing balls. But there’s something more nuanced here. Tennis is learning to balance your individual body parts in just the right way to hit a ball with a racket into your opponent's court. To improve your swing, it’s necessary to store some of what you’ve learned in your muscle memory so that you can isolate and work on the problem areas. As for running, an activity that is as natural as breathing, it can be just as complex. So, we pay attention to every foot strike and think about knees over ankles and whether or not the glute is engaged and how to protect the hamstring from carrying too much load.

These days, my training involves working on my stride and focusing on the individual movements that help with overall stability and strength. I remember the lessons my brother taught me on the tennis court - break it down, concentrate on one thing and keep practicing until it’s a collection of muscle memories working together. And then one clear autumn day, I’ll stop thinking about the hows and the whys and just take a moment to delight in the elegant shadows left by the leafless trees, and then run for the sheer fun of it.